alpha-bet-soup

2009-01-30T20:30:00.001+11:00

engeful act

Unwrapping the morning paper, I toss the plastic wrap aside, unroll the paper, fold and twist it into a readable shape and open out the front page. I read the headlines, look at the accompanying photograph and toss the paper down on the floor. I sit in the chair, disbelieving.

Yesterday, a man dropped his almost five year old daughter off the Westgate Bridge into the River Yarra, 58 metres below. This dreadful event happened in the morning peak hour traffic as it crawled across the bridge and motorists around were unable to prevent its happening. According to news reports this man is estranged from his wife, works in IT and lives at the far end of Our Street. There is a very good chance that his days of living in Our Street are now finished.

I tossed the paper on the floor in disbelief because when I looked at the photograph I immediately recognised this man. At the Social Club, because it is an area open to the public, all sorts of people use the computers. We have people from a variety of ethnicities; people who live on the edge of society for whatever reason and who often have mental health issues; people who roundly abuse you if you look sideways at them and one woman who was known for spitting on people who crossed her.

Then there are the users of mobile phones who take their calls in the library and who, at the top of their voices, inflict the details of their personal lives on all within earshot. Sometimes I have been known to sidle up to them and ask them I they might consider toning their conversation down a bit. The man at the centre of yesterday’s events was one of the mobile phone users who seemed to be a little lacking in the social skills area and not able to understand that when the person on the other end of the phone said “No.” they meant no.

On the one occasion when I asked him to tone down the volume he did so immediately and seemed to be totally unaware that his conversation was being listened to by everyone within earshot.

If anyone had suggested to me that he would, at some time in the future, carry out the deed he did yesterday I would have considered they were having flights of fancy. As for what happened yesterday morning, you would have had to not only been in the vehicle on the way back to the city from the beach house prior to the incident, but also had access to the workings of this man’s mind.

It’s one thing to be at odds with your estranged wife but the idea that this might have been , as the papers have suggested, a way of getting back at her is unconscionable.

2009-01-30T20:20:00.000+11:00

eather report

Another heat wave has arrived on our doorstep. After three days of reasonable temperatures, the thermometer has suddenly taken a leap upwards and we have endured three consecutive days of above forty degrees Celsius.

Combined with low humidity and overnight temperatures, where yesterday’s temperature at 3 am was 29C and last night’s low was just a shade under 26C, sleep has been elusive. There has been much tossing and turning, the fan has been whirring away through the night and applications of a small damp towel have been pursued in the vain hope of cooling things down enough to grab a few minutes real sleep.

Today’s temperature was the last gasp; 45.1C. Tomorrow doesn’t bear thinking about and I mentally run through a list of places where it might be possible to get some respite; a movie theatre, the National Gallery and the State Library are three cool places – in the real sense of the word - that spring readily to mind.

I read about the Chill on Ice Bar in the city where 30 tonnes of ice make up the walls, chairs and sculptures of a drinking hole and where the customers are limited to 20 minutes at a time. Any problem with damp clothes as a result of sitting on iced chairs would be solved in less than a minute outside in the sun today.

Quite frankly, I’m totally over this hot weather.

2009-01-30T20:15:00.001+11:00

ternal blinds

There’s nothing like a long stretch of high temperatures to make me again consider the idea of getting external blinds.

I’ve spent quite some time reading about methods of keeping rooms cool, both externally and internally. It seems that once the window glass is allowed to heat up then the transference of that heat to the room behind the window is inevitable. It can be reduced a little by having heavy, dark curtains inside but by far the preferred method is to stop the heat from penetrating the glass in the first place.

None of the windows in our building are double glazed so the current trend for light blinds and no curtains does little to keep the heat out. Some of the apartments have double blinds, one that allows light into the room but prevents anyone outside being able to see in and the second blind which cuts the outside light and the ability to see into a room from the outside. Very few people have heavy curtains and anyone who has done renovations and wants to present the latest and most desirable interior design has not only ditched the old fashioned idea of curtains but have also removed the pelmets which act as a deterrent to the cold/hot air entering through any exposed glass.

And so with the brave new march towards highly desirable interiors with their up-to-the-minute accessories the way has been paved for the sellers of air-conditioning units to do a roaring trade. Residents, coming home to an oven-like apartment after spending the day in a cool air-conditioned workplace immediately rush out and purchase the latest and often greatest in air conditioners. In the last few years the design of air-conditioners has moved forward in leaps and bounds, away from the old box types that roared away in the window frame to ones that now sit happily on a balcony and work with hardly a murmur, cooling in the summer and heating in the winter. There is of course a price to pay for presenting the latest image to the world, and it arrives each quarter with the electricity bill.

I’m all for keeping the heat out in the summer and so external blinds appeal to me. I aim to have one fitted to an east facing window which draws cries of disbelief as the norm is to have these blinds on a north or west facing wall of a building. I do not have an exterior north wall and my only west facing window is shaded most of the day by the upper story of the building while the east facing room gets the sun right from the time it peeps over the tree tops.

The greatest obstacle to overcome, after robbing a bank to pay for it, will be getting approval of the colour for the blind from the Owners’ Corporation. We have some old-fashioned dark brown and cream striped blinds at the west facing front of the building, fitted about forty years ago which I might just be expected to install. Styles and fabrics have changed a lot since then and I have seen neutral coloured blinds that allow some light in while still keeping out the heat and they really appeal to me.

As we are now more than half way through this summer I will put the idea on hold and see how the weather shapes up through next summer.

2009-01-30T20:10:00.000+11:00

oung concert

In all the aforesaid posts, full of drama and whingeing about the heat, I have neglected the big occasion on Wednesday night, the much anticipated Neil Young concert.

Luckily it was on the first day of the heat wave and even though Neighbour Heather and I thought we would expire while we walked from the tram stop to the Myer Music Bowl in the early evening we didn’t.

People converged on the venue from all directions and we plodded steadily up the hill towards the entrance. We were lucky in getting a young man on security at the gate who understood that we weren’t going to behave badly with our bottles of water and hurl them at some-one else in the crowd on some crazy whim. Our instincts for survival were centred on lasting the evening without expiring and any throwing of water would have been over our own heads and not over some-one else’s.

The concert was the best, we were high up on the lawn (read dead grass there) and although the figures on the stage were hardly recognizable the voice certainly was and I was thrilled to hear live some of my favourite songs. The crowd covered all age groups and everybody got into the spirit of things though I have to admit I wilted after a while and had to sit down.

All too soon the last song had been sung and we all filed out in the heat of the night and made our way to wherever we were going - which in the case of NH and I was to the nearest tram stop and then home.

2009-01-29T20:35:00.001+11:00

nquestionably delighted

Each month a magazine arrives from the local bookseller spruiking their wares for the coming month. Its arrival is most welcome and I spend more time than I should reading about the different books on offer and bemoaning the fact that I can’t afford to buy all those tempting hardbacks and paperbacks.

Imagine my delight when I come across a book that looks as though it has my name all over it. Its title is the Little Red Writing Book and following hot on the heels of the writing workshop I attended last month I tell myself that I should investigate the possibilities between its covers without further ado. I find it is an Australian book written by an Australian writer; I have a quick peek at it in the bookshop and decide that I will borrow it from the library. If I feel I can’t live without it the next step will be to search around under the sofa cushions and through every jacket pocket to see if I can come up with the wherewithal to buy it.

I borrow it from the library and before I reach the end of the first chapter I am committed to purchase. Any book, especially one on writing, starting out as a walk along the track to Fergy’s paddock for inspiration, is going to be the book for me. Of course I am biased, as Fergy’s paddock is to be found on the shores of a lake in the most beautiful national park in the whole wide world. I did say I am biased.

I read on. The printed words speak to me in a language I can understand and there is any number of ideas to play around with and exercises to try out. It is both challenging and encouraging and I can hardly wait to try out the first simple writing task. There are chapters on craft and style and structure all of which are gaping holes in my writing knowledge.

A whole new writing world is waiting between the covers and I am off to the book shop as soon as I have stuffed the cushions back on the sofa and pushed the jackets, all with their pockets turned completely inside out, back inside the wardrobe.

2009-01-28T20:30:00.000+11:00

ennis time

It’s that time of the year – it’s tennis time.

You know it’s tennis time because you hear about it on the radio, read about it in the papers and if (unlike me) you were a person who watches TV, there would be plenty of on and off the court coverage there too. You would also notice the sponsor vehicles whizzing about town, carrying players, officials, and for all I know, the mother of the driver who needs a lift to the shops, on the way to collecting or carrying the next important person to be ferried to the next destination of their day.

I was amused to read earlier this month that new entertainments for tennis patrons are to be introduced. Music and cabaret no less. Apparently there has to be something for everyone and as long as they can draw people through the gates it doesn’t matter much whether they come to watch tennis or watch cabaret. It’s the gate takings that count; and the more takings there are to count the better. For my money, in the current heat wave I think they would draw huge crowds if they supplied portable, personal air conditioning suits to keep the customers cool.

This year so far we have had a streaker livening up a break in the doubles match being played by the Williams sisters and the obligatory brawl between the Bosnian and Serbian fans who, in the long tradition of their forbears, cannot resist carrying on old grudges even though they are far in time and place from the country of their ancestors. This recent fracas resulted in thirty people being asked to leave Flinders Park.

The Dokic family have been subjected to close scrutiny in the press and every particular of their supposed approach to the game of tennis has been examined in minute detail. Outbursts, bridges burned and the on again, off again aspects of Jelena’s tennis appearances are put under the microscope. A fickle lot, the local tennis press, if she does well she is ‘ours’ and if she doesn’t she is given the thumbs down. I yawn and turn the page.

Scare tactics are to the fore again; this is another perennial. We will lose the Australian Open to another country. We read there is interest from China, Dubai and Spain; China certainly has a big enough population to ensure good gate takings, Dubai has the petro dollars to back up their stand and Spain at least has a few class players which is more than can be said for Dubai and China right now. We do not hear however, that any of these countries want to usurp Wimbledon where England have had about the same success with winning players as Australia has of recent times. Shock, horror!! What would we do with a huge empty stadium each January? Have another pop concert, that’s what.

It’s day 10 today and as I scan the list of players in the men’s quarter finals I recognise only half of them. I recognise even fewer of the women’s quarter finalists, apart the always-there Serena Williams and Jelena Dokic, who of course we are claiming as ‘ours’, now she is doing so well.

A few more days and it will be all over for another twelve months.

2009-01-26T20:25:00.000+11:00

ecognising people

Australia Day, celebrated on January 26th each year, means different things to different people.

It is the day which celebrates the arrival of the First Fleet at Port Jackson in the charge of Captain Arthur Philip in 1788 and the establishment of the Colony of New South Wales, the first penal colony in Australia; it should be noted here that not much mention is made of the penal colony aspect at contemporary Australia Day celebrations.

For most people it means a day off work, a day to go to the beach, to the races (see the next post) or to fire up the ubiquitous Australian barbie; at this time of the year and under the current weather conditions this is often done with a match to the gas barbie and only after paying strict attention to the fire danger rating for the day.

The indigenous people of this nation however often hold an opposing view of the day being seen as a day of celebration. Aboriginal people have been known to turn their backs on the Australian flag and to use the terms Invasion Day or Survival Day; for them the arrival of white settlement sounded the death knell for a way of life, as they knew it up to that point in their history.

It is also a day in which Australians who have contributed in some major way to improving the quality of life of the people, communities, industry and the environment in this country are given public recognition.

This year I would like to briefly mention two people who have made enormous contributions to the welfare and rights of the indigenous people of this country. Yesterday, the Australian of the Year was announced and this award went to Mick Dodson who has done much to work to improve the standing of his fellow indigenous peoples. Mick was orphaned at age 10 and with a stroke of good fortune was able to avoid the fate of so any of his people who became known as the stolen generation, and receive an education along with his brother Pat, at Monivae College, a boarding school in Hamilton, Victoria. Mick went on to study law at Monash University and became Victoria’s first aboriginal barrister in 1981. Presently he is Professor of Law at Australian National University where he also holds the post of Director of the National Centre for Indigenous Studies.

Since graduating from Monash and taking up his current position at the ANU he has been involved in assisting the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody in 1988, which led to shocking and outrageous revelations about the treatment of aboriginal people held in custody.

He was later co-author of the report ‘Bringing Them Home’; this report dealt with the treatment of aboriginal children forcibly removed from their families and the dark, hidden history surrounding these people, now better known as the ‘Stolen Generation’.

Faith Bandler, who was awarded the Order of Australia Companion for the advancement of human rights, is the second person I want to write about today. Faith Bandler, now 90, has been many things over the years including civil rights campaigner, mother and wife of a WW2 Jewish refugee; she was a driving force in the 1967 referendum on Aboriginal Australians. This was a Federal referendum to strike out discriminatory sections from the constitution; at that time for example, aboriginals were not counted in the national census.

Faith also spent much time and energy on striving for the recognition of her father’s Vanuatuan people who were ‘black-birded’ from the Pacific Islands to indentured work in Australia. In 1901, on the introduction of the White Australia Policy, these same people who had been brought here against their will were deported.

There is much more to be said and learned about these two people and I have only touched on a few important milestones in their lives.

2009-01-26T20:15:00.000+11:00

maller crowd

While deserving people in this country have been getting recognition for their efforts the undeserving people have been getting on with their lesser lives.

Brilliant sunshine and blue skies beamed down on Ms Soup and Pearlie today as they took themselves off to use up their last entitlement as members of the HRPRC. The last meeting is held at Kyneton on Australia Day; there’s no messing around with the time frame at our racing club – it’s all over within the month.

We noticed the numbers were down this year, both in the members stand and in the public enclosure. There was no problem getting seating in the stand and there weren’t nearly the same number of entertaining people in the public enclosure. Last year there were quite a few people wearing the flag, often in a form of dress, including one woman who had fashioned several small flags into an elaborate dress and jacket. This might well be a hanging offence in some countries, but on Australia Day at the races it only draws a few smiles and maybe some criticism about the fit. This year there were only a few hats decorated with flags and here and there the green and gold of a bunch of young men who seemed to be in a state of confusion about whether they were at the races or the cricket. This confusion seemed to increase as the afternoon wore on and the quantity of liquor they drank increased.

I had only a couple of bets, we bought our lunch and drinks from the members’ catering area and my biggest disappointment of the day was the non-appearance of the ice-cream vendor from a specialist dairy in the western district of Victoria.

Leaving before the last race left us with time to have a coffee and a look about in a gallery in the town, where Pearlie Shirley discovered a print she would like to have hanging on her living room wall. She will make a decision later in the week and one of her work colleagues who lives in the area will be able to collect it and deliver it to her work place.

2009-01-25T20:25:00.001+11:00

lanning ahead

When you want to plan something with Pearlie Shirley, you have to make the plan well in advance. The very idea of spontaneity is an anathema; she is an organized person, whose life set out in a very structured format.

And so it has come to pass that after much consulting of diaries and engagement planners etc., we now have a space in April where we will be able to take one day and run off to central Victoria. As well a time and date constraints, there are weather constraints to be considered; hot days are out of the question and the cold winter days get the thumbs down too. Free time, when you are working is all too precious to frittered away doing something frivolous; that something has to fit within strict parameters.

This little touring idea came about when Pearlie Shirley gave me a present some time back; a book that sets out several drives of interest within Victoria. The one I have chosen is one of the shorter ones and it will take us through the Central Goldfields area with plenty of opportunities for coffee and stops along the way.

All I have to do now is remember when April rolls around that this date has already been set in stone. And hope that the autumn weather is on its best behaviour.

2009-01-25T20:15:00.003+11:00

uiet downstairs

The family downstairs has gone away on holiday. Where once the mother would take the child and they might be away for anything up to six months, now that the boy has started school that holiday pattern has been abruptly curtailed.

The mother has been working nights until this week but now she and the husband, the boy and the father’s best mate who also lives in our apartments and his wife ( sounds like the title of that film, The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover or whatever it is called… ) are off to Thailand for four weeks. The mate and his wife will visit her folks, the downstairs couple and the boy will visit the boy’s grandparents and then they will all meet up to get together for the last few weeks at their favourite beach resort.

In the meantime I will have four weeks of absolute bliss while they are away. No more banging doors; sometimes I think they have some sort of door-banging competition going on downstairs, in which the three of them vie to see who can slam the most doors in their apartment in the shortest time.

Quiet rules, right now.

2009-01-24T20:25:00.003+11:00

verhead

As I walked down the north side of the building this morning I looked up and what should I see but a clutch of hot air balloons drifting overhead.

This is a common sight in Melbourne at this time of the year, but I have to be in the right place at the right time to see them. Often my view is obstructed by buildings and once I am out on the street there is a much clearer view of the sky.

This morning’s lot were coming down low over the river and heading off in a south-westerly direction. As I watch them I often wonder where they will be landing; seeing a landing would make my day.

I think hot air balloons are the greatest; they give my day a kick start when I catch a glimpse of them in the early morning.

2009-01-21T20:30:00.000+11:00

aking history

My Daily Read has a special lift-out today to mark the inauguration of Barack Obama as 44th President of the United States.

What a momentous day.

Photographs in this lift-out show crowds of people thronging Washington Mall with the Capitol at the far end. Another photograph shows the Capitol in close up; such a white, white building, draped with red, white and blue and stars and stripes. To the right of the photo a battery of cameras and press photographers; in the centre ordered rows of dignitaries and the balcony on which the new President stands. Below are the music-makers of the day, the band, the standard bearers and the conductor standing ramrod straight.

I turn over the pages and read an article in which Quincy Jones writes about the long journey of his people culminating in today’s event. There are other articles, one from Maureen Dowd and there are commentaries from other writers here in Australia, including Waleed Aly.

To mark this special occasion I put aside my normal contempt for television and climb the stairs to Neighbour Heather’s apartment where we perch on stools in front of her kitchen television and watch the inauguration. It looks to be a bleak, cold day in Washington DC and people are well rugged up, with hats, gloves, boots and long winter coats to the fore.

I wait with interest to see how this will all pan out in the long term; in spite to today’s euphoria I can’t help but think it will be a long, tough road ahead.

2009-01-21T20:15:00.001+11:00

ancy-bird

Nancy Bird Walton died last week at the grand old age of 93. She was a much admired person who contributed a great deal to aviation in its early years in this country and paved the way for women pilots of the future.

Fascinated by planes from an early age Nancy never wavered on her path to the skies and after eventually overcoming parental objections learned to fly as a pupil at Kingsford Smith’s flying school, at age 17 in 1933. After gaining her pilot’s licence to carry passengers at age 19 – the first woman pilot in Australia to do so - she travelled around country shows and race meetings giving joy-rides to passengers.

This, however, was a limited way to earn money to keep the plane and the person flying it and later she was offered the opportunity to be the first pilot employed by the Far West Children’s Health Scheme. She accepted this post with alacrity and spent the next three years stationed at Bourke in the far west of New South Wales doing charter work in between her flights for the FWCHS in order to meet the financial commitments of owning a plane.

It was at this time while doing charter work out of Cunnamulla, in far west Queensland, that the following took place; it is quoted from a page in her autobiography, Nancy Bird – My God! It’s a Woman, as an explanation of the title and is indicative of the generally held view of women pilots at the time.

In 1936, I was the only charter pilot in Cunnamulla, Queensland. Charles Russell, a well known grazier, was visiting one of his properties when he was marooned by flood waters. I walked into his agent’s office just as Charles was being told by phone that the aircraft was being sent to rescue him. The agent told Charles to give the pilot landing instructions, and then handed me the telephone. I took the receiver and said ‘Hello’. There was a stunned silence and then a horrified voice uttered, ‘My God! It’s a woman’.

Nancy went on to do many things throughout her life connected with aviation: travelling through Europe gathering aviation information just prior to WW2, founding the Australian Women’s Pilots Association, competing internationally in air races and amongst all that, marrying and raising two children.

At one time, when she was looking for someone to sponsor her in an air race, she approached Sir Hudson Fysh at Qantas. He was quite keen but the Public Relations department would have none of it; sponsoring a single engine aircraft in a transcontinental race in the United States? It was not what they considered to be safe flying.

Last year however, Qantas at last saw fit to recognise Nancy’s contribution to aviation and named their first A380 in her honour.

2009-01-20T16:00:00.001+11:00

ightning about

In the wee small hours of this morning I woke to find an electrical storm in full flight heading east. The sound of approaching thunder woke me and I looked out the window.

My bedroom window faces east and the lightning played in brilliant forks, illuminating the spaces between the clouds. I love to be able to lie in bed and watch the forces of nature at work, secure in the knowledge that I will neither be rained on nor struck down by lightning.

The storm front moved through very quickly and although I heard several grumbles of thunder off in the distance there was not a drop of rain to be seen or heard and long before daylight appeared the skies had cleared completely.
.

2009-01-16T16:00:00.000+11:00

nitted brain

I could scarcely believe my ears this morning as I listened to the 774 breakfast program and the talk was about a knitted brain. Some-one has actually set to work and knitted an anatomically correct model of the brain.

This some-one is one Dr Karen Norberg, a psychiatrist, and the whole project took a year with separate sections being knitted and then brought together. I think it is brilliant and now I want to knit one myself. It might be a better option that the brain I am operating with currently.

Looking at the photo you can see there is a lot of painstaking work and the use of appealing colours make the finished article much less confronting than being faced with the real deal.

I hope this is not all too much information for you today…….

Right now I am off to search out a knitting pattern so I will have a standby brain for those days when my wits seem to have deserted me.

2009-01-15T17:50:00.003+11:00

anuary

I was thinking today about the months of the year and the meanings they have for me.

So here follows a dissertation on the month of January.

By the time the last week in December rolls around I am ready to move on and looking forward to the start of a new year; after all it’s good to make a fresh start and hope springs eternal that the year which is just starting will be better, if needs be, than the year that is just finishing. Right, that deals with the delusional stuff quick smart.

Weather-wise January is a month where you can count on the days being really hot; many people are on holidays and they flock to the beach even on the hottest days and lie in the sun hoping to get the tan to end all tans, their photo in the paper and maybe even a melanoma sometime in the future.

The paper itself falls into holiday format and there is always the obligatory article on books to read at the beach as suggested by well known people in the world of literature and other important places. Time is spent searching the pages of the paper for familiar columns only to find they have apparently taken leave until the end of January.

Some small businesses close in January and I have to remind myself that a loaf of bread is now further away than a ten minute walk if I want something direct from the bake house and a cup of decent coffee may be even further away!!

This year I was looking forward to the traditional breakfast-at-a-posh-hotel followed by a day at the races at Hanging Rock. All that came together nicely, thank you very much. At the end of this month I am looking forward to going to my first ever real live Neil Young concert, a fabulous bookend to the month.

Shops being closed has its upside, temptation is removed and in three weeks I may not even be able to remember where I saw that dust-gathering & totally unnecessary object that I absolutely thought I had to have….

There is always the Australian Open – more commonly referred to in this town as ‘the tennis’; everyone here knows what you are talking about when you talk about ‘the tennis’. More about that later in January.

This year peoples’ optimism may be tempered by the doom and gloom surrounding the finances of the world generally. Hardly a day goes by where there is not a report of another financial disaster on the home or abroad scene and if there isn’t anything to report the papers make sure to remind us there may be some new financial disaster just around the corner.

Since I have pulled out the paltry remains of my superannuation which has taken a bit of a hit by the GFC I am not too concerned about the doom and gloom prognostications; whatever goes up and down in my super money now will be guided by my hand, not some bunch of financial cowboys in some other place.

Even with a sense of uncertainty around, it still looks like a reasonable year ahead from where I sit tapping away at the keyboard.

..

2009-01-14T18:55:00.001+11:00

rrigation System

The recent burst of hot weather has prompted the GS-C to put their combined heads together and come up with an idea to improve the garden watering.

We have decided the place to install our first irrigation system – yes, we have ambitions and ideas about installing others- will be under the balconies at the front of the building. We are going to combine a cleanup and revamp with the irrigation system. This is a garden area where, instead of plants which you might expect to find in a garden, bits of broken concrete and half bricks and rubbish have accumulated over the years. It has the neglected look of public housing where no one gives a damn about anything, much less a garden.

This morning with the help of David, the man who comes to tidy up path edges, generally clean up the garden area and trim back overhanging bushes each fortnight, we got stuck into things and carted away heaps of broken concrete and brick pieces and other rubbish The GS-C had already been around to their favourite hardware store and purchased a length of irrigation hose and organized the other bits that are needed to keep it in place. David did all the cutting and joining and we used a long hose connected to a garden tap to make sure it actually worked.

There were a few moments of heated debate about how the hose should be laid; with the outlets towards the ground or on the top. Finally the vote was two to one in favour of the outlets being on top and the job was finished. All that remains is to cut a short length of hose that will connect the tap to the end of the irrigation hose and we will be in business.

In theory now all I have to do on the allocated watering days is to get up bright and early, scamper down the stairs and turn on the tap and the watering will look after itself for an hour or so. A much better idea, in my opinion, than lugging heavy watering cans about first thing in the morning.

The next step in the beautification plan is to get a few bags of wood chips, put down some newspapers to suppress the weeds and maybe see what hardy plants we can coax to grow there.

Anything would be an improvement.

2009-01-13T19:55:00.000+11:00

eatwave conditions

Today has been a really very hot day. Yes, I know it is summer but yesterday the temperature was a pleasant 23 C and today it has jumped up to 37.6C. Quite a jump.

And more of the same is forecast for tomorrow. I am really looking forward to that…. The poor old garden is struggling along these days with the limited watering we are allowed to do on a twice weekly basis. And the less said about the vegetable garden the better.

Of course this hot weather always brings out the worst in our public transport services and a sorry lot of commuters had delayed and cancelled train services by the dozen today which would do very little to improve their outlook. As usual the blame game was played by the train operators who lay the blame for all the delays and cancellations at the feet of the State government who are responsible for the infrastructure; all the buckled lines and air conditioning units that no longer air condition and any problems that might relate to power faults and signal problems.

Tomorrow letters of outrage and accusations of government neglect of the public transport system will put in their mandatory appearance. There’s nothing like a spate of hot weather where commuters have been left wilting on train platforms at the end of the day to provoke letters of fury in the press the next day.

2009-01-11T15:55:00.004+11:00

ourmet breakfast

I have this to say: the word gourmet would have to be one of the most over-used words in the English language, especially when used in connection with and on menus and other signage in places associated with food.

OK. Now that’s cleared the air there and allows me to continue with the abuse of the word when describing my breakfast this morning.

My intentions were the best when I started out but it didn’t take too long before the whole brave idea degenerated into the same old breakfast that appears most mornings of the week.

When I looked about in the kitchen this morning I was inspired by the array of summer fruit I had just waiting to be eaten. I decided I would prepare a small plate of fresh seasonal fruit s, one you might find served in the better class of bed and breakfast were you to be travelling around the state of Victoria right now.

I think I have some way to go before I achieve the required standard of presentation but I can assure you this lack of style did not diminish the taste. The lack of style is illustrated clearly by the pips still sitting in the orange slices. No self respecting bed and breakfast establishment would display such shortcomings in the food service line.After that little effort I reverted back to the normal breakfast of muesli, toast and a good old ‘cuppa tea’.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. This is the best time of the year for fresh fruit. The cherries and the blueberries came from the Farmers Market yesterday and are locally grown. I cannot say the same for the oranges; they are a supermarket purchase along with the kiwi fruit. The kiwi fruit, as its name suggests, is imported from New Zealand.

And that’s the January wrap for fresh fruit folks.

2009-01-09T15:55:00.000+11:00

lowering gums

In spite of the lack of water over the past ten years, the flowering gums are looking spectacular this year.

Each time I walk up to the corner shopping centre I walk past these beautiful cream blossoms. The tree is covered in flowers and the dull buzz of the bees hangs in the air on a hot summer day.

I have taken a close-up here so you can see the amazing detail in the blossom.

Vibrant colours, like the red below, seem to shimmer in the heat of a hot summer day and in some country towns you will find avenues of these trees which greet people as they drive into town.

2009-01-05T15:55:00.001+11:00

arnings shortfall

How ironic is this? I read today , with wry amusement, an article in the paper whose headline informs readers of the impact the falling use of water here in Melbourne will have on pushing up water prices. Yes, you understood it right folks; we put our best foot forward and make a huge effort to use less water in view of the dwindling water supply here in Melbourne and it is now highly possible we will be paying more money for our effort.

Ah the joys of privitisation. When a government (in this case, a state government) finds it is short of money it looks around to see what assets can be sold off to shore up the treasury. Water was the chosen asset in the mid-nineties and Melbourne Water was divided into three regional retail businesses and our water bills arrived not long after bearing the name of a private company. The Essential Services Commission, described as an independent regulator, oversees the pricing and regulations covering water here in Victoria and they recently sounded a warning about the possibility of price hikes.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, the water companies encourage their users to cut back on water as the drought continues while being fully aware that this will reduce their earnings. Add to that some large works in progress; a desalination plant – they don’t come cheap – the controversial north-south pipeline and the high cost of borrowing for capital works and the outlook is not rosy for the water companies.

Now to wait and see the outcome of this latest piece of news; one thing you can be sure of, water prices will not be going down.

2009-01-04T19:55:00.000+11:00

iary search

The search for the ‘cheese’ diary was short and sweet this year.

I’ve got this diary business down to a fine art now. I don’t waste time running around here and there; I now cut straight to the chase and head for The Funky Stationery Shop. I breeze in the door and a quick look around the diary stand tells me that my search is over.

This year I am going for a vibrant colour and Sam is keeping a red diary on hold for me until I return, cash in hand, to buy it. I am pleased to be able to cross this off my list in early January.

Now all I have to do is sit back and wait for all the social engagement to roll in and I can fill in those blank spaces.

2009-01-01T20:30:00.002+11:00

pproach

I’m taking a new approach to New Year’s resolutions this year.

It’s not a radical new approach; this year I am moving away from the idea of making a definite resolution about what I will undertake in the improvement line.

I am not setting myself boundaries and criteria that have to be adhered to without fail. There is no surer way for me to fail than to set really strict rules about the expectations I have for achieving objectives within a set time frame.

This year I am taking a more relaxed and laidback approach to how I might improve things. It’s as simple as selecting a handful of aims and looking at them every so often through the year to see whether any of these relaxed and laidback aims have been achieved. Or not. The ‘or not’ is the one that will be most likely to happen, based on past experience.

So that’s it. No threats about how I will punish myself if these aims are not achieved. Just the year rolling along and every so often I will consider my handful of aims and then consider whether the world will end and the sky fall in if I don’t see any miraculous changes.

I don’t need a crystal ball to foretell how all this will pan out.

2009-01-01T20:20:00.000+11:00

ella

Bella is the downstairs cat. She is one of three felines who live in our apartment block and is the most recent arrival; recent means she moved here just over two years ago.

Anyone who likes cats loves Bella. She has thick, short, beautifully patterned and coloured fur and a friendly disposition. A horse stood on her tail when she lived in the country earlier in her life, but the remnant she is left with doesn’t impede her in any way, especially in the hunting skills department.

When she first came to live here she was in the bad books for killing birds in the garden and dragging the dead carcasses into the carpeted stairways where the birds were dismembered and feathers scattered all round. A few words with her owner saw the bells on her collar increase both in number and volume. Problem solved.

Bella is also a poster girl for the original curious cat. If there is an open door, whether it is a car door or the storage room door, she will be there checking things out. I was in the store room sorting a few things out one day and Bella was hanging about and poking her head into the cupboard. I closed the door and half an hour later realised I hadn’t seen her in the garden. I opened the door and there she was with a look on her face that asked what had taken me so long to work out where she was and why she was missing and that I should come at once and rescue her.

One of her favourite snoozing spots is the bonnet of any car just driven into the car park. She is often found comfortably curled up on a car, soaking up the warmth from the sun above and the engine warmth from below. She is not fussed whose car she sleeps on and never gives a thought to paw marks on highly polished surfaces. Needless to say there are a couple of neat freaks who nearly expire if they find her on their car.

Recently I asked her if she would be able to spare the time for a photo shoot and this is more or less what followed:

Ms Soup: 'Good afternoon Ms Bella I wondered........."

Ms Bella: "Oh for goodness sake, here I am having a nice quiet snooze and you come up talking at me and giving me a big fright. It's enough to make a girl shed one of her nine lives. "

Ms Soup: "I'm very sorry to disturb you Ms Bella, but would it be convenient right now to do the photo shoot? The light is really lovely this afternoon."

Ms Bella: "Oh my goodness, I don't always look my best when I first wake up but I do love the idea of a photo shoot. What would you like me to do?"

Ms Soup: "Photo shoots go well when the subject is looking relaxed and happy. Do you think you could try that?"

Ms Bella: "Sure, I'll give it my best shot."

Ms Bella: "How about I try this, it's my very relaxed and laid back pose?

Ms Soup" "That's wonderful Ms Bella, you look beautiful and I'm sure you will be a big hit on the world wide web."

Ms Bella: "Web? What web? You know I don't like spiders - they fight back and nip and are very tricky customers."

Ms Soup: "Relax, it's just a term for starting a fan club."

Ms Bella: " A fan club. How divine."

The divine Ms Bella awaits the rush of fans clamouring for her attention.

2009-01-01T20:10:00.002+11:00

ountry Races

My plan to get MyVeryBestFriendCarmel along to the New Year’s Day country picnic race meeting worked. The train timetable was obliging with the train arriving at Southern Cross station in plenty of time to get to the races before the second race. We have to leave the races immediately after the second last race on the card but that is no bad thing. It means we avoid the scrum and traffic jams that are a regular feature of this meeting every year, when the crowd all attempt to leave at the same time.

MI had a busy morning; Neighbour Heather and I go off to breakfast at a posh city hotel which has recently undergone serious renovations. The new restaurant, is a wonder of modern design and the food is definitely to be recommended; however I found the large stone bird sculptures, a cross between Bunjil and an Easter Island statue, which perched near the bar somewhat disconcerting and menacing; especially at eight o’clock in the morning. Maybe in the evening after a few beverages they might look friendlier but this morning they had the disapproving look of someone who had seen enough bad behaviour the previous evening to last them until well into the future.

The train arrival time finds me speeding along Spencer Street looking for a convenient spot to pull when I spy MVBFC waiting at the front of the station. I bip the horn to attract her attention, open the passenger door and she piles in, along with a bag full of goodies for our picnic lunch. We make good time along the freeway where I throw caution to the wind and decide to take the tollway and pay later. We make good time to the racecourse and this year I take the correct exit from the freeway and don’t finish up in Woodend.

The crowd seems to be smaller than last year, we find a car park easily and then proceed to haul our chairs and tucker up to the members enclosure. This grand title applies to a grassed area located not too far from the winning post, close to the betting area and not too far from the bar. We stand and survey the scene and discuss where we might put our chairs. We are saved from making this difficult decision by a woman who inviting us to share a table with her family; we join them and there is plenty of room for the five of us. We immediately settle in and get down to the serious business of setting out lunch which we happily share with our newfound friends.

The afternoon soon passes; I appoint MVBFC as my betting agent, something she thinks I should be able to do myself and she then spends the rest of the afternoon running back and forth to the betting area while I sit around like Lady Muck from Dirt Island issuing my betting instructions. I come out about even on the day but MVBFC takes a box trifecta bet by combining a couple of her picks with a couple of my picks in the last race we watch, and comes away from the meeting in a very healthy financial state.

In other words a good time was had by all.

2008-12-31T17:25:00.000+11:00

ear's business

I amused myself today with the Biz Quiz, a page of multiple choice questions which appears to be a tongue-in-cheek approach to a few of the national and international financial disasters for which this year may be long remembered in the minds of some people. I’m thinking of those people, who for reasons best known to themselves, made poor choices when investing their money and now stand penniless, having lost – according to some newspaper reports – the proverbial shirts off their backs, not to mention the roof over their heads.

Multiple choice questions allowed the whole quiz format to take on a humorous aspect, with that old chestnut ‘all of the above’ putting in frequent appearances, plus a whole lot of tongue-in-cheek and hilarious red herring answers.

The quiz led off with BHP Billiton’s takeover offer for Rio Tinto followed by words of wisdom from a leading whitegoods and furniture retailer here in Australia, who always has plenty to say about everything. When I read these words again I wonder what he was thinking when he said them; if indeed he was thinking at all at the time. “We’re over retailed for the population we’ve got.....bulky goods developments have proliferated over the past 20 years and we’re one of the main offenders”.

Now let me just read that last sentence again. Over retailed. Oh, I get it. You’ve imported, with the help of those container ships bringing their daily cargoes from far-away places to our capital city ports, way too much stock and now having done your sums you find there aren’t enough people to buy all the whitegoods and furniture crammed into your stores. Oh dear.

I can only assume ‘bulky goods developments’ is retail jargon for stores that stock large items: beds, refrigerators, plasma TVs, lounge suites, washing machines, clothes dryers and dish washers. There is absolutely no doubt about the proliferation of these stores; they are everywhere and the main attraction seems to be their ability to offer cheaper and cheaper goods while at the same time sacrificing quality.

We are reminded that the Australian Government stepped up to the plate at the request of the banks to guarantee their deposits; a jolly good thing because banks in other countries seemed to be toppling over at an alarming rate. It is nice to know that if something nasty comes out of the woodwork and devours your life’s saving that the government will stump up a small amount to tide you over until better times arrive.

A leading childcare provider lost its lead smartly when the GFC struck and the combination of over extending one’s ambitions and rising interest rates made for a lot of crying in the playground sandpits and other places. A brewing company kicked out the chief executive because its shares were underperforming and the shareholders were decidedly unhappy about this state of affairs. A petrol retailer who struggled to show a profit when oil prices rose along with the Australian dollar then excelled themselves by still struggling to show a profit when oil prices fell and the Australian dollar fell. I ask you; what is going on here?

And now I am going to let you share in the quiz.

Here is the final question:

Leading economic forecasters believe that share markets in 2009 will:

a) Fall perhaps as much as 50%
b) Gain perhaps as much as 50%
c) Matter not one iota, given everyone’s packing their pickups with guns and canned food and driving into the hills
d) Be a crap shoot

Hint: there’s no right answer here dear readers. The choice is entirely yours.

And best of luck for next year with your nest egg. Maybe under the mattress is the best option. Of course that creates its own problems; it might mean sleeping on the floor. After all you don’t want to smash the nest egg do you?

2008-12-31T17:15:00.001+11:00

Same old same old from these two - not a word from Z this month - not even a hint of best wishes for 2009 to anyone who happens upon this post.

Such bad manners.

"See ya next year" they shouted, as they galloped off into the sunset of 2008

Z December 2008

2008-12-30T13:30:00.000+11:00

tenuating circumstances

Pearlie Shirley is declining to take up her ticket for the New Year’s Day races at Hanging Rock and is putting forward extenuating circumstances as her reason. She has just come back from spending Christmas with her family in Queensland and claims she is too tired from all the travelling and general family socialising when she was away.

I’m not all that keen on the idea of going to the races on my own. This picnic race meeting attracts a wide ranging group of people – apart from the top hat and tails group that you might find at an important race day at a city meeting. At Hanging Rock there is entertainment and colour and always something to watch in between races; never a dull moment in fact.

I will phone MyVeryBestFriendCarmel who is always up for a day at the races and see if she is able to come down on New Year’s Day. A lot will depend on the train timetable from her northern Victorian city and whether it will allow us enough time to make it worthwhile travelling out to the races for the day.

We will be bound to find lots to comment on and talk and laugh about if my plan comes to pass.

2008-12-28T11:25:00.000+11:00

inding up

Today I present - (drum roll) - the last recipe to wind up the International Year of the Potato.

I had considered doing something in the summer potato salad line – and then I found this one, which combines two of my favourite foods; potatoes and fish in a salad.

Salted blue-eye, potato and lemon salad.

Serves 3-4

You can poach the blue-eye fresh, but salting gives it more charm, a little firmness and a more complex flavour.

500g fillet blue-eye, trevalla or other firm white-fleshed fish, without skin.
About 1 tbsp table salt
1 bay leaf
1-2 tbsp white wine
500g pink-eye or other fresh, young waxy potatoes, well scrubbed
1 large green (spring) onion, finely sliced
2 tbsp exceptional extra virgin olive oil
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice

Start the day before if you salt the fish, otherwise allow a good half hour.

Take the blue-eye and sprinkle the salt all over and let it stand in the fridge, covered, overnight. If you don’t have the time, still salt it and leave for as long as you can.

In an 18cm saucepan or deep frying pan, heat 750 ml water with the bay leaf and white wine until it just starts to simmer, then immerse the fish and poach gently for about 5-10 minutes, depending on the thickness. Remove when cooked through (test by seeing if the fish will flake).

Meanwhile cut the spuds into smallish pieces if large, or leave whole if true baby potatoes, and simmer in salted water until tender. (I would use the fish water to boil them, to reinforce all that flavour in the dish). Drain, put into a serving bowl and toss with the onion, oil and lemon juice while still hot.

Flake the fish into the potato bowl and toss again, adding more lemon and oil to taste, and salt and pepper if need be. Serve for lunch with some green vegetables or leaves, or as a light dinner on a hot evening with a glass of riesling.

From Good Weekend Living – food by Matthew Evans...

2008-12-26T18:20:00.000+11:00

ake Two

Back to Capital Road again today, for the Boxing Day gathering.

This time the extended family, or as many are in town, will roll up the drive way and sit down at the tables on the back veranda. The outdoor furniture is in high demand again today and anyone who leaves their seat and walks away is very lucky not to find some-one else sitting in it when they go back.

Today a very long table is set out on the veranda and there is a frenzy of activity in the kitchen as the meal is produced and served on to the plates. I always enjoy the extended family gatherings. It means that I have to rack my brains to remember the different names but they are all pretty good and the sisters usually say hello and follow that up with their names right away. It’s their partners who may or may not be the same ones as last time and their children who are the same ones but maybe two or three years older.

And then there is Patsy, the mother of the clan, whom I am always very pleased to see. We are the same vintage and have many things in common; we can relate to the same events and ideas without any controversial disagreements. We are miles apart in life-style and talents but that isn’t any barrier to conversation between us.

I was quick to notice that Lindy has brought along some small spinach and fetta muffins and as I guessed they are from the same recipe that I have been sitting on for years now waiting for the right time to make them. The meal progresses and the plates and food are cleared away and it’s time for the washing up. Although the dishwasher is filled up there are plenty of dishes and saucepans and baking dishes to be done by hand.

I have been eyeing off the coffee machine over the past two days and today I get the opportunity to see how it works. The coffee machine is Chris’ baby and he is the one who makes the coffees. I like this machine so much and it seems quite simple to use; I may even consider getting one for the Trash Palace.

I have a few words with Flo who is taking things easy today, the bigger crowd of people and all the activity have tired her out and she has gone to have a quiet snooze in her sitting room.

I feel a bit overwhelmed with all the talking and eating myself and head off home to Our Street around four o'clock.

2008-12-26T18:10:00.003+11:00

nusual outlook

I was intrigued by this window in the house next door yesterday and just had to have a closer look at it today.

I can hardly credit that some-one has built their house so close to the fence line that they need to cut pieces out of the fence to allow some light to come into their house. I can also hardly credit that the council allowed it to happen. Of course there have been many things done in the past when it comes to domestic buildings that are simply done and the council is none the wiser.

I walk out onto the street and look at the house from the front to see how close the house is to the fence line but the actual entry to the house obscures the view down the side of the house.

I shake my head in disbelief and wonder at this arrangement.

2008-12-26T18:05:00.000+11:00

olunteer stayover

I will be going over to stay with Flo in early January.

A recruitment drive was held this afternoon at Capital Road to find enough volunteers to help out while Jac and Chris’s go on holidays for a week or so. Patsy will do the Friday night, I will do the Saturday night and Flo’s other grandson Graeme and his wife will do the remainder of the time.

It should all be pretty straight forward; meals and instructions as to the order of the day will be set out and left on the kitchen bench.

I don’t anticipate too many problems – in fact I don’t anticipate any problems. How about that for a positive attitude? All I have to do is remember where I am supposed to be on January 10!!

2008-12-25T20:15:00.008+11:00

mall Group

I’m invited to Christmas lunch this year is at Jacquivieve’s; at the house in Capital Road where she and Chris now live.

It is only a twenty five minute drive and on Christmas Day there is not much traffic around. I’m not familiar with the area but once I negotiate Dandenong Road and make a sharp left turn I am soon at the house.

I get the guided tour; it is a big house on a big block and suits their purpose at the moment which is to provide not only enough living space for Jac and Chris but also to give Flo her own bedroom, bathroom and small lounge.

Flo is Chris’ grandmother, she is in her late nineties, and although she is not as nimble on her pins as she might wish, she certainly has all her wits about her and then some. She is no longer able to live alone in her own home which is only a few streets away and so she has recently moved around to Capital Road.

Before lunch we gave the outdoor furniture a workout, sitting in the back garden under the shade of the walnut tree chatting and having pre-lunch drinks. As the others all knew each other or were family of sorts and I only see Jacquivieve now and then I feel a bit like a fish out of water and am pleased when lunch is announced and we move inside.

Jac knows how to turn on a good spread and there is always plenty of food – way too much in fact – and I am more than a little dismayed at how much finishes up in the garbage bin after we finish the meal. The idea of using up left-overs is totally foreign to their thinking; plenty of money apparently goes hand in hand with never giving a thought to wasting the planets resources.

After lunch I sit with Flo in her cosy lounge and we talk, mostly about her life in England and how she and her husband came out to Australia and made a new life when she realised that her grandchildren were getting the short end of the stick as the result of some dysfunctional parenting. As a consequence both the grandsons, now well into middle age, think of Flo more as their mother than their grandmother. She is a woman who knows her own mind, likes to live as independently as possible and takes a lively interest, not only in her own family, but also in current national and international happenings.

The afternoon is wearing on, I gather up my bit and pieces, say my goodbyes and head off home.

2008-12-24T18:30:00.002+11:00

early there

Only one more sleep till Santa arrives.

In my inimitable style the cards, less in number each year, have been thrust into the red letter box on the corner with the faint hope that they will reach their destination before Christmas Day.

Whatever happened to New Year’s cards? A great fallback when that unexpected card arrived in the letterbox and needed a response. New Year cards seemed to go the way of the dinosaur and the dodo; I haven’t seen one around in years. New Years cards, not dodos!! Of course it would not surprise me in the slightest if a NY card turned up in the archaeological dig in the back room one of these days.

For those people in the far flung corners of the earth – read Toronto, Alabama, Auckland and Arizona - there is always that wonder of modern times – email. And so it was that with a few words and a click on the send button, I could sit back and consider the Christmas greetings finished.

In spite of the convenience and speed of the internet I always feel there is something impersonal about emails. They always seem so bland in appearance; somehow disconnected with real life and hastily flung together to fill a gap.

In my opinion emails will never take the place of a post card; and having said that I will now move along to the next post which is not unrelated to this one, as you will see if you read on.

2008-12-24T18:20:00.001+11:00

utmoded ideas

Picking up where I left off in the last post; email will never replace postcards in my world. I live well and truly in the past when it comes to many things and postcards are just one of them.

I like colour and a glimpse of exotic places on the front, a few handwritten lines of news scrawled on the other side and a real stamp affixed. I like to be able to stick the postcard on the front of the fridge or on the kitchen door where it might well sit for years until I finally decide it is past its use-by date and remove it. Try doing that with an email print out; doesn’t have quite the same attraction as far as I’m concerned.

Another outmoded idea of mine applies to one of the basics of life; namely the old-fashioned bar of soap. I just can’t come to terms with the idea of bath gel; it’s slippery and slithers off onto the shower base before you can bat an eyelid. Give me a bar of soap any day; if that slithers away at least you can pick it up again. Try picking up the shower gel, once it has hit the floor.

I will however make a concession towards a container of liquid hand wash sitting by the hand basin. It caters to those people who have germ phobia and worry about who might have previously used the bar of soap to wash their hands; not to mention the affront to their sensibilities when faced with a tired old bar of soap cracking up as it reaches the end of its useful life.

I’ll stop right here before I subject you to any more information that might fall under the heading of “too much”.

2008-12-24T18:15:00.004+11:00

ainting presented

A collage style painting, put together by the children of St John’s school is now hanging in the children’s section of the local library.

This painting, a colourful illustration of a playground scene is a tribute to and a celebration of the life of Yadav, and will be donated to his parents at the end of Term 1.

In the photograph Reuben is seen talking with Yadav's mother about the completed picture.

Rueben, a student in Grade 4 who befriended Yadav at the local library and helped him to use the computers, wanted to do something nice for him; the students from the school under the guidance of their art teacher got to work and produced a playground scene depicting things which Yadav loved; his two sisters, football goal posts and all the fun of a playground filled with kids having a good time.

I like the idea of this piece of art hanging in the children library. It serves two purposes; a tribute to the memory of Yadav and recognition of the work and affection the children at his friend Reuben’s school felt for him.

2008-12-24T18:10:00.002+11:00

The letter

is taking a well earned rest for December......

2008-12-24T18:05:00.002+11:00

eading now

At this time of the year I grab an armful of books from the library for my over-Christmas reading.

In the days of long ago and far away the library was closed for two or three weeks and in the last week before Christmas the shelves looked as though the Great Book Robbery had taken place and anyone who left it to the last minute to borrow had a very limited choice indeed.

Now the library is only closed for the public holidays, maybe four or five days depending on how the public holidays fall, there doesn’t seem to be the same urgency and there certainly is a wide choice of books to borrow.

At the moment I have a bit of a mixed bag to read – the pick seems to be La Bonne Table by Ludwig Bemelmans. His tales of life are centred around grand hotels, their kitchens and dining rooms and they kept me endlessly amused and entertained; to read his book is to step back in time to a world that no longer exists.

In total contrast I have recently made the acquaintance of Gabriel Allon, art restorer and former Israeli agent in Daniel Silva’s book The Kill Artist. As you may have already deduced it is crammed full of mystery, intrigue, espionage and death; all this against the backdrop of Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

Another choice I made for my holiday reading was to re-acquaint myself with Eric Ambler, whose books I started reading maybe forty years ago. This time I am reading Light of Day, which seems to me to be more of a chapter of errors and than a real dyed-in-the-wool espionage story.

A mixed bag indeed.

2008-12-20T21:15:00.002+11:00

arlene arrives

As is often the case with Marlene at this time of the year, her arrival is announced after the event.

We spoke on the phone, went through the usual tight schedule she faces when she comes to visit her family down South and settled for a time when she would be staying with one of her sons in Brunswick. Simple.

It’s Saturday afternoon and I drive over to Brunswick, street directory on the seat beside me and find my way to the house. Car parking in the inner suburban streets is often at a premium; when this suburb was settled in the dim and distant past it was a working-class suburb. The working class didn’t own cars; they walked, rode a bicycle or took the tram or train. Drive-ways and garages were unheard of and there was very little space between each house. It makes for interesting times now when the norm is a two car household.

Marlene is staying in this house while the family are on holidays; we sit with our cups of tea and talk about the alterations within the house made to accommodate the family and cater for modern living. Food is in short supply in the pantry, Sydney Road is only a short walk away and off we walk to find a cafe and have a bite to eat.

The best we can find is an alternative place where grunge and a mish-mash decor is the order of the day. Eating out with Marlene is something of an ordeal; she peruses the menu at length and catalogues a long list of foods not suited to her particular dietary requirements. Eventually she finds something which she orders but not without dire prognostications about the outcome if it does not agree with her delicate constitution.

I decide on my choice from the menu without too much ado and to my annoyance much later in the evening find I am the one who suffers nasty repercussions from something that disagrees with my constitution. I suspect that maybe the grunge in the decor extended to the hygiene in the kitchen. All that was in the future as we sat eating and chatting and drinking water (Marlene) and coffee (Ms Soup) and catching up on events in places near and far. The seating is a very casual arrangement, a bench along the wall side of a long table scattered with vari-coloured cushions of all shapes and sizes and degrees of lumpiness. I punch three into some semblance of order and perch atop; I now able to see over the top of the table. I like to look down upon my food and not be at eye level with the plate. This eye-level view of your meal may be part of the attraction for the young people sitting at the other tables, but for my money, alternative life-styles, especially those which involve a high degree of discomfort, are no longer at the top my list of life’s priorities.

We stroll back to the house and come across a sight that defines the Brunswick of today. A vegetable garden is being constructed on a nature strip; a nature strip is not a convenient urban space for those people wishing to throw off their clothes and prance about enjoying the delights of the sunshine and fresh air before alarmed members of the community call the Boys in Blue. It no doubt has a more contemporary name, given the predilection of local council staff for filling in their hours of employment with the arduous task of dreaming up even more obscure terms to confuse and bewilder the ratepayer. When I was little kid staying with my grandmother she would drag the old push mower out of the back shed and announce she was off to mow the front lawn and the nature strip. It is a strip on the foot path immediately adjacent to the kerbing along the roadside. In the ‘good old days’ most footpaths had a strip of grass but today, in this age when to find a footpath is a rare thing in some suburbs, they are not so common.

A young woman was busy transplanting tomato and what looked like cucumber seedlings into some very dry sandy soil and then carting buckets of grey water from her house to help them get established. They will need massive amounts of good luck and water in equal parts to survive the current dry weather and scorching days.

Goodness!! This post has turned into a marathon and run all over the place in every direction. I shall try to make the next post short and to the point.

Do I hear the sound of distant laughter?

2008-12-18T17:15:00.000+11:00

ynch lunch

This is not a lunch for those in favour of summarily hanging people – I felt I should clear up any possible misunderstandings about the title at the outset.

Lynch’s was the restaurant of our choice (Neighbour Heather and I) for our Christmas treat. I have to be honest here and say we were greatly influenced by the set price menu I discovered was on offer this month. Under normal circumstances only the well heeled eat at Lynch’s. After many years the original owner sold up and new people are in charge; perhaps the slowing of the economy has prompted them to offer a set price lunch menu. I can only imagine some regulars might take a dim view of this and be sniffing and muttering about the riff-raff that will now come through the door.
We did not disappoint them when we arrived, looking just what we really are, the riff-raff. We put on our best fraudulent “we can buy and sell this lot” faces and were shown to our table.

The restaurant is in an old terrace house; consequently there are several small rooms some of which have been opened up with one or two still the original size. The larger ones cater for larger groups although none of the rooms caters for numbers like fifty or more – not any of the rooms we could see. At the front the veranda has been converted into a conservatory like area with a glassed area and a view across the park to the Botanic Gardens. We were not lucky enough to score a seat out there but sat inside in a small inside room.

The meal was lovely, the service attentive without being overwhelming and we spent a lot of time looking about to see who and what we could see. A lot of this looking about was aided by the mirrors placed at strategic points in each room; a way perhaps of the staff keeping tabs on how things are going at the tables without being intrusive.

We walked out into the sunshine and along to St Kilda Road very happy with our choice of Christmas lunch venue for this year.

2008-12-16T11:15:00.002+11:00

omaneko

I have recently discovered Komaneko – the Curious Cat.

I picked up the kids’ flicks program from ACMI the other day and there on the cover was a photo I could not resist. The distance between adulthood and the return to childhood is very short indeed some days and immediately I knew I would have to see this movie.

Komaneko is a would-be animator who makes not only her own puppets (cat puppets, of course) but also makes the film sets and then films them on an 8mm camera. This is a Japanese production and I am sure it will be worth seeing.

I’ve missed out this time as I picked up the info and then promptly forgot about it. Let’s hope ACMI show it again some time in the future.

I must be reverting to my childhood - really want to see this little movie.

2008-12-14T18:30:00.003+11:00

istory Resurfaces

I never know what might work its way to the top of the archaeological dig. Today a tattered, yellowing newspaper article from The Herald– an evening paper in Melbourne at that time, now defunct- of Wednesday December 14, 1983 made an appearance.
How timely, I thought as I read the date – twenty five years and I can make this fit to the day. The headlines are attention grabbing to say the least. In big black bold capitals IT’S HATRED IN THE WILDERNESS headline sets the tone for the article.

It’s an interesting exercise to read an article that is twenty five years old and to recall how things were then and how they are now. The wilderness is the site where the Franklin Dam was set to be built and the hatred (and there was plenty of that around at the time) was centred in the west coast Tasmanian towns of Queenstown and Strahan and aimed at those lower than low life “greenies”.

The High Court decision to halt the construction of the dam had already been handed down but resentment was still smouldering in these towns who saw jobs being lost and interference in local affairs by a bunch of tree-huggers and mainlanders who should have been minding their own business and keeping out of Tasmanian affairs. Over the previous year only a brave (or foolhardy) person would venture into these towns with interstate plates and a No Dams sticker on their car.

At the time this article was published, Bob Brown, today a Senator in the Federal parliament, was a state MP and a major force behind the campaign to save the wilderness from yet another hydro-electric dam in Tasmania. It had been a long hard slog for the No Dams proponents and the opposition had been vocal and unrelenting in their resistance to any idea of saving the Franklin. After all, this was the all-electric island where the Hydro was king and nothing was going to change the status quo if the pro-hydro Tasmanians had anything to do with it. Much was made of the absolute necessity for yet another dam without which the economy of Tasmania would collapse and there would be a catastrophic loss of jobs. Now twenty five years later Tasmania still ticks over, has more electricity than it can use and the jobless situation is still much the same as it has been for many years; it could be better but it could be a lot worse.

The newspaper article tells us that already the more entrepreneurial and far-sighted people have seen the opportunity for tourism and have purchased big cruise boats to take people on sightseeing trips across Macquarie Harbour and then to the upper reaches of the Gordon River to see this special wilderness that has been granted a reprieve.

And so it is that twenty five years after all this trouble, turmoil and division one of the main reasons people drive to the west coast and town of Strahan is to take a boat up the Gordon or a helicopter to see an area of unsurpassed natural beauty that came within a whisker of being lost forever.

2008-12-14T18:20:00.001+11:00

ndefatigable Constance

Constance Little has been a prolific writer of letters to the editors of the two major Melbourne papers for a many, many years.

My first recollection was of short letters appearing in the Fifty-Fifty column in the Sun; this was a column where such letters (no doubt edited by the paper) on current topics would appear. I was intrigued by this woman from East Gippsland who had something to say so often about so many topics.

At that time we had family friends living in Lakes Entrance and Constance then lived on a property near Swan Reach; when we drove through this dot on the map some comment would often be made about Constance and we would debate whether she might be out on the farm writing a letter at that very moment we were driving through the town.

A few days back an article appeared in the Melbourne Age announcing that Constance E Little was putting the top on her pen permanently after fifty years of writing letters to the editor. Along with those people who had looked forward to reading her letters I also was aghast and not a little saddened to think I would no longer see her in print.

Constance was unafraid to take a stand at odds with popular opinion and often took the side of the underdog. Some of her letters were reprinted and it was interesting to read a letter on global warming written in 2001 where her she put forward the idea that global warming was already here and how we adopt this ostrich attitude to this threat to our planet. My sentiments exactly Constance!!

Alongside the letters were two photographs, one black and white taken in the early days of her writing, evinced by her hair style and sensible country style dress and the other more recent showing a stylish Constance wearing an elegant dress and jacket complete with pearls, earrings and a lovely hat.

Constance first started writing letters at age 14 for her school paper and claims to be a descendant of Charles Dickens. Her daughter describes her as a tough country woman with style and grace who is equally skilled at turning out fine soups and fruit cakes as well as fine written words.

Age may have wearied Constance and prompted her decision at age 89 to call a halt to her letter writing career but I am sure that she will not be forgotten and many people will miss her short, sharp and succinct written opinions on contemporary issues.

Well done Constance, goodbye, your writing will not be forgotten.

2008-12-14T18:10:00.002+11:00

acaranda blossom

There seems to be something about the first half of December that attracts heavy downpours of rain here in Melbourne. Last year it happened around the time of Steve and Katie’s wedding and now it has happened again.

The rain, of course, is most welcome and provides some respite from the early morning watering. The jacaranda trees were just looking at their best and now the rain has pelted the blossom down onto the ground. I pick up the camera and go downstairs to take a couple of photos of the purple scatter of blossom strewn along the wet path.

Walking around to the north side of the building I find more purple blossom scattered over the concrete. Bending down to take a photo I spy a couple of struggling fuchsias, buried among the lantana undergrowth. Goodness knows how long they have been there – I have never noticed them before. How these plants came to be there I have absolutely no idea; we did have one old gnarled and misshapen fuchsia on the south side of the building but it went some time ago to that great garden paradise in the sky.

Although this rain means I don’t have to water for a couple of days we are going to need a whole lot more in the right places – preferably the catchment areas - before it will make a real difference to Melbourne’s water supply.

2008-12-13T11:10:00.005+11:00

oodbye Su-Chen

Su-Chen has packed up her tent and stolen away, metaphorically speaking.

The doors closed for the last time on the exhibition and it was all hands to the pump while the prints and the accompanying text were taken down, rolled up and packed ready for the trip back to Taiwan. A lot of repetitive hard work is involved in taking down an exhibition within a short time frame.

Setting up has an air of expectation and excitement but taking down is the other end of the scale, there is something deflating about it and a distinct sense of finality as the work is taken down. It is not unlike moving house in some respects, especially that moment when you look around and find something has been tossed into a corner and now a space has to be found for it in the packing box. Groan.

Su-Chen organised a get-together for ethnic members of a two community gardens on the final weekend and they all met up in the afternoon at the Botanic Gardens for a picnic and a last look at the exhibition.

It has been a busy and exciting time while Su-Chen has been here and I hope I might have shown her something about Melbourne that she might not have known before she arrived. I have learned much about some aspects of the terrain and people of Taiwan and a little about digital photography as an art form. There should always room for meeting new people, they often add another dimension to the fabric of our lives.

Yes, you’re right – that is not an original thought on my part – I first heard it from an American woman I met while on a tourist adventure to some outlying islands off the coast of Vancouver Island; I like the idea and trot it out whenever I feel it is appropriate to the topic.

Goodbye Su Chen and Mr Lu. Maybe I will see you in Taiwan one day…..

2008-12-11T23:10:00.017+11:00

inal concert

Tonight was the last concert in the JA MSO concert sweepstakes. As the old saying goes, all good things must come to an end; John is going to hand over the MSO season ticket to his daughter Eugenie who will carry on the tradition.

We kick off the evening with the usual pre-concert dinner and I meet up with John, his sister and her guest, in the restaurant before the concert. His sister is eldest in the family and often is on the receiving end of some mild sibling-oriented teasing. John insists that she has become very vague, but if she has I have to say she conceals it very well.

John’s sister always brings along a guest to the concert and they are always interesting people. Tonight it was her daughter-in-law Kristina, who passed with flying colours thus maintaining the past high guest standard . Kristina is one of nine siblings in a Hungarian family and was raised with a strong sense of community involvement. As a result she is now an advocate for a mentally disadvantaged friend of the family who, sadly, does not have the social skills to run her own life. Kristina has taken on the responsibility of advocate for this family friend but wonders and sometimes worries what will happen if her charge outlives her even though this Katrina is ten years younger than her charge. It's heartening that people can be found who have a social conscience and who often take on duties many people would shirk from as too onerous or too time-consuming.

With the chit-chat and dinner was behind us, we make our way to the concert hall where I sit for one last time in the centre two rows back from the front; where the view of feet and legs is unsurpassed but beyond the front row of musicians the players and their instruments can only be discerned by sound.

Tonight the program was Berlioz, Strauss and Ravel; Ravel won hands down. The concertmaster threw her all into her violin playing and through the progress of the program many of the strings in the bow parted company and were swiftly dispatched to the floor.

I consider myself to be very lucky to have been part of the MSO Sweepstakes over the past three years and will now have to be content with listening to any of their concerts which may be broadcast over the radio.

2008-12-07T20:15:00.000+11:00

nd session

The next day saw a smaller class as one or two dropped out for reasons best known to themselves.

Today we tackled structure – something else totally foreign to me. I think I need to return to school and do a total refresher course in the English language at a basic secondary school level before I entertain the idea I might be able to write something worth reading

Today we move on to structure; the direction a memoir might take and how the story needs a pleasing shape together with the idea of linking the end back to the beginning. The over-arching ideas that make a story into a readable entity. In my dreams I think to myself.

When writing a memoir it is important to get all the vitriol and bitterness out in the first draft. I am aware there are a couple of people in the class who have had what might be described as dysfunctional and often unhappy lives. I inwardly sigh with relief at not having a sufficiently interesting life to write about. At least I don’t have to face the long slog of writing something which will be eventually tossed out. Bitterness and vitriol are sometimes difficult to let go of; you might be then faced with the idea that you life hasn’t been nearly as bad as you think and be forced to rethink you whole life from an entirely different point of view. Phew. Lucky escape for me there.

Chronology and themes and how they might fit in are ideas we next explore and unwittingly I am are creeping towards a small glimmer of light at the end of my personal writing tunnel. There are many ways of approaching the memoir writing process, not the least of them being a set of stories around a particular theme.

The light dawns. I’ve got it. I’ll write a series of stories about my travels. It will be purely an exercise in writing for my own personal satisfaction. To hell with the idea of ever being a published writer. After this weekend reality has struck and I now certainly know my limitations.

On the other hand there is absolutely nothing to stop me from doing something for my own satisfaction and enjoyment. I leave the writing circle for the last time realising all is not lost and my weekend has not been time entirely wasted.

Already I have a couple of ideas about how this might take shape. Now to find the notes and diaries I need and to get down to business. I should warn you not to hold your collective breaths waiting for an outcome.

Rome wan’t built in a day.

2008-12-06T18:45:00.004+11:00

athedral Arcade.

Cathedral Arcade is the entrance to the Nicholas Building, currently the home of the Writers’ Centre. The arcade has a vaulted lead light ceiling which can be seen in the photo on the right. In the space of a week countless people might walk through this arcade but I wonder how many look up and admire the lead lighting above their heads? It is an architectural delight straight out of the nineteen twenties.

I walk into the arcade and make a choice between taking an easy walk up the stairs to the next floor or taking the lift, another relic from the past. One lift has an operator and the other is the the do-it-yourself model; the model where your heart skips a beat when the door clangs shut and your mind rapidly assesses the chances of escaping from this little cage on the next floor. A hearty breakfast and strength training are two things increasing your chances of escape. The doors are unbelievably heavy. The outer door automatically closes after you, the inner door has to be closed and then opened along with the outer door at the floor of your choice.

All this heaving and pushing at doors makes for a strenuous start to the day. Tottering out of the lift I find the room where our workshop will take place; a large room overlooking the street below. I don’t think there will be too much looking out onto the street today or tomorrow. Chairs are arranged in a semi-circle, the ultra punctual and the early birds have already secured the places of their choice. Patti, our tutor, greets us and one by one the course participants fill the chairs.

While part of me is extremely apprehensive about the outcome of the workshop another part of me is consumed with curiosity about the other participants, their backgrounds and the part they will play in our group over the weekend. I am not some-one who might be described as a “people person” but I am fascinated by people and their behaviour.

After an opening pre-amble Patti hands out copies of her book “Writing Your Life”. What should be a straight forward exercise morphs into a skirmish of sorts. One of this group already has a book and doesn’t feel the need for another copy. Out tutor explains it is already paid for in the cost of the course. Suggestions to solve this dilemma are offered from around the room and I flippantly suggest she might be able to pass it on as a Christmas present.

In nearly every group of strangers gathered together for a common purpose there is a shakedown process. It is the establishment of pecking order, where the leading lights, the in-betweens and the also-rans find their level in the shake-out. My flippant remark drew swift retribution from Ginny seated next to me; she apparently saw me as the perfect piece of furniture suitable for a claw-sharpening exercise. She makes it very clear to me that not everyone does Christmas and quickly dismisses my response with a swift rejoinder about not making assumptions.

Suitably chastised, from that point on I am careful to avoid any engagement or dispute around ideas Ginny might put to the group; believe me she is not short of words or ideas for the duration of the workshop. She has plenty to say on nearly everything and reminds us she is after all, a published author; albeit in one particular field – food – thus establishing herself as a suitable candidate for the leading light group.

There are only two men in the group, both older men and both with the ability to diffuse volatile situations; George through his use of verbal and written humour and Murray whose skill at written detail and the ability to make a story come alive are a welcome addition to the group. I am very grateful to Murray, who arrives late and drags a chair into the circle between Ginny and myself, so reducing the possibility of any further damage following on from my being perceived as suitable claw sharpening furniture.

Early on I made my judgements about who has interesting backgrounds and therefore a wealth of material to draw on. Jhi Ling, wishes to write about her childhood in China. She was left at a young age to be reared by her grandmother. It is her intention to leave her daughters with a better understanding of the contrast between her upbringing in China and theirs here in Australia. Laura, whose background is Namibian/Croatian – imagine that combination if you will - has the potential to draw on many colourful and contrasting aspects of her life. Laura has a sparkling personality and generous nature and at our first tea break disappears only to return a few minutes later with a box of doughnuts. Morning tea for everyone.

Leona, down from Sydney for the workshop is nursing a hangover as a result of a night on the town with three friends last night, but was clearly a leading light as she had already submitted a manuscript to Patti for perusal.

Mostly everyone else is vying for the middle ground having strong backgrounds in writing in some form or other; academic, report writing and the occasional thesis. Nearly everyone wants to write a complete memoir of some type.

I was beginning to think this was not the best idea I had ever had in my life and it was only mid-morning of the first day. I stuck however, to the old maxim of paying your money and taking your chances and tempted as I was I didn’t run away immediately after the morning tea doughnut feast.

2008-12-06T18:30:00.002+11:00

ay one

After morning tea we settled down to the serious business of writing and it isn’t long before the feeling of having jumped in at the deep end of the pool and being totally out of my depth is at the forefront of my mind. I begin to question my bravado about staying on and not running away after the doughnut feast.

It is a distinct advantage, I realise, to have previously attended a workshop; this way at least you have some understanding of what lies ahead. I hadn’t and didn’t. As a result the day was one long learning curve, in which I did a lot of writing and then found I was often wide of the mark in writing about the set topic.

We are set written exercises on a given theme; people put their heads down, write furiously and come up with a sizeable piece of work in a short space of time. Not me. Thinking and writing are both slow processes for me and I have great difficulty in differentiating between show and tell. I probably didn’t give the S&T any thought at all as I struggle to get down any words about the topic. The upside is I am in the company of people who have plenty to write about and they write in an engaging manner. Laura writes a vivid description of a house in Croatia and Ji Lhing writes about the room which she and her grandmother shared with a nesting hen.

After each task we read our pieces – a terrifying and embarrassing exercise for me – our tutor comments and everyone else in the writing circle is free to make constructive comment. Once I move out of my paralysis of terror and humiliation I listen to the others read their pieces which turns out to be the best part of the day.

Discussions are held about mnemonics and ideas for prompt recall when writing memoirs. I consider the possibility of maybe doing a mnemonics workshop. If there is one thing I am short of it is prompt recall. We refer to the book which is set out in a way that should give us the tools to achieve memoir writing tasks and discover how we can use it to best advantage.

We also write and discuss small pieces which should reveal out ‘writing voice’ and also dialogue to see how that might work best in particular situations. I consider dialogue akin to writing a play and see immediately there is no future for me as a playwright.

I seem to spend most of the day putting the cart before the horse and go home entirely discouraged and disillusioned.

2008-12-05T16:05:00.006+11:00

ig decision

I’ve made the big decision about the writers’ workshop. Right on the deathknock. I am going to do it. Nothing ventured nothing gained – all that stuff.

Cash in hand I stood at the reception desk at the Writers’ Centre and requested a place for tomorrow. After negotiating successfully for a concession rate I take out a membership for a year and a place in the workshop tomorrow and hand over the cash.

I leave the building, my thoughts and feelings evenly divided between elation and anticipation on the one hand and fear and dread on the other.

2008-12-02T11:05:00.004+11:00

nswer Here

Wait no longer.

Here is the answer to the question posed in this post.

It is a drum is a piece of equipment used in the production of chocolate coated nuts and other chocolate coated goodies.

To learn more about how it works click here and The Nut Factory will fill you in on the details as well as make your mouth water if you just happen to click on any of their other product pages.

Tricked you all there didn't I?

2008-11-30T11:50:00.001+11:00

ou Think

You have a problem – you think about it. Maybe some-one else can help you with the solution to this problem. You think about whom that person might be and you think about how other people might solve a similar problem. Then you think you have an idea that might be the solution.

In this case I’m the one with the problem not you. It’s not an insurmountable problem, this is not a crisis on a global scale but it is one that now presents itself to me for a number of reasons and it needs to be resolved.

The first reason is I don’t have a home computer – I can manage that by using the service offered by my local library when it come to the really important things in life such as blogging and emails.

Up until now I have managed by judicious deleting of photos on the camera card to have enough space but the end is nigh and now I am faced with having to download them by some means or other.

I go along to my local photo shop and arrange to have the card downloaded onto a USB device. Good. That solves the initial problem of running out of card space. The second problem is how to down load photos in the future on a public computer.

Simple it seems. Buy a card reader. I am probably the only person in the whole of the civilised world who doesn’t know about this option. Now I am set for life; I have a special USB set aside solely for photos and I have a card reader which will allow me to take photos off the card and save them for posterity.

You think I am pleased about the outcome? Of course I am.

2008-11-30T11:30:00.001+11:00

Here are these little blighters again.

Not prepared to do a stroke of work as far as the letter Z and Zed the zebra goes; they are happier playing around with their friends down in the Safari Park.

No good will come of all this I can tell you.

2008-11-29T19:45:00.067+11:00

hibition Opening

Lu Chien-ming

Hsu Su-chen

On the reverse side of the centre top photo, which is the invitation to the exhibition, you can read the following.

A Collaborative Exhibition by Artist Hsu Su-chen and Eco-architect Lu Chien-ming

Domain House, Dallas Brooks Drive, South Yarra 3141

(Opposite the National Herbarium of Victoria, Royal Botanic Gardens Melbourne)

Opening: 6-8 pm Friday 28 November 2008

Exhibition Dates: 29 November - 13 December 2008 11 am - 5 pm Wednesday to Saturday

Community Gardens Exchange: 11 am - 5 pm Saturday 29 November 2008

(All other swaps welcome during the exhibition)

Then follows a list of sponsors - always important, without them an exhibition might not even happen - and then a synopsis about the back-ground of the exhibition.

Taiwanese artist in residence at the National Herbarium of Victoria, Royal Botanic Gardens Melbourne,Su-chen Hsu, presents three stories of plants that thrive in adverse environments in Taiwan in Plant Matter NeoEden. The plants are presented in the form of digital prints, and offered to the visiting public in exchange for vegetables, particularly those grown in Melbourne's community gardens. Each of the vegetable/print swaps will be documented and exhibited in Domain House, illustrating the manner in which various community groups use their gardens to relate to food culturally and socially, and the relative safety of these home-grown plants produced in an urban environment.

An Asialink/TapeiArtist Village project supported by Taipei culture Foundation and The Department of Cultural Affairs, Taipei City Government.

That should give you a clearer picture about what is really happening at this exhibition that my garbled version that accompanies each post. I hope!!

As you can see by the wording on the back of the invite the official opening on Friday which was last night and means this is a two-part post. First about last night and at the end about today.

In one corner of the room is the produce component of the exhibition; you can see there is some rhubarb at the front and other vegetables on either side at the back.

In the adjacent corner of the room is a story board describing the various plants Su-chen has selected from the community gardens here in Melbourne

At the opening people walked around the room and examined the various digital photos of the plants and their accompanying story.

The above boards tell a little about the people who use the plants depicted in the exhibition, the area where plants are found and what type of plants you might find.

One of the people I met at the opening, a botanist at the Gardens, asked me which plant I had chosen for my 'swap' and when I said I had chosen the deer tree she told me there was a mature specimen in the Botanic Gardens. I was delighted to think I would be able to see a deer tree right here in Melbourne. She wrote down the directions to get to the deer tree on a serviette and I will come back one day and see if I can find it.

This smiling group of people are all from Taiwan; Mr Lu and Su-chen on the right, two girls from Taiwan who are living in Melbourne and in the middle Tom, who is holding his contribution to the board in the background. I think Tom's contribution might be endive. This morning was set aside as the time for community groups to come along to the exhibition and arrange their swaps.

The general public will be able to come through the opening hours and at the end of the exhibition there will be a small picnic in the park for people from some of the community garden groups Su-chen has been involved with in her time here.

2008-11-29T19:45:00.057+11:00

orkshop decision

Enough of the pussy-footing around I say Ms Soup.

You have to make a decision about this god-damned writer’s workshop. I know what you are up to!! You are putting off the evil decision-making hour with the idea in the back of your mind that suddenly you will discover the workshop has been filled and you won’t have to face up to the idea of making an ass of yourself.

This is true isn’t it?

2008-11-27T21:30:00.000+11:00

nexpected gifts

Over the past few weeks small unexpected gifts have appeared when I meet up with Su-chen and Mr. Lu. It is their way of showing appreciation for the very small contribution I have made to their time here in Melbourne. First a lovely hand painted glass dish; then a packet of special tea from the mountains of Taiwan; I accept them gratefully and insist that although I appreciate their thoughtfulness they must not feel under any obligation.

And then today the piece de resistance. It is oblong in shape and when I unwrap it I find a box with Chinese writing, which of course I can't read.

What is this going to be? It is quite heavy and I really cannot guess what it might be.

I opened the box and inside I see this.

When I lift the scroll out there is a slip of paper underneath.

I read the reverse side and it says:

Antique map of Taiwan during the Kang-Xi era

(scaled down)

This colored. large scale map of Taiwan was drawn during the Kang-Xi era of the Qing Dynasty. The original, which has been kept a a scroll over the years, is 565 cm in length and 69 cm in width. According to popular belief, the map went missing from the Qing Palace during the period of the Eight-Nation Army invasion; it went through different hands outside the Palace and was finally located in Taiwan. Despite numerous attempts, neither has the painter of the map been identified nor has the exact date of the painting been established. However, closer examination of the content of the map has led to the initial conclusion that it depicts scenes of the 31st to the 43rd year of the Kang-Xi Era (1692-1704)

The map was drawn in the style of traditional Chinese shansui (mountain water) painting, depicting realistically the mountains and rivers along the west coast of Taiwan, the geographical location of the military, and the urban and rural lives at the turn of the 17th Century. It is an epitome of Taiwanese society and culture of the time. The map has attracted much worldwide admiration owing to its vibrant colors and meticulous brushwork. It is also considered the best of all the antique maps of Taiwan. The National Taiwan Museum is proud to present the antique map of Taiwan during the Kang-Xi Era along with its rich variety of collections.

When I unroll the scroll I find a beautifully reproduced map of Taiwan. This photograph is of a small section and does not do the scroll justice. How the original must look I can only imagine.

I think I am the luckiest person to receive a gift like this; not only does it fit in with my fondness for maps of all shapes and sizes and geographic locations, it also has a fabulous history and a connection with one of the very first museums I ever visited outside Australia - the National Taiwan Museum.

A wonderful, wonderful gift.

Thank you Su-chen and Mr. Lu

2008-11-27T21:15:00.004+11:00

iewing beforehand

The exhibition opens tomorrow evening and tonight I went along for a sneak preview.
It has all come together amazingly quickly since the arrival of Mr. Lu. The prints with their accompanying explanatory notes, written up on paper he discovered in a local art shop, have been arranged on the walls.

At the far end of the room near the produce is a board displaying the collected plant material which will become the final part of the story. Close examination of the board shows tops from a potato plant plus a few words from people in my community garden who hold the opinion that potatoes are a vegetable deserving of more recognition.

I was allowed to make my decision tonight on the print I would choose from the collection and I have decided upon the Deer Tree. There is much to like about the Deer Tree; it provides food for the deer community, has a lovely leaf shape and a story with the hint of scandal attached to it!!

Mr Lu and Su-chen have put a lot of effort into putting this exhibition together; let's hope a good crowd comes along tomorrow night to the opening.

2008-11-23T18:45:00.001+11:00

u-chen visits

Su-chen and Mr. Lu came, as arranged, to visit the community garden today. I gave them instructions about taking the train and I was very pleased to find them both waiting when I arrived at the garden this morning.

The rest of the community garden gang arrived over the next half hour, the morning tea was set out on the table by the garden shed and the kettles filled and put on to boil.

Mr. Lu and Su-chen wandered around looking at this plant and that one and asking questions about any unfamiliar ones. Su-chen came prepared and had the cardboard backing boards to which she affixed the plants she had just collected.

She then asked some of the people to write a few words about the plants and the food they provided. Sergei wrote a little in Russian about potatoes and I added a few more words in English. Appropriate really; potatoes are a staple of the Russian diet and some of my ancestors came from Ireland – another country with a strong , but not always happy, association with potatoes. Merrilyn and Joan added a few words about the hardiness and forgiving nature of silver beet to a second board which Su-chen had prepared.

She will take them away and they will be added to the collection of plants and notations that have been gathered from other community gardens. These will be displayed as part of Su-chen’s exhibition, which opens next weekend.

After the plant collecting and board wording was finished we sat down to enjoy a cup of tea and chocolate biscuits. Mr. Lu and Su-chen then took their leave and headed off to the train station and the next task at hand to be completed in preparation for their exhibition.

2008-11-23T18:30:00.001+11:00

hink tank

I think I am such a clever clogs with that title. I hope you will agree that I have been pretty smart. You see there was a twofold purpose for being at the community garden this morning.

A few of us were getting together to have an informal think tank. We got together to think about why we have a big green tank tank sitting there in all its glory with scarcely a drop of water in it. We don’t have to think about this for too long as we know the answer. It is there to mislead the passing public into thinking we are doing something constructive about collecting water. What is really happening is those small green wheelie bins sitting right alongside the big green tank are filled from the mains and then under the guise of a ‘special exemption’ people are supposedly allowed to water their gardens.

Some of us however think there may be other options. We think about other options apart from the tank which is purely decorative. We talk about a few options.

I often address problems by looking at what the simplest and most easily attainable solution might be. This doesn’t mean it will be the best idea and it doesn’t mean it will achieve anything too much in the way of water saving. I think we could buy a blue plastic tarp and sling it up between the trees and the shed and at least it would catch something and it would run some water in to the tank when we do have some rain.

The others have a far grander scheme and one that without a doubt would achieve a lot more in the way of catching water and filling the tank. We turn our thinking towards the water that, when it does rain, runs off straight onto the ground in vast quantities from the remains of the grandstand immediately behind the our gardens. This idea is fraught with difficulties and most of those difficulties are firmly bound up in kilometres of bureaucratic red tape. We will be asking to take water off a building that is not connected with our organisation. The fact that water is wasted, when it could be used albeit on a temporary basis, is lost in the fighting over territory and yet another reason will be found for diverting more kilometres of red tape to a place where it might be best used for binding another good idea up and choking it to death.

The vote is for this last idea and I acquiesce; I won’t be the one approaching the council to see how it might pan out.

We look around and see the Pompous President – He of the Polished Precinct - has arrived. One of our number, from the world of print media and well used to dealing with difficult people, is nominated to approach him with our idea. It receives a very cool reception and there is no doubt the PP is seething with anger and filled with indignation at the very idea we took something upon ourselves without consulting him first.

In his mind we are nothing but a bunch of trouble makers. Maybe he is right.

2008-11-21T16:45:00.001+11:00

uiz Question

Just for a change of pace today I have decided to put up a quiz question; something along the lines of "What is this object?"

I was in a local garden centre recently and saw these two pieces of garden 'art' and was puzzled as to what they might have been originally. As you can see the interiors are very rusted and the outside has seen better days. I asked questions and got the answers and now it is up to you to see if you can guess what they are.

Here is a clue: Their original use was connected with the food industry......

I will give you plenty of time to think about the answer and it will appear sometime through December. No, no prizes for guessing, just a sense of satisfaction that you are able to figure something out that maybe no one else can.

So go for it and I want to see your shot at the answer in the comment box ASAP.

Oh yes, if you decide that you might like to have them grace your garden then you will need one or two thousand Australian dollars to cover the purchase of same.

And on that business like note I will finish this post.

2008-11-21T16:30:00.009+11:00

ussian Salad

This recipe comes from Iphigenia ( sometimes known as Eugenia) who is Sergei's wife and it is one of many traditional Russian recipes that she cooks. You may think that potato and beetroot are a poor combination for a salad. Try it; you may be agreeably surprised. I did and I was.

The photograph below shows most of the ingredients you will need for this recipe apart from some vinaigrette dressing.

Potatoes
Red Onion
Beetroot
Gherkins

vinaigrette dressing

This is a conversational type recipe - word of mouth if you like and that is the format I will follow.

Let's start with the beetroot which we will put into enough boiling water to cover and let it simmer away until a sharp fork can be easily inserted into the beetroot.

Now the potatoes, I didn't use all those potatoes. Only two, which weighed 400 grams and they are Dutch Creams. Right now we are at the beginning of the new potato season and the old ones are not quite up to standard. Desirees might have been a better choice.

Wash, peel and halve each potato, put on in cold water and bring to the boil and cook until just tender. No more or they will fall apart before they make it to the salad bowl!!

Chop half the onion finely and fish two gherkins out of that big jar.

Make up a quantity of vinaigrette, two thirds olive oil and one third vinegar, or whatever quantities you prefer, enough to be absorbed by the cooked potatoes.

Back to the beetroot which is now lifted out of the saucepan, drained and left to cool until it can be handled easily. Slice off the top and the root and peel off the skin. The potatoes are also drained now and left to cool. At this point keep the two vegetables separate, we do not want any colour co-mingling just yet.

When the beetroot is cool enough, grate it on one of the larger sizes on your grater and put aside.

When the potatoes are cool enough chop them into chunky pieces, place them in a bowl and pour over the vinaigrette. Stir carefully so the potatoes absorb the vinaigrette.

Next add the chopped red onion to the potato/vinaigrette mix and stir gently.

Now it is decision time for the gherkins. You decide whether you want one or two. Chop one finely and add to the potato and vinaigrette mix - if you would like more, finely chop the second one and add it to the bowl.

Just before serving spoon the grated beetroot onto the top of the potato salad. You have a choice here - leave the beetroot sitting on top of the salad or you can mix it in; when I do the latter I like to stir it through thoroughly so the pink colour spreads right through.

This should serve two people as a decent size side salad or three if you have some other salads to put with cold chicken or pan-fried fish.

Footnote: Iphigenia says it is far better to microwave the beetroot for this recipe than boil it; that way you don't lose any of the vitamins. Very important!!

2008-11-20T19:45:00.003+11:00

verlooking Melbourne

Yesterday I met up with Kryssy who is here in Marvellous Melbourne for a short stay while she gets things organized for admittance to practice as an ophthalmologist here in Australia.

We were going to the Skydeck on the 88th floor of the Eureka Tower to see the sights of Melbourne from high in the sky. It was my first visit to the Skydeck; I have been to the Rialto Tower on more than one occasion but not Eureka. It is very windy in the forecourt downstairs so we hurry into the building and take the lift up to the 88th floor. No sooner have the lift doors closed and we are whisked up to the Skydeck level – in what are, at the time of visiting - the fastest lifts in the southern Hemisphere.

Eureka Tower is further to the east and on the south side of the river compared to the Rialto Tower; closer to places like Government House, the Shrine and the MCG.

We walk around and look through the various telescopes dotted about the floor, each labeled with the name of a particular place of interest. Each telescope shows the particular site of interest in clear focus by blurring the surrounds. I think this is a brilliant idea; often if you are not familiar with a place it is hard to pick it out from the surrounds.

I decide to have a coffee and muffin before we leave to go downstairs and I am absolutely floored by the cost of the muffin. Six dollars!! What a rip-off!! I keep the old saw alive that fools and their money are soon parted and buy a muffin. I am in a state of shock and not thinking straight.

This must not happen again.

2008-11-20T19:15:00.003+11:00

izza Celebration

Tonight we had our first Owners Corporation meeting since the departure of His Royal Highness, the Chief Sticker-of-Spokes-in-Wheels. His faithful henchmen have resigned from the committee and are in the throes of leaving; this leaving has been going on for a few weeks now and seems to be happening in fits and starts.

Everything went smoothly at the meeting. There were no snide remarks and obfuscation and all wheels were safe from having spokes suddenly having sticks driven between them. What a relief.

We took the opportunity of getting through a catalogue of items that had backed up over the last few months and dispensed with some of them forthwith. It’s such a welcome change to be able to deal with matters and not always be on your guard in anticipation of a sudden ambush from the Sticker-of-Spokes-in-Wheels. The meeting was over in almost record time.

Neighbour Heather and I were in such a state of excitement that we made the rash decision to celebrate this momentous occasion by walking up the road to the pizza place and sitting down to a pizza and a glass of wine.

We were entertained by one of the waiters who spent a lot of time chatting to us while we ate. We assumed he must be related to the people who run this establishment as he did more talking than waiting while we were there.

We’re now looking forward to more meetings along the lines of this evening’s where we should be able to get on with things and not always be on tenterhooks for sudden sabotage by the enemy.

2008-11-20T11:45:00.021+11:00

aval Remembrance

Yesterday, on the lawn in front of the Shrine, 645 white crosses represented the 645 crew lost in the sinking of the HMAS Sydney off the coast of Western Australia sixty seven years ago.

This is the first anniversary since the whereabouts of the sunken wreck was discovered earlier this year. In Melbourne there remains only one man who served on the Sydney, who due to ill health was put off the ship eight months prior to its final voyage. He attended the memorial service and recalled crew members he knew from his time aboard serving in other battle zones in the Second World War.

In Western Australia, 300 relatives, now one or two generations removed, were taken on board the HMAS Manoora for a service at sea. At Geraldton, which is the site of a beautiful memorial to these lost sailors, the only sailor whose body was washed ashore on Christmas Island was laid to rest. This man, who was never identified, is now known as the Unknown Sailor and he represents the rest of the crew whose remains have never been recovered.

I am sorry to have missed out on yesterday’s memorial service. I would have liked to have gone along on behalf of Doug, a man I worked with many years ago and who died only a couple of years ago. His father was one of the cooks aboard the ship and the Navy had been his life.

2008-11-18T19:45:00.006+11:00

emoirs Workshop

This idea has been simmering away on the backburner for quite some time now; since the day I was surfing aimlessly around the internet and found a site for writers’ workshops. Not any old writers in any old place, but an Australian writer running a writing workshop in Australia. Even more to the point, one workshop was advertised for Melbourne. The only thing better than that would be a one-on-one, personalised in-home writer’s workshop. I can dream.

When I first read about it I was quite excited and carried away with the idea of going to a workshop for writers. Of course once I settled down a bit I was overwhelmed by the idea of having to actually write something that other people would critique. This is the point where I lose my nerve and face the fact that I can’t write for peanuts. I might want to write but the difference between wanting to write, thinking that you can write and then having some-one else telling you whether you can write or not are three very different matters.

I once read, on the internet, about the deep and hilarious chasm that exists between those people who think they can write and those who actually can write. I had saved this piece of what I saw as taking the high moral ground in a rather nasty manner, but when I lost my memory stick I lost the point of reference for this little piece of high handed nastiness.

I waver between telling myself I should do this and telling myself that I have ideas beyond my abilities. This cannot go on for much longer. Every day that passes is a day nearer to the workshop and the deadline for enrolment and fee paying.

Very shortly I am going to have to bite the bullet, take a chance and my courage in both hands and dive in at the deep end……

2008-11-16T18:45:00.017+11:00

ooking forward

I was really looking forward to my return visit to Peppermint Ridge; it was such a great day last time mucking about in a garden with a bunch of people and getting down and dirty all in a good cause.

I met up with Roy and Joan at the Community Garden as arranged at 8 am and we set off with Roy acting as chauffeur, taking the Monash Freeway and then onto the Princes Highway. We talked about this and that on the way down and in no time at all we were turning in the gate at Peppermint Ridge. I got it right this time, I didn’t miss the mailbox and entrance and we didn’t go careering up some side road looking at the view and wondering where on earth we were and how to get to where we wanted to be .

There were about the same number of people in this group as there were last time and our morning followed the usual format. We all sat around in the ‘classroom’ while Julie gave us a rundown on how she came to be doing what she is doing and what the ‘agenda’ ( a very loose use of the word) might be when we moved outside.

Out into the garden we trooped and the real work began. Setting out the beds, gathering the dried discards from the old crops, spreading the compost and manure - this time from the chooks, not the alpacas - and damping and spreading the paper around. It was handy having Roy along, a six feet tall fellow is just the ticket for trundling builders’ wheelbarrows full of manure and compost around the garden.

Joan was given a chair and was unofficial supervisor. These days it is too difficult for her to manage many of the things she would like to be able to do but sadly she no longer has the energy. The rest of us worked away under Julie’s watchful eye, the seedlings were distributed and voila!! two new beds were set up in Julie’s vegetable garden.

Next thing we were all lining up inside the schoolhouse for our morning tea; a delicious home cooked loaf of bread which we slathered with butter and bush jam followed by a cup of tea. All refreshed and rested we got back in the car and headed back to the city.

Another morning of time well spent in spectacular bush surroundings.

2008-11-14T14:45:00.000+11:00

ey components

Today had a distinctly Italian flavour. The key components for an Italian day at the Trash Palace are food, wine and music. I managed the food and had some outside help with the music, but how I totally overlooked the wine is a complete mystery to me.

The day wasn’t planned that way; it was just the way things turned out. I read a gnocchi recipe in Epicure – the Tuesday food and wine insert in My Daily Read – and decided I would like to try it out.

Bench space is almost non-existent in my kitchen and I set a large cutting board across the sink to give me some extra room. The recipe was propped up against a pile of saucepans and out came the ingredients; potatoes, flour and an unmeasured amount of optimism. I have never attempted a recipe like this before, but today seemed to be the day to try it. The sun was shining and there was a suitable tomato sauce waiting in the fridge.

The potatoes went into the pot, cooked and were pushed through a large wire sieve; the pastry sheet came out along with the flour and the serious business of making the gnocchi began. It was difficult for me to judge whether the dough was just right but I eventually made a decision and divided the dough into four pieces. Next the slow tricky bit, rolling it into a log, dividing it into pieces; measuring the length of each piece with the fork I was to use to make the impression on the top of each piece of gnocchi.

The kitchen window was open and as I rolled and divided and pressed the fork tines into the pieces of gnocchi I became aware of the voice of Pavarotti singing Nessum Dorma floating in through the open window. I was mystified. Further investigation was required. While the gnocchi bubbled away on the pot I dashed out to the balcony and found the source of the music.

To my great surprise the men working on installing new windows in the apartment block next door were playing it on their portable CD player. You could have knocked me over with a feather, it’s not the usual music I hear from them. I was delighted to have this suitable music playing as I continued the gnocchi making process

Happily the gnocchi turned out to be edible and I ate in the lounge room with the balcony door open and yet more excerpts playing from Italian operas.

A good lunch all round.

2008-11-13T19:45:00.001+11:00

mpulse buying

I am not much given to impulse buying these days. I have been guilty of it in the past, though then I would have described it as making a swift, considered decision.

Neighbour Heather & I had a Really Big Day Out today. We travelled to the end of the train line in the direction of the hills which meant an early start to our day. Arriving in Belgrave we headed off to the main street, looking for what else, a cup of coffee and something to eat. Belgrave was Neighbour Heather’s old stamping ground before she moved down to the bright city lights.

Perhaps I should say a bit about Belgrave – it will only be a little bit as I don’t know too much about it. It is now an outer eastern suburb but was once a small community in the Dandenong Ranges, first settled in the middle of the 19th century. Today it is at the end of the suburban rail line but many people commute each day toward the inner city areas. It is known for its tourist train Puffing Billy, a steam train which still runs on its original track from Belgrave out to Gembrook through beautiful wooded areas.

As we made our way down to the shopping centre we passed by a shop which is typical of many found in the hills area. This is not your regular chain store but one run by its owner and stocking – in this case – dresses and other women’s clothing items and all manner of other paraphernalia that might be loosely termed accessories. Hanging right by the doorway to the shop was just the summer dress I had been looking for, sleeveless, cotton and loose fitting. I went in and tried it on, the colour was fine and I decided there and then it would be just right for wearing around home on the hot days ahead through the summer.

With the impulse buying behind me we walked on down to the cafe on the corner where we lingered over our cake selection for morning tea, ordered coffee and debated the wording on the gluten free cake notice with the owner of the shop. We then sat at a window table where we could watch the passing parade and NH regaled me with tales from ten years ago when she, her husband and two daughters lived in this part of the world.

It was an entertaining morning.

2008-11-13T19:30:00.001+11:00

olly good

Those two words best describe my choice of end destination for our Really Big Day Out today.

With the impulse buying, morning refreshments and the watching of the passing parade behind us we tramped back up the hill to the bus stop alongside the train station and waited for the bus which would take us to Cook’s Corner.

We didn’t have long to wait, we were two of only a handful of passengers who boarded the bus. The driver assured us he would let us off at the right stop and after ten minutes of driving by homes set in thriving green gardens on the one hand – the climate up in the hills is kinder than down in the inner suburbs- and the tall stands of timber in Sherbrooke Forest on the other, we arrived at Cook’s Corner. The bus stop is right outside the café. How convenient is that?

Many years back this simple weatherboard building was home to a local corner store; today it is a popular place for lunch and dinner at weekends, particularly in the summer when it is cooler up in the hills. We walk across the road from the bus stop and deliberate about sitting inside or out on the veranda that looks towards the tall straight trunks of the trees in the forest across the road. As it’s a bit cooler today than we anticipated we settle for inside and soon place our order for lunch and a glass of wine.

One of the big attractions, apart from its sylvan setting and good food, is the showcase displaying the most tempting display of chocolates. I have to be honest and say this was one of the attractions in making Cook’s Corner our destination today. They sit there in neat rows behind the glass, silently temptations; NH and I decided that we would let the moths out of our respective purses and not only have one with our coffee but would get a couple more to take away. They were delicious; it was so hard to decide which one to choose, that French chocolatier down in St Kilda really knows his trade.

Our hosts know how to make their patrons feel at home and we discuss aspects of the hospitality tradewith them, while waiting for our meals to arrive. Even though this is a week day and the café is not large, nearly every table is occupied. Fewer numbers of opening days will not deter people if the food is good; they will wait patiently for the days when the cafe is open.

There are a number of houses on larger blocks in the vicinity, some concealed by flourishing gardens or situated at the end of hedged driveways. One of the patrons lives just across the road; his wife is away on holidays and he has spent the morning working in his extensive garden. What could be better than to be able to simply tidy up, walk down the drive, cross the road and settle down to a thirst-quenching beer and a tasty lunch?

We had to keep an eye on the time and not miss the bus back to Belgrave, as the bus services are not too frequent. Just before 2.15 pm we finish our coffee, pay the bill and saunter along to the bus shelter. Within a couple of minutes we are on the bus and heading back down to the train at Belgrave station which will return us to the city.

A jolly good day out indeed.

2008-11-09T19:30:00.002+11:00

earing More

I have the motel phone number in front of me, I press the buttons to connect the call. MyVeryBestFriendCarmel answers the phone.

For some-one who, a only week ago, had her house burnt down she is in remarkably good spirits. She is very good at putting a good face on things and her persona is one of not sitting still for two seconds but being busy doing something. The sort of person who doesn’t pause too often to reflect on the past but who zooms forward to deal with whatever the next thing is that needs to done. In fact I couldn’t help thinking while I was listening to her describe the night in great detail that not only was it possibly very cathartic for her to talk about it but it seemed to be some sort of big adventure. A dangerous, life threatening adventure, but an adventure none-the-less.

They are very grateful to the two men who were driving past in the early hours of the morning on their way home from a day out at the first day of the spring racing carnival in Melbourne. They had just dropped off another fellow traveller at his house and as they drove past they noticed flames at the end of the house. Their quick action ensured that MBVFC and Tom Piper were able to get out before the flames took hold of the main part of the house and trapped them.

As well as the fire brigade, the police attended, and from their questioning of people living in the vicinity they were able to put together a picture of how the fire might have started. People in nearby houses reported youths skylarking and shouting and yelling in the area about half an hour before the fire began, a trail of empty liquor bottles and cans marking the path of their travel.

The people in authority, familiar with looking for the seat of the fire, considered there was a good chance it was started by a cigarette butt thrown, deliberately or accidentally, into a stack of old newspapers which Tom Piper had stored at the rear of their carport area and which was accessible from the street. This pile was both an archive and a hang over from the days when Tom Piper was a journalist on the major local newspaper. Now it is just a pile of ashes along with most of the house.

The fire brigade who turned up within a few short minutes did a terrific job of saving what they could, but most possessions, the furniture, bikes and cars were lost. MVBFC, although depressed by having to pick through the ashes the next day to see what if anything is salvageable, was grateful that they both got out alive.

Their church welfare organisation will look after the cost of accommodation for the next two weeks and after that they will find a house to rent while the dreary process of dealing with the insurance company begins. Luckily one of their sons has a mate in town in the insurance business and he is prepared to ‘look over their shoulder’ and see they get their entitlement from the insurance company.

I am still flabbergasted by the whole event and hope they come out of this with as little emotional damage as possible, while they get on with the process of attempting to restore their lives to some semblance of normality.

2008-11-08T20:05:00.004+11:00

ood Grief

Imagine my surprise and dismay when I had a phone call from the daughter of MyVeryBest FriendCarmel and her husband Tom Piper. She led into the conversation by telling me she had been meaning to phone for a few days.

She told me she had some not very good news about her parents. Instantly alarm bells rang in my head and I imagined the worst. The worst as far as I am concerned is that some-one is dead. I was greatly relieved to find this was not the case.

However it was a close shave. Their house caught fire in the early hours of the morning when they were both sound asleep. I was absolutely aghast as she related the story. All this happened about a week ago on a Saturday night, or more correctly early on the Sunday morning. On Sunday mornings I often lie in bed and listen to the eight o’clock news; invariably there is a report of a house fire somewhere on the Saturday night, either in Melbourne or rural Victoria. It seems to be one of the regular news items. I thought of how alarmed I would have been if I had first heard this on the radio.

The short version is that Tom Piper was woken by the sound of a loud banging noises, a combination of some-one hammering on the front door and the fuel tank exploding in a car parked at the far end of the house. He went to investigate and found the far end of the house well and truly alight and there was no way he could get to the phone. MVBFC woke a couple of minutes later and Tom yelled at her to get out the front door and he made it quite clear that he couldn’t get her hand bag from the chair in the kitchen as that end of the kitchen was ablaze.

They made it out the door with seconds to spare and found their rescuers busy calling the fire brigade, who arrived within a few minutes. They both had to stand helplessly in their night attire and watch their home of some thirty years go up in smoke and flames before their eyes.

MaryCanary, the daughter, told me they had moved into a motel, courtesy St V de P. I said I would call them right away and tell them how pleased I am to be able to talk with them after their narrow escape and to see how they were coping with this drastic turn of events.

2008-11-04T18:30:00.001+11:00

njoyable Drive

It’s the afternoon of Melbourne Cup Day and I decide I should jump in the car, take off to the outskirts of the city and pull over to the side of the road in some rural area where I will listen to the race being run.

I have left it a bit late to be able to get far out of Melbourne by three o’clock, but it is a sunny afternoon and I head out through Eltham and Kangaroo Ground and decide that I will make Kinglake my destination. I haven’t been to Kinglake in ages and it seems as good a destination as any where else.

I always enjoy driving through this countryside and today is no exception. Along the way I see roadside stalls where there gardens produce sits waiting for a sale to the passing public. It is a busy road and by the time I figure out what is for sale I have either travelled too far past or there is nowhere to pull over and go back to make a purchase. Enforced saving you could say.

What really grabs my attention is the forthcoming hard rubbish collection in the Panton Hill area. For those of you not familiar with hard rubbish collections it’s simple. Each council, at some time through the year, allows the residents to put out on the roadside any rubbish that is not accepted in the weekly collections through the year. I was on the lookout for a particular item and noted what was offering as I drove along – see my next post for more detail.

The drive through the forest leading into Kinglake is magnificent, and I wasn’t the only one who had the idea to head in this direction. As I came closer to Kinglake there was a procession of cars ahead of me slowly winding along the narrow road, which doesn’t allow for overtaking. Eventually I arrive in the main street and I head to the bakery for a coffee and bun and perch on a stool at the window where I can watch the passing parade.

An interesting passing parade. Kinglake has changed from a once small, quiet rural community high up on an escarpment looking down towards Melbourne, to an area where some people have moved to find a place where the costs, both financial and otherwise are not as high as the city. In spite of the increased population life is still lived at a slower pace than the city and people dawdle along the street in ones and twos and threes taking in the afternoon sunshine.

A young mother with a new baby and a toddler in the pram stops out the front and an older woman from behind the shop counter goes out to inspect the new arrival. There is a dichotomy in the social makeup of this town. Out of town in Kinglake West are secluded areas with big homes where wealthy people who have chosen to make the move from the city to live among green forested areas can still be within easy striking distance of the bright lights of the city. In Kinglake itself the population is more from the other end of the socio-economic scale, those who might be living on social security benefits and find it cheaper to live up here. I listen to the conversation between the young mother and the shop assistant and figure the young mother belongs in the second group.

More people pass by the window; two cars of tourists pull up out front and the occupants stroll in the bakery door and order cakes and coffee. A policeman walks across from the Police Station opposite and goes into the supermarket next door which also rents out videos. He walks out a few minutes later with the videos of his choice for tonight’s viewing.

The afternoon is passing and I walk back across the street and continue my circular journey which will take me out through Kinglake West and then down a very steep hill to the plains below and eventually into Whittlesea. It will not be long after that and I will be back in the metropolitan area, back with the lanes of traffic, traffic lights, freeways and tramlines.

2008-11-04T18:15:00.005+11:00

inders Keepers

As I mentioned in the previous post I passed through Panton Hill on my way to Kinglake It’s just another small community on the way from here to there.

Today however there was an added attraction. All along the roadside there were piles of cast-off possessions. Sometime this week the trucks would come along and all these discards would be tossed in the trucks and taken away to landfill. Unless other some-one else got there before the council truck; or as is often the case in these days of out-sourcing, a private contractor.

I am fascinated by the items people choose to toss out. You name it and it was very likely it was there on the side of the road. I’m surprised I didn’t run off the road when I came across a particularly intriguing pile. It wasn’t always easy at first glance to figure out exactly what the articles were that had been dumped ignominiously on the pile.

Among the furniture toss-outs were the usual suspects; chairs of various descriptions, deck chairs, lounge chairs and kitchen chairs. Lounge chairs with three legs or a shattered leg or arm rests broken off. The deck chairs were mostly aluminium with plastic webbing and they lay tossed on the piles at the side of the road, the webbing ripped or torn; no one would ever be sitting on these chairs again.

Computer monitors make up a large component of the throw away rubbish these days. The arrival of the slim line models sounded the death knell for the cumbersome, old style monitors and they are abandoned without so much as a backward glance. A rusted and battered washing machine leaned drunkenly to one side, an outcast on the roadside in front of one house together with a pile of broken kiddies toys and a rusted and twisted child’s bike.

The pick of the lot from the passing parade seemed to be a velvet mushroom sofa that looked to be in reasonable condition. There were no apparent rips and no obviously missing legs – but I know from experience that sometimes close inspection will reveal irreparable damage done by the sharp claws of cats.

We are the great landfill culture; buy, buy, buy and then dump it all later. As I crested a rise in the road I spied something I thought might be useful. Here was my opportunity to recycle and re-use and reduce the amount of landfill. Pulling over quickly to the side of the road I went back to inspect my find. It was a large flat plastic storage container that had lost one of its wheels. When the wheel had broken off some of the plastic had broken away.

I considered its possibilities for use as a container for soaking newspaper when we set out the garden beds at the apartments. The problem of a broken corner is easily fixed - there is a plentiful supply of bricks which can be used to tilt that end up and stop the water from running out. We don’t have a wheel barrow and this discarded storage tray will do the job nicely.

I carry it to the car, stash it in the boot and drive on a little further to a spot where I can pull off the road and listen to the running of the Melbourne Cup. I don’t recognise the name of the winner but find later that Bart Cummings has trained his 12th Melbourne Cup winner. Well done Bart.

Bart and I go a long way back to when I had a bet on Galilee, the 1966 winner of the Cup and the second Melbourne Cup winner Bart had trained. This was a year when my life had taken an unexpected turn and I was grateful for any money that came my way. I collected the winnings and with the money bought two lengths of material, two dress patterns and I paid Ann, a girl with whom I shared a house, a nominal sum to make up two dresses for me. I thought I was the luckiest person around to have won enough to add two new dresses to my wardrobe.

It’s a while now since I have backed a horse in the Melbourne Cup but there were many punters, even in this year of the Global Financial Crisis, who are willing to hand over their money to the bookmakers. The takings for bets on the Spring Carnival so far are ahead of last year. According to some-one who should know in the betting world, the one thing you can back in a recession is that people will still want a bet and a beer.

I had neither a bet nor a beer today but I did have a collect in the Panton Hill Hard Rubbish Collection Stakes.

Oh yes, apropos of nothing to do with the content of this post - this is my seven hundredth post

2008-11-01T19:45:00.006+11:00

rrived today

The new owners of the most expensive, and therefore the most exclusive apartment in our block, arrived today. Three people, two adults and a teenage girl, a piano (we don’t have too many pianos arrive at 179 Our Street, so it deserves a special mention) and many, many cardboard boxes accompanied their arrival.

Already there is a change of atmosphere. These people apparently don’t want to hide behind drawn blinds 24 hours a day, the blinds are up, the balcony door is open and there is a lot of activity going on while they settle in.

I can only hope they will be an improvement on the last owners. I find it hard to believe they could be any worse

2008-11-01T19:30:00.005+11:00

usyness prevails

Busyness prevailed this morning. Mr Lu, who is Su-chen’s project supervisor, has arrived from Taiwan to see how the project is coming along. He is here for a short time, then returns to Taiwan and will come back to Melbourne as the time for the exhibition opening gets closer. I think. My interpretation of what is being said to me does not always match up with how events sometimes turn out.

I had organised to meet them at the St Kilda Farmer’s Market; we all travelled there by public transport and met just after nine. It is way too hard to find car parking there on a Saturday morning.The market at St Kilda is not as big as some of the others around Melbourne and is set out in a way that makes it easy to find people. When I found them they had already shopped, so I found some-one who would tell them how the market worked while I went off and bought a few things – but not as many as I might buy if I had the car. I had a bit of walking ahead of me and garden produce has a sneaky way of getting heavier as time passes...

I had a program organised for the whole morning and when they had finished looking about the market we moved on to the next item of the agenda, the community garden next door.

2008-11-01T19:15:00.024+11:00

ombining interests

The next stage of the day’s program combined community gardening with art.

In Taiwan, Mr. Lu works with marginalised people displaced by progress along the coast. The sort of progress that involves developers buying up large tracts of land and displacing people who might have used some of that land to eke out a subsistence living. A common story in many parts of the world. These displaced people are now settled along the riverbanks near the big city where he lives. He works with them and together they have set up a Sunday market where the people are able to sell any extra produce. With this background in mind it is no surprise he has a great interest in community gardens no matter where they might be situated.

We go next door to have a look at the St Kilda community garden, commonly known as the Veg-Out garden. The St Kilda garden is a far cry from the community garden I belong to; theirs is a garden where the members are a more progressive and come from what could be described as a more bohemian background than the conservative suburb where I live. This is reflected in the layout of the garden beds; you won’t find structured, squared off garden beds down here in St Kilda. They come in all shapes and sizes and some beds must be a nightmare for the person who has to figure out the fee cost per square metre. The decorative aspect of the whole garden causes me some wry amusement and what Mr. Lu and Su-chen think of it all is something I don’t enquire about.

Colour and individuality plays a big part in this garden starting right at the entrance and continuing along through every bit of the common space and then onto the individual plots where the bright whirling blades of kiddies toys scare off the birds. One plot holder, in keeping with the seaside setting, has laid thick ship’s mooring ropes around the edge of the plot. There is a special area set aside as a succulent garden which does well in these very dry times of scant rainfall.

Nearby is the poultry/chicken/hen/ house with its resident hens who rush up to the fence to greet us in the hope we might have some fresh tucker for them. They seem to do alright for greens; there are the remnants of past feeds still lying around in the dust on the ground. Along the back fence there is another aviary for small caged birds like budgerigars. Sitting next to this aviary was something which would be the envy of most of the gardeners at our community garden. A water tank. At one time a state politician, who lived locally and wanted to make a political statement about what a good fellow he was, engineered the arrival of tanks to supplement the strict garden watering regulations

Also along the back fence is a building, formerly part of the bowling green on this site. Today it holds a display of artwork and we look in there to see what is offering. It is mostly local work and I am both amused and entertained by a set of photographs of mattresses which have been dumped in the street. Each mattress has had a clever caption inserted onto it which provides me with a few laughs. Normally I don’t find dumped mattresses at all amusing.

Left: Some outdoor art...

The morning is warming up now and we still have to walk down to the nearby Botanic gardens and then return to have lunch in or near Acland Street.

2008-11-01T19:05:00.000+11:00

rought impact

After leaving the community garden we headed off in the direction of the St Kilda Botanical Gardens. We walk, carrying our market purchases, with me leading the way. I am hoping as we walk that we are going in the right direction, I don’t have a map. The gardens are fairly close and it is way too complicated to get there by tram.

I am greatly relieved after around ten minutes of walking to find the gardens in sight. First up we have a look at the water saving vegetable gardens set up near the community house in one corner of the gardens. This is a project to show how you can, by utilizing the rainwater run-off from the roof of a building, supplement the supply of water to your vegetable gardens. It is an idea I am much taken with and might give it more serious thought and see if it can be applied to my plot at the community garden by some variation on this theme. Here the water is collected off the roof of two buildings and stored in tanks. These tanks have taps high enough off the ground to place watering cans underneath. After the watering cans are filled the water is transferred into large re-cycled polythene containers raised off the ground on each plot. The height off the ground allows a gravity feed system to send the water through the irrigation drip lines laid in the garden bed. Even under the current conditions these vegetable plots look to be doing very well. I am impressed.

We move along next to the glasshouse, which happily is open today. Mr Lu is a man with many strings to his bow and one of these is a his qualification as a botanist. He remarks on one of the taller plants growing in the greenhouse and tells me the same plant can be found in Taiwan, but there it grows everywhere and is bigger and taller. We leave the green house and walk along to look at the rose garden.

On our way we pass by an empty pond – more evidence of the impact of drought on all areas of Melbourne. A forlorn bronze figure supported by a rod rises up our of the dried mud at the bottom of the pond. The rose garden is in good shape and as October is the premium month for roses in this part of Victoria there is a brilliant display.

All this walking and looking has tired us out and we are happy to retrace our steps and take up seats at a table in the outdoor area at the back of Greasy Joes where we tuck into hamburgers and cold drinks.

2008-10-31T21:40:00.001+11:00

itches beware

This is an excerpt from a book I read recently. This particular piece amused me in a very black way and as it is now Halloween I thought it an appropriate selection to fill the letter W space for October. I’m certain even witches would have been taken aback at the reception at this house on this day.

As a prelude to this excerpt John Elder Robison, who was not yet 14, had been busy prior to Halloween digging holes in the garden and a bigger one in a pile of decomposing garden mulch nearby; into this latter one he had dropped, head first, his little brother Varmint.

Halloween arrives and we read on.

As summer turned into fall, my holes just sat there. Varmint had taken to driving his toy trucks in and out of the little holes, but he stayed clear of the big one. Halloween was coming, and I had an idea. Back then, explosive flash powder was available for pennies from theatrical supply places. I would fill the holes with flash powder wired to detonators in my room. I would make my own war movie for trick-or-treaters, one in which they would be the stars. I needed more holes. It was time to put Varmint to work.

We were ready by the time Halloween rolled around.

That Halloween, Varmint stood in the doorway like a sweet child, luring trick-or-treaters in with his innocent smile. He enjoyed being the bait. As they walked up the path they passed my flash-powder-filled holes. Each hole was wired to an extension cord that led to my room, from which I watched the whole spectatcle. When the kids got close, I would plug in a cord, detonating the powder in one of my holes. There would be a hell of a flash and a roar. A fireball would rise into the sky, and dirt would fly everywhere. The kids would scream and scatter.

That year was one of our most economical candy years. Very few trick-or-treaters braved the blasts for a second run. We ate the candy ourselves the next day.

look me in the eye -- John Elder Robison

2008-10-31T21:30:00.000+11:00

aminations looming

As I walk through the social club today a passing glance tells me the end of year exam time is here. Every cubicle and every available table space if filled with Year 11 and 12 students hunched over books and laptops, cramming in that last bit of knowledge before the big exam day arrives.

They are all concentrating on whatever the subject is that needs the most work. In a few weeks all this will be behind them. Then we will be treated to the mayhem that breaks out at the end of the school year. Eggs and flour will be pelted about in the streets and on the trams and it will take a good shower of rain to wash away all the eggwash and flour paste off footpaths and windows.

This never happened in my day..........

2008-10-31T21:15:00.000+11:00

ak bar

It’s Friday evening and most workers who finished at 5 pm today, are heading off to wherever they head off on Friday nights.

As I walk into the Yak bar off Russell Street it seems that some of these workers, mostly young men and mostly wearing suits have headed to the Yak bar and are gathered around the bar for a Friday night drinking session.

The bar is not my destination; I am here to eat, so I make my way past the throng at the bar, past the kitchen hand who is rolling a barrel of beer down a narrow hallway towards the bar and past a small function room where people are gathering, an area slightly set apart from the main areas.

It looks like another busy Friday night. I am shown to a table near the door – good if I want to do a runner and not pay for my meal - and also excellent for observing almost everything that goes on within sight. I settle down for an evening of observing.

And eating. I glance over the menu and decide on 3 tapas dishes and a glass of red yak. When the food arrives, my eyes widen as I take in the amount of food presented neatly on a white oblong plate. I have ordered meatballs, spiced bell peppers (which although delicious I will later regret eating) and two Turkish dips with totally delicious, fresh, hot Turkish bread. Yes, Turkish dips and bread. You must understand that the word tapas, although a descriptive Spanish word, is used very loosely on many menus in eating establishments in this city.

While eating, observing and occasionally writing I look about me. I am the first diner of the evening and as the dining area fills I see it attracts a variety of people. Old woman dining alone (me), young women eating out after work, a table of mixed couples and a family; Mum, Dad and two teenage sons. Not what I would have expected to find on a Friday night, but maybe I just need to get out more!!

The lighting is subdued for the most part but happily for me I am sitting in a well lit area. Along the wall to my left are a series of candle lit niches which add a Central Asian touch, but I do not see any sign anywhere of yaks. Maybe the meaning of the name lies in one of the main activities taking equal place around the bar. As the number of drinkers increases so does the volume of the voices. Yakking.

I manage to consume all the tapas on the plate which has a lot to do with not having eaten since breakfast time. I pay my bill, as I see that there is a staff member strategically placed to nab any runners and make my way out into the Friday night city.

.

2008-10-31T21:10:00.011+11:00

illions

(zil·lion)
n. Informal
An indeterminately huge number

Or

(often plural) an extremely large but unspecified number, quantity, or amount

No matter how you look at it means A REALLY, REALLY LARGE AMOUNT!!

I was mulling over the idea of how soon this might actually become a real number meaning a real amount – following on from a previous post about quadrillions.

I guess I just have to wait for the next Really Big Global Financial Crisis and it will appear in common use….

2008-10-25T18:50:00.000+11:00

anished permanently

The long awaited day has arrived and it is all something of an anti-climax. I thought I would be jumping up and down with glee; instead I simply stand at the window and watch the process as the Little Prince moves out of Unit 7.

It’s a fascinating process and has been done on the usual shoe-string budget that appeals so much to the Little Prince. He has managed to commandeer a couple of fellow to help him with this move and they seem to be the ones who get to bear the brunt of the heaviest items of furniture. It is all packed into the back of a rental van and there is much shuffling of furniture and whitegoods around in the back of the truck in order to fit everything in.

The Little Prince stands and issues the orders and his minions (who look too smart to be friends of his) do the heavy work. The Little Princess, with the Heir to The Throne is at their new residence which we understand is her father’s home – an error in judgement has been made about the readiness of their new home and they will have to move in with the in-laws for a while.

Tempers fray towards the end of the day when the Little Princess arrives and starts insisting more soft items should be packed into the back of the van. I see the Little Prince stomp down the steps to the rear of the van, raise the bedclothes over his head and pitch them into the back of the van. It all tumbles forward and there is a tense few minutes when arms and voices are raised.

It has taken them the better part of the day to get all this done. Eventually the doors are closed on the back of the van and they are away. My sincere hope is this young man has vanished permanently out of my life; if I never see him again it will be too soon.

2008-10-23T14:50:00.000+11:00

sual process

Joan asked me to accompany her to the last council meeting for this year where they might be discussing matters relating to The Other Garden. She wants to hear first hand what is said at the council meeting and not hear the doctored report from the President – He of the Polished Precinct.

The meeting, closed to the public at this point, is in progress when we arrive and we join the throng gathered in the outer waiting area. After securing a seat we look about and Joan gives me a running commentary on most of the people within sight. There are not many people that Joan doesn’t know, she has lived in this area for most her life.

At last the doors of the council chamber open and we all file in and grab a seat as soon as we can. The first item for discussion seems innocuous enough but leads to a spirited discussion between the council employee responsible for road signage and a resident who lives in the area where the sign is to be placed. On the face of it the wording does seem to be a bit ambiguous but the council officer summarily dismisses the idea of changing the wording. I don’t really see that it matters all that much; drivers in this city pay little attention to signs that tell them what they can and cannot do and I’m of the opinion these signs are there to circumvent legal ramifications in the case of accident and apart from that no-one cares whether they are obeyed or not obeyed.

The meeting drones on through the rest of the agenda and I only pay more attention when some amendments are made to the wording, not of signs but of documents, that will pass into local law. There is a clever IT system operated by a young man sitting along from the mayor and when he alters the words the amendment is projected up onto a screen which enables all the councillors to see the changes and read them before agreeing to any alteration. What a great idea; stops all that nonsense when people argue later about the wording.

We find that we have come on a wild goose tonight; the matter concerning The Other Garden is not discussed. Dammit. Now we will have to wait until next year to see whether the council exert their authority and tell the Community Garden committee they may be considering altering the size of The Other Garden…..

2008-10-22T14:30:00.001+11:00

cant Interest

All the stops have been pulled out in when it comes to advertising the planned new luxury apartments around the corner in Hearken Grove.

A high board fence has been erected along the footpath boundary line with an impressive layout and graphics which leave no doubt in the mind of the onlooker that this will be a premium property. If you purchase one of these state of the art contemporary apartments you will be the envy of all your peers.

Greenback magnolias arrived on the back of a landscape gardener’s truck along with over one hundred small pots of generic green ground cover. The magnolias with their roots still wrapped in thick black polythene, were set into the specially boxed area in front of the signage. The generic green ground cover filled in the rest of the space and a drip irrigation system was rigged up. I asked the gardener what would happen with these trees when building commenced. He tells me they will be removed and then come back as part of the landscaping for the new apartment block. They are exclusive and expensive trees, grown under licence.

More signage has been erected outside another block of apartments at the far end of Hearken Grove to alert passing traffic to the availability of these prestige apartments. The local paper has a full page in the real estate section telling people of this rare opportunity to purchase in this enviable area and listing the attractions: sophisticated and generous living spaces, high ceilings, courtyards or terraces, lift access and city views. All this at a starting price of a mere $1.325 million.

I wait for the sold signs to go up on the board and that perennial “Only five left” sticker which is meant to prompt any laggards to rush in and sign on the dotted line. This doesn’t happen.

What does happen is the stealthy overnight removal of the pots of generic ground cover. At first only two or three disappear and that is not too obvious from a total of 130 plants. Days pass and weeks and then all that is left are a two or three pots of ground cover. All the others have been stolen. Whether they are in gardens somewhere or being sold off at a weekend market is a good question. The magnolias are the only things remaining from the original landscaping and they are there only because they are too heavy and too big to quickly tuck into your car boot.

There appears to be scant interest in these properties and it’s possible the approaching financial storm which seems to be gathering around the world will sound the death knell for this project.

2008-10-22T14:15:00.000+11:00

ry these

Potato Scones

Makes 8

Ingredients

250g (80z) dry mashed potato
1 tablespoon butter
pinch of salt & pepper
1/4 to 1/2 cup plain flour

Method

Place washed potato into a basin and mix in butter, salt and pepper. Add flour gradually, just adding enough to mix into a soft dry consistency.

Knead on a lightly floured board. Roll out thinly and cut into 8 squares or rounds.

Pierce well all over with a fork.

Cook on a greased hot griddle or frying pan 2-3 minutes. Turn when brown and cook on the other side. May be served hot or cold. May be spread with butter and are delicious served with bacon.

Australian Heritage Cookbook

2008-10-21T13:35:00.002+11:00

oses blooming

On my walk along the street to the Social Club I am always on the lookout for the latest blooms in the gardens.

Today I was rewarded with these roses growing along by a church fence.

2008-10-20T21:35:00.000+11:00

The letter

is taking a well earned rest this month......

2008-10-19T19:30:00.000+11:00

pen Day

The Royal Botanic Gardens held an Open Day today. This is a great idea and there should be more of them. Easy for me to say of course, but a lot of organising and hard work on the part of the staff at the gardens is needed for this to happen.

It is a chance to look behind the scenes at what happens around the gardens and some of the venues are very popular. The Herbarium must have a coterie of followers who check every day to see when the next open day coming up as this venue was booked out as soon as the programme opened.

I would like to see the herbarium but I don't think I will ever be quick enough off the mark to get my name on the list. I am how ever interested in the propagating nursery and I arranged to meet Su-chen at the cafe. It was hard to imagine it was October and not the middle of winter, it was so cold at the cafe. I am not a big fan of this cafe at the gardens. It is modern and has the space to cater for lots of people but it is either very hot or freezing cold and the prices are very hot as well. It is however a good meeting place as it is easy to find and mostly everyone knows where it is.

I have my ticket to the propogation nursery and I wait while Su-chen talks to some one at the ticket office about getting her ticket. Su-chen always has her dictionary at hand and I can see there will be a lot of time spent on finding the word that matches with her knowledge of English. Su-chen is here for three months from Taiwan and her work place is within the umbrella of the Botanic Gardens. My understanding was she would be able to get entry to the open day venues without too much bother. I could well have misunderstood the situation.

Eventually the problem is sorted and we head off in the direction of the propagating nursery.

2008-10-19T18:15:00.000+11:00

ropagating Nursery

The group of people making up the tour of the propagating nursery are gathered outside the gate when we arrive and a few minutes later our guide appears and greets us. As we enter the grounds of the nursery he points out some of the nearby features of the garden and tells us of plants and trees that have had a decidedly tough time with the dry climate of the pas ten years.

The next thing we see are his pride and joy – his cycad collection. He is wildly enthusiastic about this collection of plants which look to me more like rotund pineapples with feathery fronds instead of spikes on top. Apparently they are slow growers and very, very difficult to propagate and he has good reason to be rightly proud of his accomplishments.

We move on to the sheds. These look like the old style glasshouse but inside they have every modern convenience to assist with the propagation of rare species. There are rows of long movable trolleys, shade screens that can be adjusted to control the light and a special computerised system that allows for exactly the right amount of water for the growing plants. In one of these sheds is a wonderful collection of Flying Duck orchids, tiny and delicate and as you can see they do look like flying ducks. Very beautiful.

Lastly we track through the orchid greenhouse and admire the displays of orchids stacked on the wire racks. I see something that suits my gardening style exactly. The long wispy strands of a plant that is hard to imagine as an orchid. It really looks like thick strands of pale grey spiders webs and survives on the moisture and whatever nutrients are in the air!!

Hurrah for the greenhouses at the Royal Botanic Gardens which allow plants to be saved from the steady encroachment of people and their need to build over every space they can find…..

2008-10-16T18:30:00.000+11:00

oorabbin bound

We clamber into a small white van, wait a short while for more people to arrive and we are off to our destination in Moorabbin, another free event in the Melbourne International Festival program. We are off to learn the Meaning of Moorabbin, the sandbelt area of Melbourne, a place where double and triple fronted cream brick veneer homes abound.

Lydia is at the wheel of the small white van and she gives us a rundown of what we might expect to see when we arrive at our destination and the background idea behind this installation. As well as being a reminder of how things were when this area was subdivided some fifty years ago, it will also be a bit of fun. The idea is framed around the auction of this house and we play the role of interested and prospective buyers. Next week there will be a mock auction and interested parties will bid for the Meaning of Moorabbin with the winning bid being donated to charity.

The small white courtesy van makes its way south and we arrive in a street which is the epitome of fifties Moorabbin. I repress a smile as we walk up the path to the front door of the house when I look around at the houses in the street and am immediately transported back fifty years. At the front door of the house a young woman dressed in a smart navy business suit greets us and invites us in to inspect the house.

We take on our role of prospective buyers and look through the house. What we are really doing is taking a step back in time as the past has been re-created in each room of the house. We are directed to the left and the first three rooms we walk into are all darkened. In the first the white venetian blinds have been lowered and closed and projected against this surface is a film, a replica (more or less) of the trip we have just made in the small white courtesy van. Moving to the next room, a bedroom, we inspect the inside of the wardrobes and cupboards which have been specially installed; inside each dimly lit drawer are small objects relating to past times. The bathroom is the room that intrigues me most of all, not only is the installation a visual one but sound plays a big part too. Walking into the darkened bathroom ( a bit creepy I have to say) there is the distinct sound of a tap dripping water into a filled bath. I am so convinced there is water in the bath I have to open the door so I can see where the bath is and then plunge my hand into the water. Of course there isn’t any water and I am very impressed with the soundscape that has been set up to create this effect – it is very real.

The remainder of the house is well lit and we wander through; the laundry has a video camera and anyone who wishes to record something that may relate to living in Moorabbin or memories of Moorabbin is invited to do so. In the garage at the back of the house – also in darkness – is a panel van, a real blast from the past. We have a laugh about the panel van and then our time is up and we clamber back into the small white courtesy van and Lydia delivers us back to the city.

We chat as we travel along and find Lydia, a young woman in her twenties, has had an busy and diverse career in art, music and performance, in a direction capacity, for most of her working life. This has enabled her to travel to many parts of the world and though it doesn't necessarily provide stable employment it has made for some memorable times .

On arrival back in the city we are desperate for lunch. She suggests the Black Box and although I question whether we are eligible, being two people off the street and not connected with the festival directly, she assures us it will be alright. We take her advice and head in the direction of some sustenance.

2008-10-16T18:15:00.000+11:00

ext stop

The Black Box is part of the Arts Centre and is sometimes used for small productions but today it is open as a venue for food and drink and a relaxation area for people connected with the production of the festival. Neighbour Heather and I walk in and head straight for the food section and order. No one asks us any questions at all, they take our order and our money and a short while later we get our food and sit down. As it is mid-afternoon I am very happy to find we can still get a hot meal; not only is it hot but it tastes really, really good.

We are fascinated with this room. It is an expanse of open space and it seems to me to be furnished with items usually stacked away in props stores which have been hauled out to provide seating for the patrons while the festival is on. We are seated at a glass topped table and white wrought iron chairs that would sit well in any home garden setting.

One section of the space has been set aside for a temporary office area with desks, chairs and filing cabinets. People come and go, including the director of the festival with her partner and their children. This is her last year and she has put together a varied and entertaining program. There are other events on the program in the music line I would have liked to see/hear but have not been organised enough to get myself along to them.

2008-10-12T19:30:00.000+11:00

ively Flamenco

Today is the last day of Seniors Week and it closed with an afternoon concert in the city at the Melbourne Town Hall featuring Spanish music. Today, 12th October, is Dia del Hispanidad, the Spanish National Day. The Spanish Consul was present, so it was a gala occasion in the Seniors Week program.

I had been to a concert a couple of years back where the music of the composer Manuel de Falla featured and I loved this music, especially Nights in a Spanish Garden, so it was a pleasure to hear more of the same. Today the Orchestra Victoria program featured the Three Cornered Hat Suite No 1. together with excerpts from Bizet’s Carmen. Later we were to hear an organ concerto played by Gordon Stewart, organist at the Huddersfield Town Hall in England. The organ in the Melbourne Town Hall is magnificent and there are concerts throughout the year which often feature visiting organists from around the world.

A special treat today was a performance by the flamenco dancer Fernando Mira. It is a truly electrifying spectacle when you watch flamenco performed by some-one who is very good. Almost takes your breath away, the precision and speed of the action.

As always with Seniors week concerts it was well attended; we saw the jovial couple from Melbourne whom we met earlier this week at Rupertwood, who enjoyed the concert every bit as much as we did.

Afterwards we sat outside a cafe across the road in Collins Street, ordered coffees and learnt a couple of important lessons in economics and knowing your station in life. Firstly we found we were expected to pay the outrageous sum of $4 for a cup of acceptable but not exceptional coffee; that was the economics lesson. Then we were asked to move from the table we were sitting at and sit elsewhere as the waiter was re-organising the table seating arrangements to suit a group of people who were friends of the owners.

He obviously decided that we were not the sort of people likely to become frequent patrons of this cafe and therefore we could be moved around at whim. He was certainly right about that, I had eaten there before on a couple of occasions but neither of us will be darkening the doorway of that box again.

2008-10-11T17:30:00.000+11:00

itchen Gardens

This week is Kitchen Garden Week for primary schools and some schools are having Open Days.

The School Kitchen Garden scheme was established in 2001 at Collingwood College to foster an interest in young children about fresh vegetables that grow in gardens, (as opposed to those that ‘grow’ in supermarkets) how to prepare and cook them and how to enjoy eating them. A worthy idea indeed.

I went along today to the School Kitchen Garden at the Yarra Street Primary School, not too far from where I live. I gained an insight into how these gardens operate and was very impressed with the whole set-up. It seems to me a great deal of time and thought and effort has gone into organising this kitchen garden. Not an easy thing to do when the conditions are as dry as they currently are and have been for a long time and when water restrictions are in force.

The beds are set out and a drip irrigation system allows watering from tanks that have been installed to catch rainwater from the roof of the nearby community house. The gardens are looking a little dry and between seasons at the moment but once the tanks fill and the irrigation system is up and going things should improve.

The children have a ‘potting’ shed where they get busy growing seedlings and I was able to buy a couple of tubes with tiny parsley seedlings and a small packet of sunflower seeds.

Near the potting shed there is a poultry pen and a handful of chooks get the scraps from the gardens and the kitchen after the food has been prepared. Through the school holidays one of the parents living nearby comes over and attends to the feeding and watering of the chooks and no doubt is paid in kind with lovely fresh eggs.

A very interesting and informative afternoon for me, there are articles in the papers and items on the electronic media from time to time but there is nothing like seeing things first hand. In these times of kids sitting in front of computers playing games and eating take-away food this is a very important alternative offering kids an insight into how things really are in another part of their world.

2008-10-08T19:30:00.001+11:00

ncreased cost

Oh rats!! My daily broadsheet has increased the subscription costs. They are also offering a very tempting twelve week offer to subscribe to the paper for seven days. I am giving this offer great consideration. I might just take it up for the twelve weeks. The Saturday papers have a lot of classifieds in them so I need to think about all those trees that will be cut down because I fancy getting the paper seven days a week.

There will be people out there in blog land who will be astonished that I don’t read the papers on line. Simple explanation for this, dear readers. I don’t have a computer at home and besides I can take the paper in its paper form (there’s a clumsy arrangement of words if ever I saw one) on the tram or train and read it. A damned sight easier than lugging a computer around on public transport. There has not been a computer invented yet, complete with a screen that I can read, that would be small enough to fit in my already crammed full handbag.

Now to take up the new subscription offer.

2008-10-08T19:15:00.000+11:00

ovial Company

Today was the Big Day Out for Neighbour Heather and I as part of Seniors’ Week.

Today was lunch at Rupertswood, an historic mansion on the outer edge of Melbourne. To get there we take the train to Sunbury, the last station on the line inside the metropolitan area. Rupertswood is around a 15 minute walk from the station and we fortify ourselves with a coffee before we set off.

The mansion is an imposing building and has a long drive which we walk along until we find the footpath, much safer than walking on the road. On arrival we are checked off the bookings list and shown through to the dining room. The dining room was the drawing room in the original mansion, lovely room with views of the garden and surrounding country side. Standing in the queue waiting to be seated we see diners are being shown to circular tables seating ten people. We hope we are sharing with jovial company. We are not the least bit interested in complaints, grumbles and organ recitals.

Our fellow guests are a couple from Melbourne seated next to Neighbour Heather who fit into the jovial category without qualification The others are a small party of four from a retirement village near Kilmore and the majority of the four fit into the jovial category. To my left sits Dorothy. Dorothy is a woman of very, very few words. I ventured into the area of pleasantries (sometimes known as social hypocrisy) and realised quite quickly that I was going to have quite a task ahead of me if I was to engage Dorothy in any sort of conversation that extended beyond the occasional monosyllable.

The meal came out and we all tucked in; I moved my conversation around the table in order to not have to work so hard at maintaining the conversation with Dorothy. All these ladies came from a retirement village near Kilmore. The other ladies were more forthcoming about their living circumstances but Dorothy was very down in the mouth about living there. I persevere and it comes to light that when her farmer husband died she was obliged to leave the farm and find somewhere else to live. She has a daughter in Melbourne and without prying into her financial affairs I assumed, correctly or incorrectly, that this retirement village suited her financial situation.

After the meal we had a guest speaker who spoke about the history of Rupertswood. Things were not done by halves in the early days of settlement in Victoria and in the mid 1870’s when Rupertswood was built the property consisted of 31,000 acres and the house of 50 rooms was surrounded by a 99 acre garden as well as a private railway station catering for guests arriving for balls, hunt meets and house parties.

After the Clarkes sold the property it was purchased by H V McKay a millionaire industrialist and four years later on the death of McKay 1100 acres and the mansion became the property of one Mr Naughton. He then sold it to the Catholic church who set up a home for disadvantaged boys. My first memories of Rupertswood were when the Salesians ran the farm, which bred Friesian cattle and won prizes at the Royal Melbourne Show.

Now it is a conference and wedding reception centre with luxury accommodation and occasionally open to lesser mortals like the senior citizens who are visiting today. We are able to walk around through the house and look at some of the areas which are not usually open to the public.

On the way back to Sunbury station we walked along a path towards the railway line from the mansion and then back into the town. It would be a nice walk to do sometime when I have nothing better to do than take the train to Sunbury for a mooch around Rupertswood.

2008-10-07T19:30:00.000+11:00

inances plummeting

All this media talk about the Global Financial Crisis round the world, plunging stock markets and crashing banks has taken its toll on my vocabulary.

A more measured approach to the topic might see me using the words reduced, affected or maybe even diminished. Plummeting, that’s taking things a step too far. I’m talking about my superannuation. Like the proverbial ostrich I have been burying my head in the sand for a few months now and avoiding looking to see how all this global financial drama has affected my superannuation balance.

I pulled said head out of sand recently, nearly choked on the reality of the situation and immediately planned to remove my super from the fund and transfer it to an ordinary old bank account where it will earn interest under my instructions. People, with the best of intentions tell me things will improve and the original amount will eventually be restored. The people that tell me this are often half my age with a good shot a working many more years. Sure it will, but I’m not entirely a dunce. It will be a long time before it is anywhere near what it might have been without the crash. And you know what? I might be dead by then.

More to the point the whole purpose of this paltry sum of money that has been reduced by between ten and fifteen percent is that I need it now!! I don’t have the luxury of waiting another 10 years. My financial plan is quite simple. I divide the paltry sum up over five or six years and that is the fallback plan if I need some extra money to cover an unexpected expense.

It’s not gambling money. It’s my retirement fund. End of story.

2008-10-07T19:20:00.002+11:00

oing, gone

Apartment 19 has been sold before auction.

Imagine my surprise when I arrive home this afternoon to find a sold sticker has been slapped across the board in the garden. I was planning to have a look through on Thursday, the last inspection day before the auction on Saturday.

Arriving at my front door I looked up to see the young man from the real estate office about to lock the door on Unit 19. He allowed me to look through. It’s sometimes an eye opener to see how superficial cosmetic alterations can improve the look of an apartment. Old Albreg, the vendor has painted, recarpeted and altered the light fittings, all at minimal expense – he did the interior painting – and things have improved considerably.

He held back on expenditure in the kitchen, same tired 40 year old sink and same tired old chip board cupboards. His one concession to modernity in the kitchen is a new cook top and replacing the 40 year old oven with a modern version. The new ovens are much smaller than the great old clunkers that were the top of the range in the far-away days when the apartments were built. As we all know cosmetic appearances are paramount and to reduce cost and keep up appearances he has simply boarded over the empty space. Very cunning.

The dated white venetian blinds gone to the rubbish dump and they are not being replaced. Old Albreg has decided the new owners will prefer to make their own choice about window dressings. They will have to make their choice quick smart or they will find themselves living in a gold fish bowl.

He must have been happy enough about the price - $412,000 - as he has accepted it without waiting to see if it could be bettered at auction. He may well have decided that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush and accept what the buyers have offered.

Prices have been down lately, so maybe he made the right decision.

2008-10-07T19:05:00.001+11:00

eld over

A unanimous decision has been made in the Soup Kitchen about today’s post.

I had a special post of great historical importance for today. Great historical importance to me. I have mislaid my aide memoire and as I am keen to record this for posterity I am going to hold it over to another time.

The aide memoire is bound to turn up somewhere. I often decide something that has been sitting in one place for twenty years should now sit somewhere else. I have a perfectly logical reason for doing this at the time but ten weeks later I have no idea where that new place is and the whole scheme falls over.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

2008-10-06T22:45:00.000+11:00

elightful surrounds

We have a new venue this year for our community garden AGM. No longer do we go to the comfortable, if well worn, surrounds of the community centre near a small public housing estate. No sir, we have moved forward as they say in the current babble-speak and we ain’t ever likely to move back.

This year we have moved upmarket and the venue is in a very expensive top-end-of-the-market retirement apartment block. It’s advertised as a retirement village but how the hell you can describe a building that looks like a boutique hotel as a village defies my imagination.

I must be honest and say I was entirely distracted by the surrounds. Instead of paying close attention to the words of our President – He of the Polished Precinct – I found myself sitting there looking about in total wonder at the room. The chic dark grey, silk floor-length curtains that dress the windows running along the outside wall, the carefully chosen artwork on the walls that smacks of a hand-picked interior designer and the beautifully crafted chairs whose upholstery tones perfectly with the aforesaid curtains.

The droning voice of the President finally punctures my consciousness and I realise he is awarding a Life Membership to Joan D, the main instigator in setting up the community gardens 25 years ago. This is the only worthwhile part of the evening’s proceedings, the rest is the usual stuff around the election of the committee and the usual spiel from ‘Er Who-Gets-Up-Each-Year and harangues us about electing the same President and anyone who dares to suggest otherwise will be taken out and summarily executed. I might be exaggerating a little there, but you get my meaning I’m sure.

After the being talked-at part of the evening finishes we move, with great relief, over to the supper area where the Luxurious Apartments Management has agreed to provide refreshments after our meeting. It’s a little different from the fare which has appeared in the past. There is nothing here on any of the plates that vaguely resemble home baked cakes and I don’t see a steamed dim sim in sight anywhere. The President (HotPP) was once renowned for bringing along a large pot and providing the attending members with a plentiful supply of steamed dim-sims. How times have changed.!!

The word on the street is that some-how, some-one convinced some-one else there may be prospective future residents tucked away among all the cabbages, lettuces and weeds in our community garden. I do know there are a handful of well heeled people among our gardening fraternity but I doubt that they would be moving into this apartment building. They are people of more imagination and a keen sense of being able to live life without all the visible trappings.

2008-10-06T22:30:00.001+11:00

arning Points

“FlyBuys?” The question I am invariably asked at the check-out counter in one of the two major supermarket chains in this country. I shake my head and the check-out person moves on to the next stage of the transaction. A visitor to Australia, unfamiliar with this customer reward system, on being asked this question at the supermarket checkout might wonder what on earth the question means.

I read an article in the weekend paper about earning points, not brownie points but FlyBuy points, or more correctly points for reward cards. The offers vary according to the supermarket chain you shop at and you could of course get a reward card for both places. Just to keep your life simple. And your bank balance near zero.

At one store you get one point on your reward card for every dollar you spend in the store. The big offer is three points for every dollar spent on their Select Brand, the stores premium home brand, on which I am sure they are able to make a bigger profit than they might make on the known brands. Points at this store are credited to your card every four months and the minimum amount which will appear on your card is $20. According to the article, to obtain this huge reward of $20 you need to accrue 3,450 points. Now let’s just do the sums.

This is where the points scheme all falls apart for me; there is no way in the world I am ever going to spend $3,450 at any supermarket anywhere in three months. If I spent $1000 a month on petrol and spent the rest in the supermarket it still wouldn’t work. This is largely a scheme to be used in conjunction with credit and store cards. Maybe it works for families, or others, with apparently unlimited money to spend on anything they fancy in the supermarket.

In the Other Store every $5 spent gets you 4 points. A bit tight with their rewards you might think but they have more stores apart from the supermarket that offer these rewards and this is probably a more workable idea for some people. At this store you only need 2,500 points to earn $20 on your card. That’s better, but still out of my reach. I can only wonder at the lives other people live, sometimes I feel I live in a parallel universe.

The article concludes with a final sentence: "Although the numbers may not stack up in theory, it’s how you use the card that makes it work for you".

There’s a masterful piece of understatement if ever I saw one.