I have a real aversion to adults talking 'baby-talk' to each other. It makes me sweat and break out in a rash. I must be allergic. If it's in the privacy of your own home, well that's fine-- but in public..
This morning I heard a grown woman speaking to her husband on the telephone. What I heard was this:
-Hawouw (translation-hello)
-it cowld (it's cold)
-wuv yooo (i love you)
-bouy bouy (i'm a moron)
Sorry if you, valued reader, are a baby-talker yourself, I have nothing against you personally. But seriously, what is your problem?
Dad asked me to go to to this Tim Winton book launch that's on in a couple of weeks. It should be interesting, I've never been to a 'literary dinner' before. I like Tim Winton a lot, although for some reason I never got around to reading his last book of short stories, The Turning. I loved Cloudstreet, though, and The Riders and Dirt Music. I haven't read that many Australian authors, but he's definitely the best I've read.
Looking at the size of the book in the picture, it's no wonder it took him seven years to write.
Our friends had a little baby girl early this morning-- Patience Lillian Mansfield. Congratulations, Stephen and Julia!
I worry about a lot of things, but growing old is not one of them. Since I hit the age of about 20, I've liked the idea of being an old man, and have looked forward to it. When I think about my future, for some reason I rarely think about the middle years, but instead chapter skip until I am about 70.
There is a lot to like about the elderly man. They take care of their appearance, and always wear nicely ironed trousers. They are not afraid of cardigans, or of wearing a shirt around the house. They don't wear shorts, t-shirts or sneakers, but always opt for a strong, sensible shoe, or a comfortable slipper.
They like to sit around a lot in a particular arm chair, and read, and don't feel the need to do more than they have to. They may go to 'town' once a month, but the rest of the time are content to potter around their own house and yard, taking pride in a good garden, and a nicely mown lawn. Some even have a lolly jar beside their chair, that is reserved only for them, filled with jaffas, raspberries and broken up squares of a Cadbury block. Sometimes they will drape a blanket over their knees if it is cold.
Actually most of these traits describe one of my Grandad's. He left me his armchair when he died, and it sits proudly in our lounge room. I tried to start up a lolly jar to put beside it, but E could not grasp the idea of it being exclusively for me, so I have temporarily given that away. That is another good thing about the elderly man-- they feel no inclination to share, and don't feel bad about it.
I am also not at all afraid of going grey. I currently have a little patch of about 17 white hairs at the front, and a few around my temples, but I look forward to it taking hold properly. (Going bald is a different matter, but I think I am fairly safe there for the time being.) So here's to the future, and those quiet twilight years, when life is small and manageable.
Everything tastes better today. Has Vegemite on toast ever been so delicious? No. I am a stress-head. I worry and worry worry, and pessimistically think that if something could go wrong, it definitely will. Little e's dedication has been hanging over me for months (not so much the service, as the family picnic afterwards), and now that it's done, I feel footloose and fancy free.
I am not a good organiser of events. I don't like parties. Gatherings of more than four people make me nervous. I like to keep my worlds (my family, E's family, friends) separate. If never the twain they meet, well that's great. So while a small, low key picnic at a park for most people would be a breeze, for me it's worry and dread all the way.
How do I please everybody? My in laws like a drink, and always provide plenty of beer, but on the other hand, one of my family members' belongs to the Australian Women's' Temperance Union. It has been raining for two weeks straight. Can you have a picnic in wetlands? There are thirty adults, and only a couple of hours. How can I have a meaningful conversation with every one of them in that time? I can't. Will they go away thinking I am rude? How can I please everybody? I can't. It is all out of my control. This is what keeps me up at night. Seriously, this is the most annoying character trait. I feel like I am responsible for the worlds' happiness. It is ridiculous.
Anyhow, it is over, and I feel great. It is all new and fresh. The sun is out, So You Think You Can Dance is finally over (and I never have to hear a judge say "you have an aura of pure sunshine" again), the Tigers beat the Sharks, the boss is away today, Big Brother starts tonight (don't fight it). Oh, happy day.
Yesterday we had little e dedicated (just like baptism, only crunchy) at church. E and I spoke a lot about dedication vs. baptism, and found it difficult to come to a decision, mainly because they both seemed right and good to us. In the end, we decided on dedication, as we saw this as a way of saying that we saw little e as a gift from God, and that we were publicly 'giving her back' to Him.
What made it click for me, was linking it to Hannah in the Old Testament. All Hannah wants is a child. She prays and prays, year after year, never giving up. Then God finally gives her a little boy (Samuel), and the first thing she does is give him back to God, 'dedicating' his life to Him. In fact she sends him off to live at the temple. That strikes me as pretty bizarre and amazing-- you want something sooooo much, and then you give it away?
But for me, it is acknowledging Who gave us our daughter, and thanking Him, and saying that her little life is His, not ours. I do find it hard to 'relinquish ownership', but the truth is, she never belonged to me. She has always belonged to God, and He knows her, loves her, and will take care of her infinitely better than I ever could.
I have been tagged by Ali to do an Archive Meme (tagged? meme??), which means that I have to find old posts of mine on the topics of family, friends, me, something I love, and anything I like. So here goes--
Family: This was the second post I ever wrote, and was about becoming a family, and discovering Judith Wright.
Friends: This was about making a new friend when I was a kid.
Me: This is about a childhood memory that means a lot to me.
Something I Love: I love The Beach Boys. This is my favourite song
Anything I like: I love nature. This is a post about an amazing creature.
I am supposed to tag some other people to do the same, so I tag Drew and Chris.
I just installed a statcounter thing for my blog (down the bottom of the page to the left) so I can see how many hits I get (thanks Sam). Unfortunately it only starts counting from today, so it will say I have only had, say, seven hits in the last three months, rather than the actual nine or ten I have actually had.
There was an option where you could type in a starting number (presumably so you don't look like a loser with seven hits), and I was very tempted to make a rough estimate of the past three months, and type in a conservative 250 000, but for the sake of truthfulness I opted for zero. I have also found that if I keep hitting refresh, I will look really popular..
It is quite obvious that praying to God is how we find relief from our worries and anxieties-- as is said in Philippians 4:6-7,
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
But I think more specifically for me, the best antidote for worrying is to pray to God about OTHER people. The more I spend time thinking about those around me, and praying for their struggles, and their lives, somehow the more manageable my own issues and worries become. It is not just that my problems seem smaller in comparison to other peoples', but that I gain perspective, and remember that I am not the centre of the universe. Everybody struggles. Struggles are not the end of the world.
I have also found that God does an awesome thing when I shift my mind towards other people-- He shows me clearly that He is taking care of me. It is like He is saying, 'you take care of other people, don't you worry about yourself, I am taking care of you'. By taking care of us, He frees us up to take care of others.
So as it turns out, I am a Concerned Visionary. Who knew? I did this personality test that Onlinesoph linked to, and after many probing questions, I was informed that I am, in fact, a Concerned Visionary.
I think the results are pretty spot on, particularly the bit about people coming to me for fashion advice. It's just good to get it in writing. I think the main things that came up were that I am a worried, unspontaneous, dreaming recluse who is frightened of change. Sounds about right.
A more concerning statistic was that I have 74% femininity and only 48% masculinity (I am bad at maths, but I am fairly sure that does not add up to 100..). Come on, 48%?? Not even a pass? I just wrote a post about football for crying out loud.
It is a fun quiz, I urge you to give it a burl and discover the frightening truth about YOU..
I've been watching the new David Attenborough series, Life In Cold Blood. It has been pretty good-- lots of frogs and salamanders. I got a bit sad watching it last night though, as I started thinking about the two axolotls I had when I was a teenager. I did not treat them very well.
To be honest, they used to frustrate me a lot. You couldn't just sprinkle food into their tank, you had to stick your whole arm in to the cold, murky water, and hand feed them this tablet thing. That got old after about a week.
They were also very jumpy. As soon as the tablet touched their lips, they would get such a surprise, freak out and sometimes flip themselves all the way out of the tank, and onto the carpet of my room. I would then frantically try and rescue them, as they wriggled and grubbed under my bed, gathering fluff and dust as they went, flipping and flopping. Feeding time was very stressful for all of us. After a while, there was only one left, as the other had gone carpet exploring one too many times.
What happened next, I am not proud of, but still, the tale must be told. I got very tired of my one remaining axolotl. I was forever rescuing him, or sticking my arm into green, algae-filled water to feed him. I came to resent him.
One dark day, the clouds were still, and the birds had stopped singing. The mood was sombre, as I set of into the bush, with my dark little secret, hidden in an ice cream container. Farther and farther I walked, through hill and gully, deep into the undergrowth, searching for a creek. If not a creek, at least a pond. On I trekked. No creek. No pond.
As time marched on, my expectations lowered. Maybe a pool. Or a puddle. More walking. No water. Every man must once in his life face the darkness that is in his own soul, and stare face to face with the monster that he sees. Onto a cold, hard, very dry rock, I placed this creature, this being that had depended on me. Away I turned, and with out looking back, I ran. Ran like I had never run. Like a man runs from the dark things that course through his blood from the very core of himself.
And friends, I stand before you today, naked, ashamed, and with my hands still stained with the bloodguilt of a dark childhood. Out! Out! Damned spot!!
I may have disowned the tiges if the rabbitohs beat us. The first half was very average but it seemed like Tim Sheens gave them a good talking to at half time, and then they came out firing. That Ben Teo try was one of the best I have seen in ages... about a million guys tackling him, and he still got the ball over. Though I feel a bit sorry for John Morris, I think Matthew Head should stay at halfback. He did some really good stuff on Sunday. Hopefully Marshall and Farrah will be right to play again on the weekend.
He ransoms me unharmed from the battle waged against me
--Psalm 55:18
It's 1965, and The Beach Boys are at the height of their fame. Brian Wilson, eldest brother, songwriter and leader of the group has had a nervous breakdown and has bowed out of touring.
Enter Glen Campbell, country singer and session guitarist to fill in for Brian on the tour. As a thankyou, Brian gives one of his brand new compositions to Glen Campell. It is a beautiful song with a soaring melody that few singers could handle, but Glen Campell does a great job of it. It's called Guess I'm Dumb.
Is it bad manners to not take the advice of somebody behind a counter?
I was buying some cough lollies, and after making my considered choice, placed them on the counter. The guy looks at me straight in the eye, and gruffly says, "THESE are much better", gesturing to the high falootin' twice-the-price option. I paused, and ummed and ahhed (I am generally very easily swayed), but thought, no, stick to your guns, Benny boy. So out I went, with my lesser cough lollies, with a stern glare from the guy behind the counter.
Had this taken place in a chemist, I may have heeded his advice, but this was a petrol station. Since when did servo guys give pharmaceutical advice?
Feeling a bit worst for wear this morning. Rough night with little e crying up a storm at 2am, and then just laying awake for ages after everyone was asleep again. Need a coffee but feeling a bit too fragile (the raw chillies I whacked on my already spicy burritos last night --not such a good idea). Tried some health food from this guy, to cheer me up. To no avail.
Ahh, 1983. Good times. Only the really special kids (read- shortest) got to hold the sign. But at least I wore my good socks.
Heady days, heady days.
I went to one of those Chinese massage places the other day-- kind of rough, but cheap. I go there quite often, but mostly I come away a bit disappointed with my 'pampering experience'. There are certainly some things they could work on. Ambiance and customer service are my main gripes.
If they could get rid of that damp-towels-that-have-been-left-in-the-machine-too-long smell, that would be great. And if your masseuse did not walk out three times during your 15 minute massage, without warning or apology to answer the phone-- this would also help a lot. On each return, I could sense them pause, while they thought 'now... where the heck was I up to? Oh well, I'll just do a bit of elbow in the shoulder blade action again.'
Another suggestion I would make is that if you are going to give someone a head and face massage (I tried this once, out of curiosity), it would be pretty nice if those hands that were pressing your cheeks and thumbing your eyelids (I know--eyelids. I was surprised too) smelt a little less of stale cigarettes, and felt a little less like sandpaper.
But all criticism aside, my main problem with these massages, is that I want to be really relaxed, but I can't help feeling strange and uncomfortable about the fact that I have given some random bloke money to press my eyes. And I don't know what correct protocol is for me. Am I to keep quiet and then say thanks at the end, or am I supposed to be one of those 'ooohh, yes... oh, that's good..ohhhh' people that I hear in the next cubicle?
I really don't want to be one of those people. But I am getting sick of hearing my masseuse ask 'is okay?' every two seconds while I'm trying to go to my happy place. Maybe I should just save up for one of those massage chairs and be done with it.
I am reading a really cool book by Annie Dillard, called Pilgrim At Tinker Creek. I love the way she writes, and the fascination she has for life and nature. Here is an interesting bit that I read this morning--
It snowed. It snowed all yesterday and never emptied the sky, although the clouds looked so low and heavy they might drop all at once with a thud. The light is diffuse and hueless, like the light on paper inside a pewter bowl. The snow looks light and the sky dark, but in fact the sky is lighter than the snow. Obviously the thing illuminated cannot be lighter than its illuminator. The classical demonstration of this point involves simply laying a mirror flat on the snow so that it reflects in its surface the sky, and comparing by sight this value to that of the snow. This is all very well, even conclusive, but the illusion persists. The dark is overhead and the light at my feet; I'm walking upside-down in the sky.
Something I have been struggling with lately, is my attitude towards difficulties in my life. My natural inclination is to resent the difficulty, and wish it would go away. The other end of the spectrum is the idea that God refines us through adversity, and that this is how we grow.
To be honest, without being too specific, I have been in a situation for a while that I am now finding difficult to cope with, and finding that I can't really keep going the way that I have been. I don't want to be too melodramatic, but this situation makes me feel pretty continuously anxious, stressed, trapped, resentful and angry -- things that I really don't want to feel.
There are times when I feel like I am really relying on God's strength, and during those times the situation seems a lot more manageable -- but I find it very hard to hold on to that and keep it going.
So, to get to the point, what I am really wondering, is how much I should be praying for a way out, and how much I should be praying for strength to continue dealing with it. If this is how I am growing, and something God has given me to strengthen me, then is it right for me to be praying for a way out? Any oppinions or advice would be welcome.
On Saturday we went to a marriage seminar at church called Stoking The Fire, and it was basically all about sex. The speaker was Patricia Weerakoon, who is a sexologist and a christian. What sort of a term is 'sexologist'? Couldn't they think of something better than sexologist? If you specialise in feet they give you a good, scientific sounding name like Podiatrist, they don't call you a Footologist. Sexologist. I never.
Anyway, the course was really good, and I got a lot out of it, but I gotta say, I found it pretty embarrassing. I didn't realise my sensibilities were quite so delicate. There are some words you don't really ever want to hear your minister say. Of course there were no inconspicuous seats left so we had to sit right up the very front, where everybody could see me squirming, and see my ears turning redder and redder. I'm all for frank discussion, as long as I can be somewhere else at the time, maybe listening over an intercom from a secret location.
A small achievement maybe, but satisfying nonetheless. To all those who said I would never make it, the doubters who said it couldn't be done-- how you like these apples, baby?
My 100th post should probably include something substantial, perhaps a unique take on the state of the nation, maybe a candid glimpse into the real life of the blogger. Or maybe an ironic post about blogs about blogging..... But I've got nothing.
I cooked us up a big brekky for dinner last night (I play by no man's rules, daddy-o). The works-- bacon, fried eggs, hash browns, mushrooms, tomato and toast. How decadant is that?
I often read on peoples blogs that they have decided to moderate or not moderate their comments. Out of curiosity I have turned on the setting that allows anyone to leave a comment, without having to sign in or anything. My one request is that if anyone does leave a comment, that they sign their name.
I am pretty new to the whole blog thing--have people had good or bad experiences in regards to this setting??
'Holy Spirit' is the experimental name for Eternal Life working in human beings here and now.
--Oswald Chambers
Climb to the topmost mountain peak, gaze out across long chains of hills, and observe the rivers in their courses and all the magnificence that offers itself to your eye- what feeling takes hold of you? There is a silent reverence within you; you lose yourself in infinite space; silently, your whole being is purified and cleansed, your ego disappears. You are nothing; God is everything.
--Carl Gustav Carus
What is your favourite song of all time?
Mine is Forever by The Beach Boys. After their early 60's popular period, this is from 1970, and is one of the few BB's songs written and sung by the drummer, Dennis Wilson. Beautiful soulful vocals, great words, one of the most romantic songs EVER. And great 'na na na's at the end by Brian.
I could listen to this one song all day.
I read some disappointing news about Caspar David Friedrich (see last post) in the library at lunch time. Apparently he became pretty ill, and was given to fits of rage etc. To me this completely goes against what I see in his painting-- calmness, peace, evenness. Maybe it is slightly encouraging, in a strange way-- that you don't need to be a 'tranquil sea' to create something lovely and peaceful.
The Monet to Turner exhibition was really great. I was really blown away by the paintings by Turner, Friedrich, Monet and Corot. Seeing a painting like Haystacks, Midday by Monet, in the flesh, a picture I have pored over in books, was really fantastic.
What a painting. It's like he was so tuned in to the beauty of what is around, what we mostly just glance over, that he could draw it all out, enlarge it in his mind, and put it on to canvas. It is still a picture of some haystacks on the grass, but all those common things vibrate with this amazing glorious beauty. Wow.
At the other end of the scale, I was really struck by Caspar David Friedrich's paintings-- 
Sort of the opposite to Monet- quiet, reverent depiction of beauty rather than ecstatic depiction of beauty, and detail rather than impression. But still a response to the same beauty, if that makes sense. Here is a quote about his work-
Friedrich's 'gothic' religious interpretations of vertical German fir trees, ancient oaks, sublime mountains and deserted coasts are intensely spiritual...He was highly selective in what he chose to emphasise in nature, but he painted his selection in all its detail- God is in the detail of creation. (Ron Radford)
Canberra was quite an experience-- or more to the point Canberra with a 10 and a half month baby was quite an experience. Sort of our first holiday as 'a family' and boy oh boy, it ain't how it used to be! Don't get me wrong, Little e is a great kid most of the time, and takes a lot in her stride, but we probably had about three or four hours sleep each night, and were basically wrecked the whole time, trying to sight see as well as juggling a whingy kid..
But not to whinge too much, it was fun too. Canberra is a weird place-- like a big university campus, and the layout is bizarre. Driving around was like being stuck on a merry-go-round-- always missing exits and ending up further and further from where you want to be. Bloody town planners.
A quick run-down: Drove down Friday morning, morning tea at Mittagong, lunch in Manuca, checked in to motel, had room service for first time ever, went to bed, sat and watched tv with little e at 2am, Saturday-complimentary buffet brekky--awesome, went to Turner to Monet exhibition, lunch at old parliament house cafe, arvo rest, swim and sauna in motel pool, dinner and bed, watched football replays with little e at 3am, Sunday- another big brekky, packed up and checked out, went to old bus depot markets, stopped at a winery for lunch near Lake George, drove home, crashed.
I am excited about tomorrow-- we are driving down to Canberra for a couple of days to see the Turner to Monet exhibition at the National Gallery. It should be awesome-- I have never been to the gallery before, and haven't been to Canberra for thirteen years, so it will be nice to be somewhere new and unfamiliar.
Hopefully E and I can align our itineraries though- she has scheduled in a two hour window for the gallery, whereas I have scheduled in a rough 48 hour window..
Lately I've had a hankering to go camping. I haven't been camping in years and years-- I'd love to cook stuff on a fire (maybe a wild boar), drink billy tea, smoke a pipe and sleep in a tent. I want to be a dad who takes his kids camping. I might have to look in to buying a tent, I think...
I have a real aversion to adults talking 'baby-talk' to each other. It makes me sweat and break out in a rash. I must be allergic. If it's in the privacy of your own home, well that's fine-- but in public..
