tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65138382831905354722024-03-19T03:12:37.024-07:00qotnqueenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-36092957250839968052010-01-05T11:58:00.000-08:002010-01-05T14:18:24.073-08:00Back to Base with Fond Memories<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OtgcZ3k0I/AAAAAAAAA68/aLPKORlkpEc/s1600-h/Wanaka+Panorama+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 91px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OtgcZ3k0I/AAAAAAAAA68/aLPKORlkpEc/s320/Wanaka+Panorama+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423369149176320834" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0Ov3FVnibI/AAAAAAAAA7k/t1HlqeVGWUI/s1600-h/the+Wanaka+vintage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0Oswmf68dI/AAAAAAAAA6k/hFyToDRuvU0/s320/Lupins+on+the+Beach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423368327252341202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0O6cZMTYnI/AAAAAAAAA78/WHdsoJbfSkk/s1600-h/waterfall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0O6cZMTYnI/AAAAAAAAA78/WHdsoJbfSkk/s320/waterfall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423383373245801074" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OuMJxZPMI/AAAAAAAAA7E/AFXfLGcXmzQ/s1600-h/Wildflowers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OuMJxZPMI/AAAAAAAAA7E/AFXfLGcXmzQ/s320/Wildflowers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423369900088966338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OvHGhrzpI/AAAAAAAAA7U/zrKnUqwiMm0/s1600-h/Ferns.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OvHGhrzpI/AAAAAAAAA7U/zrKnUqwiMm0/s320/Ferns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423370912830049938" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OvTKvPNdI/AAAAAAAAA7c/xPGFkyevII0/s1600-h/Ferns+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OvTKvPNdI/AAAAAAAAA7c/xPGFkyevII0/s320/Ferns+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423371120119068114" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OsJDwBb8I/AAAAAAAAA6M/JnJDEk5J4ys/s1600-h/Mirror+Lakes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OsJDwBb8I/AAAAAAAAA6M/JnJDEk5J4ys/s320/Mirror+Lakes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423367647909736386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OrzJjSCUI/AAAAAAAAA6E/R7SebAwv5Eg/s1600-h/Tunnel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OrzJjSCUI/AAAAAAAAA6E/R7SebAwv5Eg/s320/Tunnel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423367271509788994" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OqgAk-SPI/AAAAAAAAA58/GX-DzywbIGc/s1600-h/Milford+Sound+Panorama.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 83px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OqgAk-SPI/AAAAAAAAA58/GX-DzywbIGc/s320/Milford+Sound+Panorama.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423365843171821810" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OqA1gIGII/AAAAAAAAA5s/SY7WUvw_uX4/s1600-h/Giant+Kelp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OqA1gIGII/AAAAAAAAA5s/SY7WUvw_uX4/s320/Giant+Kelp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423365307622758530" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0Opyc6iCCI/AAAAAAAAA5k/9VFVDF_gej8/s1600-h/Moeraki+Boulders.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0Opyc6iCCI/AAAAAAAAA5k/9VFVDF_gej8/s320/Moeraki+Boulders.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423365060504455202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OuneGyWRI/AAAAAAAAA7M/iNZDiWnnEPQ/s1600-h/Moeraki+boulder.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OuneGyWRI/AAAAAAAAA7M/iNZDiWnnEPQ/s320/Moeraki+boulder.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423370369403869458" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OpiCxMhVI/AAAAAAAAA5c/4AB-isKMuoI/s1600-h/Signboard.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OpiCxMhVI/AAAAAAAAA5c/4AB-isKMuoI/s320/Signboard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423364778608067922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OpW0O2_iI/AAAAAAAAA5U/4pXrMLe2dbk/s1600-h/Michael+O%27Brien.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0OpW0O2_iI/AAAAAAAAA5U/4pXrMLe2dbk/s320/Michael+O%27Brien.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423364585727393314" border="0" /></a>Arrived back on Sunday. Luggage turned up a week into the trip. Jetstar couriered it to our motel in <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wanaka" title="Wanaka" rel="wikipedia">Wanaka</a>. By then, we'd realised that it was much more comfortable traveling with only one small case between us, a good lesson for the future. Less is more.<br /><br />I was stunned by the glory of <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Zealand" title="New Zealand" rel="wikipedia">New Zealand</a>. What struck me first was the wild beauty of the mountains. Australia's mountains are all very old, rounded plateus, weathered over aeons. The bush here is beautiful, but mostly shades of brown. In New Zealand, the mountains are high and sharp. The land is painted all the shades of green. I expected those features from watching "<a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lord_of_the_Rings" title="The Lord of the Rings" rel="wikipedia">The Lord of the Rings</a>" trilogy. What I didn't expect and hadn't read about was the fragrance of the country. Everywhere outside the cities and towns, the land smells beautiful. The scent of fragrant ferns and wildflowers bathes the breeze, infuses the bush, seeps into the car.<br /><br />We came to the beach at <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moeraki" title="Moeraki" rel="wikipedia">Moeraki</a> to view the giant boulders. As we walked back across the beach, I saw Michael O'Brien. I complimented him on his kilt and he told me that in fact what he was wearing was a filimore (my approximation at spelling)--a precursor of the kilt, and not, as is the kilt, tailored. He told me he'd made all his clothes by hand without the use of a sewing machine. He said he was a bookbinder: not an occupation one encounters every day. I asked if I could take a photo of him and he agreed. I asked if it was OK to put it on a photo sharing website and he said it wouldn't be the first time.<br /><br />Most of his life, Michael O'Brien told me, he'd been trying to find a community of like-minded folks, who believed that consumerism was to be rejected, a community of tradespeople who could live together and trade in their services and skills and be self-sufficient. He said that the world's resources were finite and unsustainable. He told me he'd lived in <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auckland" title="Auckland" rel="wikipedia">Auckland</a>, the most populous place in New Zealand and not found one other person who thought as he did, but in the town where he now lives there are many others who think as he does. I didn't like to show my ignorance of the local geography by asking which town he was referring to. I let it go, shook hands, exchanged names and walked back to the car. We still had a long drive before we could rest for the night.<br /><br />The next town was <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oamaru" title="Oamaru" rel="wikipedia">Oamaru</a>, a place I didn't know much about, but the sign to "Victorian Oamaru" drew me in the direction of the arrow and the stately white buildings which lined the street. There I saw the signboard, in the photo. The only regret I have about that day was that I didn't take another photo of Michael O'Brien. The one I got is a little out of focus, although I think the exposure, the colours, the background are satisfying, and Michael's posture reveals something of his personality. I did upload Michael's photo to Flickr & someone who saw it told me about this Youtube video: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSRcyh0XLao" rel="nofollow">www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSRcyh0XLao</a> .<br /><br /><div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/9962c8a0-6f59-4f1b-840e-700287cec510/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=9962c8a0-6f59-4f1b-840e-700287cec510" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-59679142276775724232009-12-24T14:47:00.000-08:002009-12-24T15:25:50.722-08:00MERRY CHRISTMAS from Franz Josef!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPvxOaHu6I/AAAAAAAAA3M/ShdmViwOHoI/s1600-h/Christchurch+Cathedral.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPvxOaHu6I/AAAAAAAAA3M/ShdmViwOHoI/s320/Christchurch+Cathedral.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418938405617122210" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzP4ULfLZ9I/AAAAAAAAA4U/I1f1d3Cv-qg/s1600-h/Maori+Dancer+in+Cathedral+Square.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzP4ULfLZ9I/AAAAAAAAA4U/I1f1d3Cv-qg/s320/Maori+Dancer+in+Cathedral+Square.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418947802221471698" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPxE05i6YI/AAAAAAAAA38/a670ykQstjE/s1600-h/Tranzalpine+sml.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPxE05i6YI/AAAAAAAAA38/a670ykQstjE/s320/Tranzalpine+sml.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418939841878616450" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPw59ms77I/AAAAAAAAA30/x00_JH1aNX0/s1600-h/Southern+Alps+2+sml.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPw59ms77I/AAAAAAAAA30/x00_JH1aNX0/s320/Southern+Alps+2+sml.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418939655236939698" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPwxBERzHI/AAAAAAAAA3s/8t0513zuUpc/s1600-h/Southern+Alps+sml.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPwxBERzHI/AAAAAAAAA3s/8t0513zuUpc/s320/Southern+Alps+sml.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418939501547474034" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPwIYam-wI/AAAAAAAAA3U/JkGaBV_PYmQ/s1600-h/the+walk+to+Franz+Josef+glacier+sml.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPwIYam-wI/AAAAAAAAA3U/JkGaBV_PYmQ/s320/the+walk+to+Franz+Josef+glacier+sml.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418938803440515842" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPyXeyQ2KI/AAAAAAAAA4E/8_tCzn0AYYg/s1600-h/the+end+of+Franz+Josef+glacier+sml.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPyXeyQ2KI/AAAAAAAAA4E/8_tCzn0AYYg/s320/the+end+of+Franz+Josef+glacier+sml.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418941261871634594" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPwifUKPPI/AAAAAAAAA3k/q-7IlM60j5o/s1600-h/Hiking+boots+with+cramp-ons.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPwifUKPPI/AAAAAAAAA3k/q-7IlM60j5o/s320/Hiking+boots+with+cramp-ons.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418939251969113330" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPwYSmRgqI/AAAAAAAAA3c/KuUNULoPHSI/s1600-h/our+guide,+Sally+sml.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPwYSmRgqI/AAAAAAAAA3c/KuUNULoPHSI/s320/our+guide,+Sally+sml.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418939076756734626" border="0" /></a>
<br /><meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/mariafranklin/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>212</o:Words> <o:characters>1212</o:Characters> <o:lines>10</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>2</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>1488</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>11.1282</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng></o> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotshowrevisions></w> <w:donotprintrevisions></w> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin></w> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-parent:""; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapedefaults ext="edit" spidmax="1026"></o> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapelayout ext="edit"> <o:idmap ext="edit" data="1"></o> </o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">We’re now in the township of Franz Josef, having left Christchurch with not a whisper about where our luggage is or when/if we might see it again. PACIFIC BLUE SUCKS BIG TIME! Jo took my Property Irregularity Report at the office on Monday morning & encouraged me to call for news, which I did during office hours. They simply stopped answering the phone & I was only able to get a <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Answering_machine" title="Answering machine" rel="wikipedia">recorded message</a>—telling me the office hours were 9.00 to 5.00 and that they were sorry they couldn’t take my call and that I should leave a message—on Tuesday and Wednesday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">So, I’m over it. I’ve stopped calling now (well, it’s Christmas Day) and I’ve got used to my new cheap wardrobe. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I scooted around Christchurch for a couple of days taking photos. We crossed the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Alps" title="Southern Alps" rel="wikipedia">Southern Alps</a> on the Tranzalpine on Wednesday and it was breathtaking. Yesterday we walked on the Franz Josef glacier. It’s probably the most strenuous thing I’ve ever done, apart from pushing Alex out. (Well, perhaps it’s just the most strenuous thing I can remember doing. Perhaps when I was younger and stronger I did more physically difficult things, but I can’t remember any.) I don’t think I have too many more years left when I can think of attempting such a climb. But I’m glad to have worn cramp-ons on big old walking boots one time in my life.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Franz Josef glacier and its brother/sister, the Fox glacier, are the glaciers closest to sea level in the world, (just 300 metres above) and only 19 km from the Tasman Sea (or the ditch as we call it in our part of the world). It's quite comfortable, as far as temperature is concerned, to climb the glacier in the summer. Apparently Australia is to blame (to be thanked?) for the large volume of precipitation here: the glacier gets 7 metres of snow a year. Warm hot air comes across the ditch & hits the Southern Alps & can't go through them, so rises and forms precipitation when it hits the high cold air. Voila! Glaciers and a very wet west coast.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span lang="EN-US"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">OK, got to get inside now. Am being eaten alive by sandflies & I can only access the internet from the office, which is now closed, so I'm sitting on the bench outside. More later.
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<br /><div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/571dfc88-799e-410b-8715-224fc1363363/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=571dfc88-799e-410b-8715-224fc1363363" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-30913580460967412452009-12-20T16:19:00.000-08:002009-12-24T14:47:06.855-08:00JETSTAR SUCKS: A Bagless Lady in Christchurch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPu_9jBYtI/AAAAAAAAA3E/GIC3om-_Glk/s1600-h/Flight+JQ151.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPu_9jBYtI/AAAAAAAAA3E/GIC3om-_Glk/s320/Flight+JQ151.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418937559277462226" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPugVLeLXI/AAAAAAAAA28/EXKvxT5-D8Y/s1600-h/Not+departing+from+gate+25.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPugVLeLXI/AAAAAAAAA28/EXKvxT5-D8Y/s320/Not+departing+from+gate+25.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418937015865322866" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPuWePaYqI/AAAAAAAAA20/d5V7PR16KEM/s1600-h/Porthole.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPuWePaYqI/AAAAAAAAA20/d5V7PR16KEM/s320/Porthole.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418936846499078818" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPuHx5RmFI/AAAAAAAAA2s/H7ogv83h2UA/s1600-h/No+baggage+sml.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SzPuHx5RmFI/AAAAAAAAA2s/H7ogv83h2UA/s320/No+baggage+sml.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418936594076899410" border="0" /></a><br />Arrived at Sydney Airport about 3.3o for ourflight to Christchurch at 5.10. We would arrive in the capital of New Zealand's south island at 10 pm or so, but that was the earliest flight I could get on Sunday. Picked up the boarding passes, went to gate 25 and waited with the others.<br /><br />About 4.30, when we expected the boarding announcement, we hear: "This is an announcement for passengers on JQ151. The flight has been delayed due to infrastructure and baggage room issues. <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jetstar_Airways" title="Jetstar Airways" rel="wikipedia">Jetstar</a> regrets the 30 minute delay to the flight and thanks you for your patience."<br /><br />What is a "baggage room issue", I wonder. Have some pollies been debating on the carousels? I sit and read the paper, glancing up sometimes to watch the munchkins crawl over the carpet. One little blond boy whizzes around making whooshing noises, his grubby security blanket billowing behind him like Superman's cape.<br /><br />A little while later and another announcement citing the ongoing "issues" with the luggage and regretting the delay. And then we're told we will be boarding in five minutes. People perk up, and then passengers with seats from 15 to 30 are invited to board. Ours are 29 and 30. Even though you'll read in the Wikipedia link for Jetstar that it allows passengers to choose seating when booking online, unfortunately it hasn't perfected that revolutionary practice as yet, and my son and I would be seated one row apart.<br /><br />The Korean lady, who'd shared with me her occupation (she is a housewife), her recent past (she'd been on a three-day tour of Australia), and her future plans (she was now flying to New Zealand for a three-day tour) asked me what was happening with the flight. Explanation was difficult as her English language confidence exceeded her ability. However, I showed her five fingers and pointed to her watch. She smiled and nodded.<br /><br />When I got to the front of the queue and handed over my boarding pass, I pointed out Jetstar's mistake in our seating arrangements and asked if Alex and I could sit together. She said that it was impossible change the seating at this time: the plane was fully booked; I might be able to negotiate with other passengers once the plane had taken off. The girl took Alex's boarding pass and placed it back into his passport and handed it back to him. Mine she lingered over.<br /><br />"Oh, you've dropped off the system," she told me. "Someone else has been assigned to your seat, even though you have a boarding pass."<br /><br />"What does that mean?" I asked her.<br /><br />"The plane's fully booked," she told me. "There aren't any extra seats."<br /><br />I repeated the earlier question. "I just have to speak to my supervisor," she said, and for the next 40 minutes or so, the three staff discussed my situation with the supervisor and among themselves, but not with me. I waited and watched as all the other passengers boarded. I stayed close so that I could listen in to their conversations for news of my plight because they were not sharing anything with me directly.<br /><br />Finally Carolyne, a beautiful young woman from Fiji, said that they had arranged for me to get a Pacific Blue flight which was leaving soon and that she would walk me to the gate. It was a couple of kilometres over the polished tiles to gate 63. When we got there Carolyne hesitated. I said, "You're staying with me. If you don't organise my flight, they won't know what's happening."<br /><br />"Yes, but there doesn't seem to be anyone here from Pacific Blue."<br /><br />She was right. There were no Pacific Blue staff behind the counter, but many agitated people milling around and three of them now appr0ached us.<br /><br />"When are we boarding?" asked a man from the U.S.<br /><br />"Sorry, I don't know," answered Carolyne, "I don't work for them. I work for Jetstar."<br /><br />"We've been calling the Pacific Blue office and they keep telling me they're sending someone, but no-one's come," said a young Aussie guy. "Can you tell them to come?"<br /><br />"Sorry, I have no connection with Pacific Blue." But she was doomed. Her red blazer made her stand out and every few minutes another desperate passenger approached asking for news of the flight. They'd been in the lounge waiting for an hour and a half with no information and no airline staff. A Pacific Blue guy finally came and asked some of the passengers what was going on.<br /><br />He went down the passageway with a couple of colleagues, whipping through the self-locking door down to the on-ramp and away from the approaching group of irate passengers. After about half an hour, two Pacific Blue staff arrived. One of them, Marija, had been sent down to solve the chaos, after being hired by the company about five minutes earlier. As I watched them put my details into the Pacific Blue manifold through trial and error, Carolyne suggesting a fix when they weren't able to enter the information, I had an uncomfortable thought that my problems were probably not over yet.<br /><br />Well, we did finally get onto the Pacific Blue flight and arrived in Christchurch about 2.30 a.m. on Monday. My foreboding when I watched the three inexperienced women on the computers the night before was realised. We had arrived in Christchurch with our carry-on luggage which included this laptop and a camera, but no spare undies or a toothbrush. (From this, dear readers, unfortunately you get a very good view of my priorities.) The taxi dropped us at the Ibis Hotel down the lane from Cathedral Square and right next door to a luggage shop.<br /><br /><br />Have not heard good news from the lost baggage people at Christchurch Airport. Am off to find a change of undies, a toothbrush, and perhaps something a bit warmer to wear. (It's bloody cold with that wind, though the skies are very blue.)<br /><br />More information about Christchurch anon. <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/d2f389ad-49b2-4e20-b37d-5ed6c585b6de/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=d2f389ad-49b2-4e20-b37d-5ed6c585b6de" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-38099684084794591452009-11-10T03:26:00.000-08:002009-11-10T04:37:56.066-08:00Change of Seasons<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvleQn1s2qI/AAAAAAAAA0s/d-4Jaqbl0sg/s1600-h/azaleas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvleQn1s2qI/AAAAAAAAA0s/d-4Jaqbl0sg/s320/azaleas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402452867672758946" border="0" /></a><br />I love this time of year in Sydney. The winter quilts come off & they're stowed at the top of the wardrobe until next May. The weather is not very hot yet, not as hot as it will get over the next five months. It's warm enough to go about with thin cotton clothing, no sleeves, shorts, but not so hot that you have to cover up and race for shade to escape the baking radiance of the sun.<br /><br />On Botany Bay, the kiteboarders get out in the wind and ride the choppy water.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlW1Z8vlaI/AAAAAAAAAz0/iP5DONkLSGU/s1600-h/unwinding.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 223px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlW1Z8vlaI/AAAAAAAAAz0/iP5DONkLSGU/s320/unwinding.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402444703506339234" border="0" /></a><br />In November the jacarandas bloom: lovely exotics. Strong perfume of jasmine on the night breeze and the Christmas trees turning pink and then red. No Christmas beetles these days, though. When I was a child, November and December meant flying hordes of them. My brothers caught them, raced them in competitions. Colours like gemstones.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlZ-2c_8NI/AAAAAAAAA0E/UGspec38uoI/s1600-h/Jacarandahs+on+Oxford+Street.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlZ-2c_8NI/AAAAAAAAA0E/UGspec38uoI/s320/Jacarandahs+on+Oxford+Street.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402448164311527634" border="0" /></a><br />And more recently in Sydney, November means Sculpture by the Sea, ranged along the cliff walk from Tamarama to Bondi Beach.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlbFGCJe-I/AAAAAAAAA0M/PzHRqdkqPT8/s1600-h/sea+view.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlbFGCJe-I/AAAAAAAAA0M/PzHRqdkqPT8/s320/sea+view.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402449371084717026" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlbnAXvgQI/AAAAAAAAA0U/4kMe4ys5vN0/s1600-h/white+light.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlbnAXvgQI/AAAAAAAAA0U/4kMe4ys5vN0/s320/white+light.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402449953680228610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlTFvu-K9I/AAAAAAAAAzc/tIWzr12hwZA/s1600-h/out+of+the+box.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlTFvu-K9I/AAAAAAAAAzc/tIWzr12hwZA/s320/out+of+the+box.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402440586185550802" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlcBH5pPQI/AAAAAAAAA0c/IyQgZfzDo1c/s1600-h/alas+poor+yorick.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlcBH5pPQI/AAAAAAAAA0c/IyQgZfzDo1c/s320/alas+poor+yorick.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402450402378071298" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlZcmrPKGI/AAAAAAAAAz8/artwij_Cq6o/s1600-h/sea+scape.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvlZcmrPKGI/AAAAAAAAAz8/artwij_Cq6o/s320/sea+scape.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402447575960725602" border="0" /></a>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-31042130061466126042009-11-03T15:22:00.000-08:002009-11-03T15:58:01.489-08:00Images from the Blue Mountains<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvDCq2IgXZI/AAAAAAAAAzM/f2lLCPyqjtQ/s1600-h/Megalong+Valley+.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 68px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvDCq2IgXZI/AAAAAAAAAzM/f2lLCPyqjtQ/s320/Megalong+Valley+.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400029994558709138" border="0" /></a><br />Spent a weekend in the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-33.7180555556,150.310555556&spn=0.1,0.1&q=-33.7180555556,150.310555556%20%28Blue%20Mountains%20%28Australia%29%29&t=h" title="Blue Mountains (Australia)" rel="geolocation">Blue Mountains</a> with my yoga teachers and classmates. This is the view of the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-33.7333333333,150.25&spn=1.0,1.0&q=-33.7333333333,150.25%20%28Megalong%20Valley%29&t=h" title="Megalong Valley" rel="geolocation">Megalong Valley</a> from Kanimbla Retreat at Blackheath.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvDBw255ZgI/AAAAAAAAAy8/Zn1ELf_Iiw0/s1600-h/waratah.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvDBw255ZgI/AAAAAAAAAy8/Zn1ELf_Iiw0/s320/waratah.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400028998333457922" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvDCFPng3uI/AAAAAAAAAzE/q_6-X9N6_ss/s1600-h/wildflowers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvDCFPng3uI/AAAAAAAAAzE/q_6-X9N6_ss/s320/wildflowers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400029348564623074" border="0" /></a><br />And here are some of the flowers around the bush on the property.<br /><br /><br /><br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/6f158a2f-3607-46e2-ac50-c7ed7ae41b09/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=6f158a2f-3607-46e2-ac50-c7ed7ae41b09" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-25961879046602858882009-11-03T13:25:00.000-08:002009-11-03T15:18:50.984-08:00The Resolution of the Optus Saga . . .?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvC4qHypjFI/AAAAAAAAAyc/PvhcTsrTLXE/s1600-h/mobile+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SvC4qHypjFI/AAAAAAAAAyc/PvhcTsrTLXE/s320/mobile+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400018987002727506" border="0" /></a><br />Just to follow up the previous post, at my wit's end, I contacted the <a href="http://www.tio.com.au/">TIO</a> (the Telecommunications Industry <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ombudsman" title="Ombudsman" rel="wikipedia">Ombudsman</a>) by email, describing the situation. They got back to me telling me that I should give <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Optus" title="Optus" rel="wikipedia">Optus</a> 10 days to recify the situation. (In addition to the seven or so months they'd already had.) I was not happy with this because I was about to start working in a new position which necessitated me being at the college until 9.30 on Wednesday nights. I wanted my son to be able to reach me on my <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mobile_phone" title="Mobile phone" rel="wikipedia">mobile phone</a>.<br /><br /><p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 310px;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Optus_New.svg"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/e/e2/Optus_New.svg/300px-Optus_New.svg.png" alt="SingTel Optus Pty Limited" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="173" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image via <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Optus_New.svg">Wikipedia</a></span></p>At the same time, I had found the only person who actually does any work in Optus (I mean apart from the labour of apologising, wishing people a nice day, and taking garbled messages). His name is Petrit and he managed, in one hour, to do what a host of people had not managed to do in over seven months. He called me and told me that I would need a new <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Subscriber_Identity_Module" title="Subscriber Identity Module" rel="wikipedia">SIM card</a>. He said that it would be faster if he organised a SIM card for me at my closest Optus shop, and took the sim number from the shop assistant, to begin the process of having it turned on before I picked it up.<br /><br />He looked up the closest shop for me and I was there in an hour to pick up the SIM card which was effective: I was able to make and receive phone calls immediately.<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">With communications anything is possible!</span> I agree Optus. If your valued clients are willing to hang on for 6 months, it is possible to find someone actually working in communications in Optus.<br /><br />Thank you Petrit. Big gold star for you! Brickbats for your employer.<br /><br />However, seems that the saga has still not reached its last page. Yesterday I got a phone call from a man in India. He said he was an Optus employee checking on how I liked the service (Ha!). I told him that getting my mobile service turned on was marginally less painful than pushing my son out of my womb and took nearly as long as the pregnancy. He said that he would ask about that soon but first he needed my date of birth for "security reasons". I said that, as I couldn't check who he was, I felt insecure about giving my date of birth. I asked for his employee number. He didn't hear that. (In fact, I wondered if he could hear very much at all. He was shouting down the phone line so loudly that I had to hold the mobile away from my ear, to avoid injury. )<br /><br />In spite of the volume of his monologue, I was able to make out perhaps 60% of what he was trying to shout. Virtually incomprehensible to me, despite my skill at comprehending the English of less-than-fluent speakers which has been a large part of my job for the last 30 years.<br /><br />So he said he could ask me another security question: when was the mobile service established? I told him the date it was turned on and he said that was wrong. His records showed that it had happened earlier. I told him his records were wrong, and that I was beginning to experience a flashback to the earlier trauma caused by my trying to deal with Optus. I begged out of the conversation. And now I contemplate my next round: the calls that I will have to make in a week or two when the first mobile bill comes.<br /><br />I did, however, get a call from the Optus complaints resolution department in Perth, on the day the mobile was turned on. I told John about my dealings with the company and he asked how he could make it right for me. I said that money was the bottom line and that Optus could compensate me for the disservice it had done me. He offered a credit of the first six months of charges to the that mobile number. I agreed to that. We'll see whether it happens. If not, I'm going straight back to the TIO. It seems to get results.<br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/479b30dc-0685-4ded-828b-90a4f1e1e1d0/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=479b30dc-0685-4ded-828b-90a4f1e1e1d0" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-47818970760281776112009-10-09T14:29:00.000-07:002009-10-17T19:01:29.617-07:00OPTUS SUCKS!I have been distracted in the past couple of months with the frustrations that using newish technologies elicit. The biggest frustration is having to tell your pathetic Luddite story to one call centre technician after another in <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=12.9666666667,77.5666666667&spn=1.0,1.0&q=12.9666666667,77.5666666667%20%28Bangalore%29&t=h" title="Bangalore" rel="geolocation">Bangalore</a>, or <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=28.61,77.23&spn=1.0,1.0&q=28.61,77.23%20%28Delhi%29&t=h" title="Delhi" rel="geolocation">Delhi</a> or Manila; being tossed from one to another, like human remains between tiger sharks. I know I need to calm down, take some long slow breaths, do a downward dog or an ardha chandrasana, but that's not what I do. Never one to take good advice, especially from myself, I get irritated, then angry, then sleepless.<br /><br />At the beginning of September, I bought Adobe <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adobe_Photoshop_Elements" title="Adobe Photoshop Elements" rel="wikipedia">Photoshop Elements</a> 6 for the Mac. I'd watched video podcasts on the amazing effects one can produce with the software and I lusted after it. I found a good price from a place in Sydney. With the student/teacher discount the price was just under $100. (The Mac Shop sold the same item for $196! Unbelievable! How can they justify a 100% markup? )<br /><br />So elated with the new toy, I sashayed home, loaded the software and, well, not very much really. I played and played and watched many video podcasts, and over a month of playing I worked out how to use some of it. The problem with the software was that the help screens were not helpful. They are factual in a kind of Wikipedia way; they describe what the program can do--they don't tell you how to do it. What I needed was an Ikea kind of manual.<br /><br />There are a great multitude of people and companies who will happily sell you courses to teach you Photoshop Elements; however, the courses cost more than the software. The free video podcasts on iTunes were very informative, though. The more I learned the curiouser I became. I was able to follow and carry out some of the transformations guided by the beginner podcasts and began creating funny (to me) composite photos starring friends and family.<br /><br />But there was something curious: the Elements screen I saw on the podcast videos was not exactly the screen I saw on my computer when I opened the program. These podcast people had lots of fascinating little thumbnail icons on the right of their screen under the rubric "Effects": shadows, boxes, colour swatches, patterns--all the fascination of a treasure trove of possibilities. I, on the other hand, was only able to see a rather depressing grey rectangle, and, when I moved my cursor to the area, a black circle with a diagonal line through it, denoting something is illegal.<br /><br />I found an on-line bulletin board and asked my question: Where are my "effects" and got very timely answers. (Someone was out there to hear me scream.) I searched my hard drive and found a funny little file which I chucked in the trash, following instructions, but I still couldn't see the "effects". I uninstalled and reinstalled the program a couple of times, but still no luck.<br /><br />There was nothing for it: I would have to go to that place where we all would rather not--I would have to call the service desk in India.<br /><br />Now, perhaps I am overstating the case, here. There may be people who are unperturbed at the prospect of waiting on the line, being misdirected, waiting on the line again, and repeating their symptoms to two or three or four people, all of whom seem to have learned the lesson about apologising and wishing clients a good day, but generally lack some other vital skills: notably a knowledge of the product and comprehensible pronunciation: specifically, intonation.<br /><br />However, this time I did <span style="font-style: italic;">finally</span> speak to a helpful technician, Kanal, who stayed with me, talking me through a series of procedures for an hour and, voila, I could now see all the missing bits of my program. Seems I had to log on as an administrator to access the "effects". Why, I have no idea; never encountered a program before that had bits only accessible to administrators. So I logged on as an administrator. The next problem was, I couldn't access my "Pictures" folder with my photos on it, which is saved among the Elements folders, if I logged on as an administrator. So . . . I changed my log-on details so that both the username and the admin name have the same rights and thought myself very clever indeed.<br /><br />This problem was relatively short-lived; it took just a couple of weeks to solve. However, I am still grappling with another problem involving regular phone calls to India, which has been festering for SIX MONTHS!<br /><br />In April I was contacted on the land-line by an Indian guy calling himself Nates, who provided me with his Optus (an Australian--actually Singaporean, I believe--Telco) employee number: CP405549. He asked me if I would like a whizz-bang new mobile. I was not interested, actually. Came to mobile phones very late and I was happy with my bottom-of-the-range machine: no camera, no graphics, no access to email or the internet. I just used it to make phone calls to keep in touch with my son or to tell the office if I was stuck in a traffic jam on my way to work. So that bit did not fill me with lust. However, I had been unhappy with my bandwidth allowance and knew people who had a much bigger allowance for less outlay with the same company. So I told Nates that, and he promised me a deal which included more gigabytes of bandwidth (10 as opposed to my 6) and this new mobile set, which would arrive in a couple of days. I would not have to do anything, according to Nates--Optus would do everything: turn on the mobile at a prearranged time and institute the new bandwidth allowance at the beginning of the next calendar month.<br /><br />Well, at the beginning of May Optus did not supply me with the promised 10 gigabytes of internet access. They supplied me with 7 gigabytes. Even though I did complain on the 1st of May, you have to tell them BEFORE the beginning of the month if you want your allowance changed the next month. Catch 22 is that you don't know what your allowance will be until you access your account on the first day of the new month. So, I had to wait another month for the promised increased bandwidth allowance.<br /><br />The mobile phone, though, arrived a couple of days after Nates' phone call, as promised. I opened the package and inside was a warning that if you opened it, you could not change your mind and send the phone back in the 10-day cooling-off period. Tricky that, putting those instructions inside the package, instead of outside. OK, though, I played with the machine and waited for Optus to port my mobile number, as they said they would do. A few days later, I was still not able to make calls from the new phone. OK, I thought, doesn't worry me. I'm happy with the old phone. As long as they don't start charging me for phone calls, I'm sweet. I'll just put the phone into a drawer & forget about it. Which I did, until a month ago.<br /><br />In September I got a letter from Optus giving me a deadline to ring them at a Melbourne phone number and explain why I hadn't got the phone turned on. I rang and explained about Nates and his assurance that I would not have to do anything. I quoted the information inside the telephone package which said the same thing: the number will be automatically ported in a couple of days. Carry the two phones on the agreed porting day.<br /><br />Andrew in the Melbourne Optus office said they'd have to get me to agree, over the phone, again, to have the number ported from my old Telco, Virgin, to Optus. He said he'd ring me back when that was organised. When he got back to me, he appeared to have forgotten what he'd just said and talked about my sending back the phone. I said I'd opened it, but if he wanted me to do that I would. He said they wouldn't accept it because I'd opened it, but I would have to pay for it now: $300. I said that if they sent me a letter demanding $300 I would close all my accounts with Optus & choose another Telco. He said I was free to do that.<br /><br />I waited for the letter. It didn't come. What did come was a text message, on my old phone, saying that the number would be ported in the next couple of days. Nothing happened. I got back to Optus. Someone played a tape to which I responded by agreeing again to have my mobile number ported to the new phone. That was about a month ago. Nothing much happened for all that time, except I spoke to Delhi four or five times asking them when the number would be ported. I insisted on speaking to the call centre worker's supervisor, Brian, a couple of times. But the problem with the call centre is that they don't do the work, they just take messages. No-one will give you a direct number to the people who do the work.<br /><br />The most recent change in my situation is that since Monday this week, my number has been <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">partially</span> turned off from my old phone. As I said earlier, this is now six months after Nates' original phone call. Now, if someone calls that number, they get a message that it has been disconnected. Very useful for staying in contact with my son, work and my friends. I can still, however, make calls using that number from my old mobile set, but not from the new one.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">THANK YOU OPTUS!!!!<br /><br />THANK YOU FOR THE SERVICE!!!</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >I NOW UNDERSTAND WHAT YOUR MOTTO MEANS: WITH COMMUNICATIONS, ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.</span><br /><br />Please watch <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4vuW6tQ0218">the dead parrot sketch</a> for a more informed understanding of the way I feel. I am John Cleese trying to get it through the thick head of a mall full of Scandinavian Blue salesmen that their birds are deceased.<br /><br />Oh, and don't try to call me. My number has been disconnected. I'll call you.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/07427b6b-ac08-4864-b90c-89c19b571c0c/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=07427b6b-ac08-4864-b90c-89c19b571c0c" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-80572250558706915652009-09-25T13:25:00.000-07:002009-09-25T17:14:23.349-07:00Blood Red Dawn<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Sr1a-a8QEVI/AAAAAAAAAx4/ViI8iZvV9L8/s1600-h/dust+storm+dawn.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Sr1a-a8QEVI/AAAAAAAAAx4/ViI8iZvV9L8/s320/dust+storm+dawn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385560757835403602" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Sr0sGDmZ07I/AAAAAAAAAxM/HWr6B8_b7ew/s1600-h/DSC_0126.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Sr0sGDmZ07I/AAAAAAAAAxM/HWr6B8_b7ew/s320/DSC_0126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385509211962201010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Sr1bVRx4fKI/AAAAAAAAAyA/whEKDXHDppo/s1600-h/Botany+Bay+after+storm+26-09-09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Sr1bVRx4fKI/AAAAAAAAAyA/whEKDXHDppo/s320/Botany+Bay+after+storm+26-09-09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385561150512987298" border="0" /></a>Wednesday morning 23rd of September 2009 will be remembered for a long time in Sydney. It was the day we woke up to blood in the sky and dust in our mouths. Can't make out the first photo? It was what I saw at 6.15 or so that morning. For contrast, the second photo was taken around the same time on Saturday (this) morning. Still strange, other worldly, but with the red leached out. The third photo was taken around three hours later this morning. You can see a horizon, the other side of Botany Bay. You can even see a container ship approaching the docks on the far right if you look hard. The sky is once again blue-ish.<br /><br />Another dust storm today. I could not remember a dust storm in Sydney, though I did spend more than ten years out of the country. The papers vindicated my memories: although weather bureau records show that <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dust_storm" title="Dust storm" rel="wikipedia">dust storms</a> have swept Sydney before, in 1994 I was out of the country; in '68 I don't know what I was doing, but I don't remember it; in '57 I was too young to remember anything and in '42 I wasn't even a twinkle in my father's eye.<br /><br />The dust which blew over Sydney was estimated to weigh one quarter of the weight of <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uluru" title="Uluru" rel="wikipedia">Uluru</a>, that Australian icon situated in the centre of the continent. The origin of the dust which still blankets Sydney was the area around the salt lakes of South Australia (about 1,500 kilometres away) and northern <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-32.0,147.0&spn=1.0,1.0&q=-32.0,147.0%20%28New%20South%20Wales%29&t=h" title="New South Wales" rel="geolocation">NSW</a>. (These areas have been in <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drought" title="Drought" rel="wikipedia">drought</a> for eight years.) A couple of weeks ago, scientists were studying this very dust on the snow of <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-43.4666666667,171.533333333&spn=0.1,0.1&q=-43.4666666667,171.533333333%20%28Mount%20Hutt%2C%20New%20Zealand%29&t=h" title="Mount Hutt, New Zealand" rel="geolocation">Mt Hutt</a> in New Zealand.<br /><br />Sometime this week I will take a photo at the same time of day as the first and second above to demonstrate the difference between what I see every morning and what I saw on Wednesday. <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/b35d3806-bc9f-4aef-a5af-c1c64d6cc99d/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=b35d3806-bc9f-4aef-a5af-c1c64d6cc99d" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-4365834976264869132009-09-10T16:19:00.000-07:002009-09-10T17:28:26.546-07:00All Bonny Once<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SqmQ6ERmBuI/AAAAAAAAAws/wFLcqBKDvKU/s1600-h/the+evening+class+%26+I+at+ILI+Cairo,+Mohandiseen.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SqmQ6ERmBuI/AAAAAAAAAws/wFLcqBKDvKU/s320/the+evening+class+%26+I+at+ILI+Cairo,+Mohandiseen.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379990557125117666" border="0" /></a>The evening class & I<br />(No women in the class. They weren't allowed out at night.)<br /><br /></div>A year or two ago, I got an email which I thought came from a sister-in-law, inviting me to join Facebook so that I could see her photos. I did this, setting up my own profile. I then found out that she didn't have any photos uploaded and that the email was automatically generated from Facebook itself. Before this, the only thing I knew about Facebook was that it wasn't "cool" any more (to young people), because the Prime Minister at the time, John Howard, had a profile--and he definitely wasn't cool.<br /><br />I uploaded a few photos and nothing happened for over a year, except that a few ex-colleagues with Facebook accounts and also living in Sydney, contacted me asking to be my friend. And then I got a friend request from someone whose name I didn't know and whose message showed that he was not a native English speaker. I responded, asking <span style="font-weight: bold;">him</span>--I had encountered the name before in my years of teaching English, among my Arabic speaking students, and recognised it as a male name--why he wanted to be my friend, when we didn't know each other. And he responded by asking me a few pointed questions about my life: wasn't I the woman who taught in Cairo at the I.L.I., and then went to Hawai'i. . .? etc. Yes, that was me. But who was he?<br /><br />The messages went slowly back and forth between us through Facebook and when he sent a photo, I realised that he had been one of my students in Egypt. He had changed his name somewhat when he emigrated from that country. We had become friends while I was in Egypt. We snailmailed each other for a while after my time in Cairo, but had somehow lost touch over the years. He said he visited me in Hawai'i but I have no memory of that. (Why is perhaps not salient here, but it's not the first time I haven't remembered something that a friend/acquaintance swears is true. Is this part of the human experience or am I getting Old Timer's disease?)<br /><br />This contact brought back old memories and sent me trawling through my photo drawers. I looked and wept at the time gone and friends lost. And not only friends lost, but selves: the daughter, the traveller, the young woman, the backpacker, the partier, the expat, the dancer, the student, the girlfriend . . . "All changed, changed utterly".<br /><br />And yet, inside I feel the same. The mirror brings me back with a start. What happened to that young woman? I look at myself now and think how bonny I was. At the time I did not think so. But in the comparison to the woman of many summers who now inhabits this space, I was Helen of Troy. And we were all bonny once.<br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/09fe50c2-fc93-49a2-b888-8e80edadb331/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=09fe50c2-fc93-49a2-b888-8e80edadb331" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-38964434320017320582009-08-28T12:48:00.000-07:002009-08-28T19:50:50.758-07:00Torturing ChildrenI’m upset this morning, having read the headline and story about Philip Garido’s kidnapping, rape and 19-year incarceration of Jaycee Lee Dugard. She was abducted when she was eleven years old. I can’t imagine what that little girl went through.<br /><br />This story is shocking because of the youth of the child and the way years were stolen from her childhood, her life. It’s more shocking because such stories are very unusual in the U.S. or anywhere in the first world. When we hear about such an outrage we are stunned, but throughout the world such stories would be more commonplace, if the child victims had a voice to tell them.<br /><br />That story was a reminder about what kids all over the world suffer due to their lack of power. One of my students once told me about how she left her country. Let’s call her Grace. She was six when soldiers came to her village in <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=8.51666666667,-13.25&spn=10.0,10.0&q=8.51666666667,-13.25%20%28Sierra%20Leone%29&t=h" title="Sierra Leone" rel="geolocation">Sierra Leone</a>, and burned it. Her parents were killed, and <div class="zemanta-action-dragged zemanta-rich" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 310px;"><iframe marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.com/?ie=UTF8&ll=8.51666666667,-13.25&spn=0.219778,0.613861&z=11&output=embed&s=AARTsJqzARj-Z8VnW5pkPMLMmZbqrJcYpw" frameborder="0" height="250" scrolling="no" width="300"></iframe><br /><small><a href="http://maps.google.com/?ie=UTF8&ll=8.51666666667,-13.25&spn=0.219778,0.613861&z=11&source=embed" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255); text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small></div><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=8.51666666667,-13.25&spn=10.0,10.0&q=8.51666666667,-13.25%20%28Sierra%20Leone%29&t=h"></a>Grace and her 10-year-old brother ran. They ran and ran until they had run right across the country, from Sierra Leone into Guinea, the ten-year-old protecting the six-year-old. My own son was ten at the time and I was aghast at the prospect of a child of that age looking after himself, let alone a younger child. The children I have known just didn’t have very much commonsense at that age. I guess that little boy, Grace’s brother, learned fast, and Grace kept it together in unimaginable circumstances, somehow, until she and her child managed to arrive in Australia, after many years in <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Refugee_camp" title="Refugee camp" rel="wikipedia">refugee camps</a>.<br /><br />The stories of children are more compelling than those of adults because their suffering is more tragic. They have no power to change their circumstances and overcome their oppression. We must feel for them. I support <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxfam" title="Oxfam" rel="wikipedia">Oxfam</a> because of their successful program which frees <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Military_use_of_children" title="Military use of children" rel="wikipedia">child soldiers</a>.<br /><br />The militias which kidnap children and force them to become soldiers are proxies of multinational companies and foreign powers. See <a href="http://www.globalwitness.org/media_library_detail.php/782/en/global_witness_uncovers_foreign_companies_links_to_congo_violence">http://www.globalwitness.org/media_library_detail.php/782/en/global_witness_uncovers_foreign_companies_links_to_congo_violence </a><br />Because we all consume the products which are developed from the raw materials mined in places like the Congo, we are all culpable in this kidnapping and torture of children.<br /><br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/2c56e029-4f15-483a-8d2e-8beb9758ff8a/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=2c56e029-4f15-483a-8d2e-8beb9758ff8a" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-72808503948939539892009-08-28T08:36:00.000-07:002009-08-27T17:52:16.641-07:00My Music Wen GoThe music on my blog started playing up recently (no pun intended). I had hoped that it would just go on playing there in the background <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ad_infinitum" title="Ad infinitum" rel="wikipedia">ad infinitum</a> and I would add a new sound file now and then, when I intuited my readers might feel like hearing something new (or when I did). (BTW, if you're interested in quirky bits of information about English, click the link to "ad infinitum" and follow the links on that page.)<br /><br />But today, I am informed, my playlist is empty. And so, I had to root around again through all my connections and links to work out where I got it from.<br /><br />The google search "how to put music on my blog" led me to blogger help and a list of sites that store playlists. I know I used one of them, as blogger help was my only mentor when I was setting up. So, clicked through the list of links looking for one whose home page I recognised. Not the first, or second, or third. I wondered why I hadn't just chosen the first or second music host. Would have been the easiest option. But then I remembered that I was looking for David Parsons and <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gamelan" title="Gamelan" rel="wikipedia">gamelan</a> <p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 310px;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Gamelandegung.jpg"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/0/0d/Gamelandegung.jpg/300px-Gamelandegung.jpg" alt="Sundanese Gamelan Degung." style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="208" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image via <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Gamelandegung.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></p>music, something I'd heard on <a href="http://stripedsunlight.blogspot.com/">"That Striped Sunlight Sound"</a> (thanks Bob from Brisbane).<br /><br />So eventually clicked "Playlist", which was recognisable, and so I think it's my host. The only problem was that it was down. Have just checked and I see that it's back up again, but now I appear to have another problem. Due to "licensing restrictions" it appears that some of my tracks (all of them, it seems) are no longer playable. Well, this gives me some research to be going on with today. I didn't realise there was a timelimit on hosting music. Must look closely at the terms & conditions at Playlist. Does anyone know anything about playlist hosting?<br /><br />Have just dropped in at Playlist. It appears that Playlist will no longer host music for non-US members. I was directed, by another Playlist user, to imeem, but imeem only hosts 30 seconds of a track AND they wish to access your email list. Don't like that. Don't think my email contacts will like being emailed. No, I have to find another host. I'm wondering if 30 seconds is the norm for hosting music tracks. If you have any idea about this, please let me know.<br /><br />(About my blog title: it's Hawai'i Creole English. "Wen" is a past tense marker, to which the infinitive is attached, in this case "go". )<br /><div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/1164bc1f-d076-4104-b7c5-9066ff0c7592/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=1164bc1f-d076-4104-b7c5-9066ff0c7592" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-24906887716520527912009-08-26T03:59:00.000-07:002009-08-26T14:44:09.289-07:00Talking Books II (London Fields)What do they say? If you do the same thing twice and expect to get a different result, you're fooling yourself? Or are you mad? Can't remember.<p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 250px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/15666478@N00/2327885313"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2238/2327885313_e2d84ca8f6_m.jpg" alt="2007 fiction list" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="205" width="240" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/15666478@N00/2327885313">Kilgub</a> via Flickr</span></p><br /><br />I admit that many of the talking books I have listened to have been annoying, frustrating, and sometimes so irritating that I have given up the fight & decided that I just wouldn't waste the time (e.g., "Middlesex"; see my July entry <a href="http://qotn-queenofthenile.blogspot.com/2009/07/talking-books.html">"Talking Books"</a> .) But I have listened to a good one or two along the way ("Lord of the Rings", "People of the Book", "<a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Poisonwood_Bible" title="The Poisonwood Bible" rel="wikipedia">The Poisonwood Bible</a>").<br /><br />And so I came to <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Amis" title="Martin Amis" rel="wikipedia">Martin Amis</a>' "<a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Fields_%28novel%29" title="London Fields (novel)" rel="wikipedia">London Fields</a>" in the local library. Meaty!<p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 205px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/LONDON-FIELDS-MARTIN-AMIS/dp/0099748614%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D0099748614"><img src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51IJ4t8CCDL._SL300_.jpg" alt="Cover of " london="" fields="" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="300" width="195" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Cover of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/LONDON-FIELDS-MARTIN-AMIS/dp/0099748614%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D0099748614">LONDON FIELDS</a></span></p> 18 CDs. No need to look for another one for a couple of weeks. Kill the dreaded commute and its traffic frustration for some time. But now I think that the bad is outweighing the good in my experience of talking books. I will have to find some other way to survive the ride. The problem is that nothing can pull me in like a good story to make me forget the tedium and frustration of being in traffic.<br /><br />"London Fields" is read by Steven Pacey, and I think he generally does a good job. He does a New York accent, a cockney accent, an upper-class twit accent, a Jamaican-London accent, all very creditably, I think. But as with the readers of "Middlesex" and "The Unknown Terrorist", where this reader falls down, is when he tries to portray an important female character. I don't believe Nicola Six. It's not just that the accent is not very good, not like the Balkan English accents I'm familiar with. But also, Nicola's dialogue doesn't sound like it is delivered by a sexy woman, more like a chain-smoking drag queen. And so I can't buy it that all the male characters are in love with her, which is a big disadvantage for this novel, whose plot turns on her ability to manipulate the men and so bring about the climax of the novel.<br /><br />On the one hand, I blame the actor for my inability to suspend my disbelief and live in the world of the novel for a couple of weeks. On the other hand, I have a nagging doubt about the novelist's skill. So I go to the critics because, as I said in my earlier entry on talking books, after my encounter with the talking book, I could not bear to read the print version now.<br /><br />Most of the more recent reviewers laud "London Fields" as one of Amis' best and some go so far as to say it's a modern masterpiece. I only found one review that I was able to agree with: "What can Amis have against these minimally developed characters that he devotes nearly 500 pages to demolishing them? There's disgust aplenty here — but little else" (Library Journal). There is more damning criticism from reviews written soon after 1989, when the novel was published. But I still can't decide whether my opinion of the novel would have been different had I read rather than heard it. I know I liked "The Information", published a year or two before "London Fields", very much.<br /><br /><p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 310px;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Miss_Understood_by_David_Shankbone.jpg"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/dc/Miss_Understood_by_David_Shankbone.jpg/300px-Miss_Understood_by_David_Shankbone.jpg" alt="Miss Understood by David Shankbone" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="443" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Miss_Understood_by_David_Shankbone.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></p>I don't believe in Nicola Six and I have a suspicion that Amis fell down in his attempt to write a woman. (Can't remember how well he did in his portrayal of a woman in "The Information".) Nicola Six is a male fantasy, but she says herself that she is a male fantasy. Surely no woman thinks of herself in this way. Others might think of her like this but does any real woman think of herself as a non-person, someone else's idea? Doesn't every person think s/he is real? And wouldn't someone just off herself if she didn't want to live anymore? And why doesn't Nicola Six want to live any more? There isn't a reason given, as far as I could glean. So I'm no closer to an answer to my question here.<br /><br />Am I arguing with the novel or the reader?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/a65b374b-a799-4009-9e38-1f142f1f1a0c/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=a65b374b-a799-4009-9e38-1f142f1f1a0c" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-42394173977251086482009-08-21T00:55:00.000-07:002009-08-21T01:09:37.101-07:00Pine Park<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5UKaTS4uI/AAAAAAAAAtk/nVd855WkGIY/s1600-h/Pine+Park+sunset.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5UKaTS4uI/AAAAAAAAAtk/nVd855WkGIY/s320/Pine+Park+sunset.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372323943335256802" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5UhzXpNII/AAAAAAAAAts/5NbIl7JobkU/s1600-h/yellow+band+of+death.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5UhzXpNII/AAAAAAAAAts/5NbIl7JobkU/s320/yellow+band+of+death.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372324345201374338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5VMmUpijI/AAAAAAAAAt0/fe7BLJj-SQs/s1600-h/keep+out.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5VMmUpijI/AAAAAAAAAt0/fe7BLJj-SQs/s320/keep+out.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372325080433527346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5Vfg4OAyI/AAAAAAAAAt8/BIVDFhiFQHw/s1600-h/the+damage+done.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5Vfg4OAyI/AAAAAAAAAt8/BIVDFhiFQHw/s320/the+damage+done.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372325405389620002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5Vv47p3eI/AAAAAAAAAuE/ys797bCfjLw/s1600-h/B%26W.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/So5Vv47p3eI/AAAAAAAAAuE/ys797bCfjLw/s320/B%26W.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372325686724386274" border="0" /></a>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-42346509860452454662009-08-19T03:35:00.000-07:002009-08-19T04:39:06.865-07:00What are you reading?<p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 310px;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Riemann_surface_sqrt.jpg"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e4/Riemann_surface_sqrt.jpg/300px-Riemann_surface_sqrt.jpg" alt="riemann surface of Sqrt[z], projection from 4d..." style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="315" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Riemann_surface_sqrt.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></p>Have just finished "The Housekeeper + The Professor" by <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yoko_Ogawa" title="Yoko Ogawa" rel="wikipedia">Yoko Ogawa</a>. When I was tossing and turning with the night frights at 2 am, I sank into its sweet leaves. After a chapter, I was able to close my eyes again, and drift off in a contented sleep for another couple of hours, until the alarm woke me.<br /><br />Sweet story about the friendship between a housekeeper, her son, and the former maths professor who she keeps house for. The professor has been in a car accident, and, as a result, can only retain the previous 80 minutes in memory. After 80 minutes, he remembers only the long-term memories he had at the time of his accident more than thirty years ago. He loves the housekeeper's son and calls him "Root" because the top of his head is flat just like the square root sign.<br /><br />On "First Tuesday Book Club", Marieke Hardy gave the book a less than complimentary review, saying something to the effect that it attempted to make maths look like fun, but she didn't buy it. I did, although I hated the subject at school, and was greatly relieved when I didn't have to study it as an undergraduate at uni, only to despair again when it reared its head as statistics in more recent courses. "Standard deviation", I can remember, at least the name, if not the definition. And "fishing trip", and "sample size", but not much else. But the novel, and its maths was fascinating.<br /><br /><p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 211px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Half-Yellow-Chimamanda-Ngozi-Adichie/dp/1400044162%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D1400044162"><img src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51TS2E24HHL._SL300_.jpg" alt="Cover of "Half of a Yellow Sun"" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="300" width="201" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Cover of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Half-Yellow-Chimamanda-Ngozi-Adichie/dp/1400044162%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D1400044162">Half of a Yellow Sun</a></span></p>I have been quite busy over the last couple of weeks with my photography course, and so I haven't read as many novels as I like to. Began "Half of a Yellow Sun" by <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chimamanda_Ngozi_Adichie" title="Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie" rel="wikipedia">Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie</a>, but I found it hard to continue. Quite cold, somehow, the prose. I didn't feel for any of the characters. I think I should give it another go. (It got great reviews.) I should try again to crack this imaginary world and taste it. I think I have read <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinua_Achebe" title="Chinua Achebe" rel="wikipedia">Chinua Achebe</a>, a fellow Nigerian and a mentor for Adichie, but, unfortunately, unless I have someone to talk to about the books I read, I forget a great deal about them. Sometimes I even forget the titles and borrow them again from the library and about 20 pages in, I begin to predict quite accurately what will happen.<br /><br />So many books, so little time. I can't afford to be reading too many books twice.<br /><br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/558b0f1d-637c-4573-9701-ebee15ff6c1c/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=558b0f1d-637c-4573-9701-ebee15ff6c1c" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-34004607960590071712009-08-09T01:53:00.000-07:002010-01-05T14:16:29.586-08:00Spicks and SpecksI went on a <p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 190px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/8481360@N04/2620537742"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3162/2620537742_e55c96acd1_m.jpg" alt="Sydney Hospital" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="240" width="180" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/8481360@N04/2620537742">frangipani photograph</a> via Flickr</span> </p>excursion last weekend. It was for a class in travel photography (using a digital SLR). Most people who have travelled are travel photographers, I expect. However, we are differently abled, which I will come to anon.<br /><br />When I am with a group of friends, family or students and taking photos, I try to avoid getting my big head into t<p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 190px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/48089670@N00/67702300"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/25/67702300_24bf1f1562_m.jpg" alt="Sydney Hospital" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="240" width="180" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/48089670@N00/67702300">tobym</a> via Flickr</span></p>he shot, and so I politely decline when someone else offers to take a photo of us with my camera. Another good reason for this is the onset of a new industry in Sydney just before the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2000_Summer_Olympics" title="2000 Summer Olympics" rel="wikipedia">2000 Olympics. I</a> was very nearly one of their first customers.<br /><br />I was with a group of adults and kids and the kids were rubbing the lucky snout of the bronze boar outside Sydney Eye Hospital. I was setting up the photo. A young woman in jeans and unencumbered by a bag, approached me and offered to take a photo of all of us. I considered for about half a second--as I said, I'm not overly eager to get into photos; I'm also reluctant to let other people handle my camera--and then politely declined. I momentarily looked through the viewfinder to line up the shot of the child and the boar and then my eyes glanced at the spot where I had last seen the young woman. She was not there. She was not anywhere. She had vanished into the ether of Macquarie Street. <p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 310px;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:SydneyMuseumContemporaryArt_gobeirne.jpg"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b9/SydneyMuseumContemporaryArt_gobeirne.jpg/300px-SydneyMuseumContemporaryArt_gobeirne.jpg" alt="Museum of Contemporary Art from Circular Quay ..." style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="195" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:SydneyMuseumContemporaryArt_gobeirne.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></p>She hadn't got my camera, but other city visitors lost theirs that day.<br /><br />Back to the weekend outing. I got off the train at <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-33.861,151.211&spn=0.01,0.01&q=-33.861,151.211%20%28Circular%20Quay%2C%20New%20South%20Wales%29&t=h" title="Circular Quay, New South Wales" rel="geolocation">Circular Quay</a> and pegged a couple of exiting passengers as fellow students. Something about their demeanor, their ages and their luggage. I expected them to be on the same trajectory as me. But they weren't at the rendezvous. As I rolled up to the doorway of The <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-33.860019,151.208999&spn=0.01,0.01&q=-33.860019,151.208999%20%28Museum%20of%20Contemporary%20Art%2C%20Sydney%29&t=h" title="Museum of Contemporary Art, Sydney" rel="geolocation">Museum of Contemporary Art</a> at 8.15, a middle-aged Asian man, similarly encumbered to me, was approaching too. I smelt him before he got very close. Cigarettes. He wasn't smoking but he smelt like a bank of ashtrays. I'm not used to the cigarette pong these days. I stopped smoking six years ago. Very few of my friends and colleagues smoke now. In the early morning air, with just two of us at the doorway, he reeked. I moved upwind of him.<br /><br />My classmate (let's call him Renaldo) talked volubly and laughed genially at his own jokes for the next quarter hour while we waited at the wrong spot. At 8.35 we approached a group of likely-looking people standing 100 metres away around a bench. (Most bore the tell-tale signs of photography buffs: SLR cameras, bulky bags, comfortable shoes and well-worn visages.) I saw the two people I had picked as photography class groupies when I got off the train.<br /><br />Renaldo & I were introduced to the classmates with whom we would spend the next eight hours by our teacher, Garry, who lit up, as he went over the day's programme and route. Two of my classmates lit up, too. That was my first lesson: photography is collocated with smoking. (Or maybe I just don't get out much.)<br /><br />It dawned on me that Garry thought Renaldo and I were a couple, as he explained that we could share lenses. (Not bloody likely, I thought, as I had already heard too many of Renaldo's pleasantries in the quarter hour we had kept company. I spent the rest of the day putting distance between us. I reasoned that the group--and Garry--could share the wear.)<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0O6HRImFoI/AAAAAAAAA70/IiN2IW-3g0I/s1600-h/The+Opera+House.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/S0O6HRImFoI/AAAAAAAAA70/IiN2IW-3g0I/s320/The+Opera+House.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423383010305513090" border="0" /></a></div>As the class progressed up through Circular Quay to the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Opera_house" title="Opera house" rel="wikipedia">Opera House</a>, Garry explained some things about composition, and then about using the A (Aperture) setting on our cameras. This was a revelation to me as I'd only ever used the Auto setting. The others seemed to get it. I had no idea which bits of the camera to look at or which switches to flick. (My fault: I'd overestimated my own ability.) Garry spoke patiently, and looked at my last few shots. Blue! Ah yes. I had the camera set for an incandescent light source. (I had been reading the camera manual feverishly the night before and playing with the settings. I'd forgotten to put them back to normal.)<br /><br />When Garry looked closely at my camera, he suggested I buy a cleaning kit. He said my lens was a bit dirty. That it made a difference. When I looked at my photos that night, I knew he was right: most of my photos were speckled. I had thought the spicks and specks were too small to affect the photographs. In fact, a camera shop guy told me so years ago. But they did make a difference. The tiny spots on photo after photo superimpose blotches of disappointment over the whole day.<br /><br />At five o'clock, the now depleted group returned via the Argyll Walk to Circular Quay station.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SoGw2jnlMXI/AAAAAAAAAs8/sEtUQlv1KRQ/s1600-h/DSC_0251.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SoGw2jnlMXI/AAAAAAAAAs8/sEtUQlv1KRQ/s320/DSC_0251.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368766682123022706" border="0" /></a>I walked up the stairs to platform 1 with a classmate--let's call him Alan. I asked him about his experience with photography and photography classes, and as the train lurched through the tunnels, he told me a little about his life. In quick succession I learned that he was a teacher, that his wife had died six months ago. That she was his second wife, and the first one had died a couple of years before that.<br /><br />That evening I looked over the badly-lit, speckled productions from the day's excursion, and edited them removing the tiny blotches and dark blots. I though about the journey back home in the train. Alan with his sadness just below the surface, something that he'll have to live with and ruminate on every day. Something that can't be removed from the big picture.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/7837e898-9431-4597-82f7-06c133f8abfd/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=7837e898-9431-4597-82f7-06c133f8abfd" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-26679470723462965792009-08-01T20:09:00.000-07:002009-08-01T21:18:05.366-07:00Yoga & the second toe<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnUJTY27WVI/AAAAAAAAAo0/yBreN3R1Gk4/s1600-h/right+toes.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnUJTY27WVI/AAAAAAAAAo0/yBreN3R1Gk4/s400/right+toes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365204759776811346" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Have just returned from <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iyengar_Yoga" title="Iyengar Yoga" rel="wikipedia">Iyengar yoga</a> class. Today we worked on getting the second toe to cleave to the big toe (or hallux) and so encourage our inner thighs down towards our inner heels. Not sure whether I've got this right or if I will remember the inner thigh inner heel connection the next lesson. I'm also trying to suck up my pelvic floor while allowing my groins to relax, and encouraging my armpit chest area to come grandly to the front without splaying my <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Floating_rib" title="Floating rib" rel="wikipedia">floating ribs</a>.<br /><div><p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 168px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53654573@N00/81093313"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/39/81093313_22fb040d39_m.jpg" alt="iyengar" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="240" width="158" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53654573@N00/81093313">aloofdork</a> via Flickr</span></p></div><div><br />Up on the walls of our yoga space we have black and white images of <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B._K._S._Iyengar" title="B. K. S. Iyengar" rel="wikipedia">BKS Iyengar</a> in all sorts of impossible <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asana" title="Asana" rel="wikipedia">asanas</a>: I'm wondering if one of his devotees is adept at Photoshop.<br /><br />My big problem is my knees. They hurt so much I've decided that I won't do the bent leg poses such as Virabhadrasana II and Parsvakonasana any more. (If you follow the link to "<a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asana" title="Asana" rel="wikipedia">asana</a>" Parsvakonasana's the 5th image in the chart.) Or, I won't even make an attempt to the get the thigh and the knee to a rightangle.<br /><br />Knees are not my only problem. There's a reluctance in the place between my shoulder blades to take up a very pleasing (to my teachers) concave formation. I can get up into forearm balance and handstand, but without much style or elegance, and there's this humpy back, which some of my teachers like to point out to my classmates as a graphic warning about what they should avoid at all costs.<br /><br />One rather sad thing, as I look back on my life and my many years of practising yoga (though not, I admit, as assiduously as my teachers would approve), is that I was better at it in the past than I am now. Just last year, in fact, I learned, through dedicated home practice, to do an effortless downward dog (adho mukha svanasana).<br /><br />This is very nearly the first pose I ever practised. It's a foundation pose. I remember thinking last year, when I mastered the pose: "Everyone's always told me to stretch down my heels, but what they should have been telling me is to stretch out my spine". My teacher noticed my improvement when I did the dog. Praised my ankles. But then I promptly forgot how to do it. And I can't seem to work it out again. It's gone. Enlightenment for two weeks and then an ocean of nothing.<br /></div> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/f8381d8a-5f3d-4510-b7f5-8348569ccd16/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=f8381d8a-5f3d-4510-b7f5-8348569ccd16" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-24164903332007672382009-07-31T15:25:00.000-07:002009-07-31T17:56:35.897-07:00Where Land Meets Sea<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnORYnoS4mI/AAAAAAAAAiU/HacQIfr0GV4/s1600-h/bird+prints+in+the+sand.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnORYnoS4mI/AAAAAAAAAiU/HacQIfr0GV4/s400/bird+prints+in+the+sand.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364791433269273186" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnONTpJNcqI/AAAAAAAAAhM/wLWpDlBBAVA/s1600-h/grass+on+the+beach.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnONTpJNcqI/AAAAAAAAAhM/wLWpDlBBAVA/s400/grass+on+the+beach.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364786949729907362" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOPdTz-4UI/AAAAAAAAAiE/sacqv_PYm8A/s1600-h/A+couple+of+apostles+at+sunset+%28Great+Ocean+Road%29.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOPdTz-4UI/AAAAAAAAAiE/sacqv_PYm8A/s400/A+couple+of+apostles+at+sunset+%28Great+Ocean+Road%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364789314825675074" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOPdiOUPkI/AAAAAAAAAiM/u4Rq4cSSfgw/s1600-h/Anna+Bay.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOPdiOUPkI/AAAAAAAAAiM/u4Rq4cSSfgw/s400/Anna+Bay.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364789318694223426" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOPdEwYhEI/AAAAAAAAAh8/arsk8TaP1h8/s1600-h/GRSC+cat+with+full+moon+over+Botany+Bay.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOPdEwYhEI/AAAAAAAAAh8/arsk8TaP1h8/s400/GRSC+cat+with+full+moon+over+Botany+Bay.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364789310784046146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOSBLYZSvI/AAAAAAAAAik/uBoCIlsy0Z4/s1600-h/Green+rocks+at+Dolls+Point.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOSBLYZSvI/AAAAAAAAAik/uBoCIlsy0Z4/s400/Green+rocks+at+Dolls+Point.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364792130061028082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOPc0dYlYI/AAAAAAAAAh0/AmHw8UdgncY/s1600-h/weird+sunset+light.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnOPc0dYlYI/AAAAAAAAAh0/AmHw8UdgncY/s400/weird+sunset+light.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364789306409391490" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnONUH_4FNI/AAAAAAAAAhk/3Hb8sRR8_qU/s1600-h/fisherman+on+Botany+Bay+at+dawn.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnONUH_4FNI/AAAAAAAAAhk/3Hb8sRR8_qU/s400/fisherman+on+Botany+Bay+at+dawn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364786958012257490" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnONTrEo6_I/AAAAAAAAAhU/sxmk2ZyUx10/s1600-h/Ramsgate+Beach+in+technicolor.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SnONTrEo6_I/AAAAAAAAAhU/sxmk2ZyUx10/s400/Ramsgate+Beach+in+technicolor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364786950247607282" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />Is everyone in thrall of this junction? There's a continent of us here, clinging to the coast.<br /><br />I have seen all these on the beach: shells, bluebottles, thongs (just one of a pair), seaweed, pigface, grasses, plastic bottles, syringes (after a storm), rocks, nappies (wedged between rocks), a turtle carcass, cigarette butts, pizza boxes, dead birds, live crows, seagulls and cockatoos.<br /><br />I can't get enough. I have to go back every day.<br /><br /><br /><div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/ae2ef6ef-c8a0-44b2-8a49-1a5377429f0c/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=ae2ef6ef-c8a0-44b2-8a49-1a5377429f0c" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-63964524201260577592009-07-25T00:04:00.001-07:002009-07-25T01:46:29.841-07:00Uluru: to climb or not to climbThis is not new news now, but I've been sitting on it and trying to decide how I feel for a while.<p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 250px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/67648589@N00/211322673"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/68/211322673_3cf445f6af_m.jpg" alt="Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="180" width="240" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/67648589@N00/211322673">frizzetta</a> via Flickr</span></p> Go <a href="http://news.smh.com.au/breaking-news-national/pm-rejects-uluru-climbing-ban-idea-20090710-dfco.html">here</a> to see the article in which Kevin Rudd gives his opinion on the possible closure of the walk up <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-25.345,131.036111111&spn=1.0,1.0&q=-25.345,131.036111111%20%28Uluru%29&t=h" title="Uluru" rel="geolocation">Uluru</a>.<br /><br /><div>The <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anangu" title="Anangu" rel="wikipedia">Anangu</a> (the traditional owners of the land) list a variety of reasons people should not to walk up the rock. Some of them relate to the environment: damage to the surface of the rock; increase in harmful bacteria in the water in around the rock, due to lack of toilet facilities on the three-hour climb. (And it is these reasons, presumably, which has <a class="zem_slink" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3J9iNSwV2T4" title="The Chasers War on Everything: Peter Garrett "Jocular"" rel="youtube">Peter Garrett</a>, the Minister for the Environment, convinced that the walk should be closed.) Other reasons given for the request that visitors not climb the rock relate to the danger of the climb. And some reasons relate to the traditional owners' beliefs about the rock.<br /><br />The Anangu, presumably, could just close access to the rock. They haven't done that as yet; they just ask visitors not to climb it. The rock is already closed at various times, and during bad weather by the Manager of the National Parks (I suppose). I wonder why the traditional owners don't just close the rock at all times.<br /><br />On the issue of Kevin Rudd coming out so publicly and strongly against the closure of the walk up Uluru, I have more definite opinions. Our PM is known for his Christian faith. He's not averse to sprinkling his soundbites with "God" and "pray" and "evil" and "hell". Why, then, so averse to the equally illogical beliefs of other Australians? I think the answer is obvious: the supreme being I barrack for is better than the supreme being you barrack for. Mine is great. Yours is just silly.<br /><br /><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;font-size:15;" ><br /></span></span></div> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/b59397e7-0f3c-43df-98c6-000774ca449b/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=b59397e7-0f3c-43df-98c6-000774ca449b" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-80397993493087114742009-07-22T23:26:00.000-07:002009-07-23T00:33:38.978-07:00The North Coast with Whales (and other animals)<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHwTgL4OMhKYJIhJVH52zE9R3RD2xFGzmg4UBUCuNmo0BnZt0h5RZoEkS5cyw8828PEZVQpBdkExX7sm1p6AqWdwBuwYg7gKSvxnl-DV7-ynB6fy3vN8IaVlbDciuzPAsyH_i-GrsZSPPG/s1600-h/DSC_0507.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHwTgL4OMhKYJIhJVH52zE9R3RD2xFGzmg4UBUCuNmo0BnZt0h5RZoEkS5cyw8828PEZVQpBdkExX7sm1p6AqWdwBuwYg7gKSvxnl-DV7-ynB6fy3vN8IaVlbDciuzPAsyH_i-GrsZSPPG/s400/DSC_0507.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361531068914368498" border="0" /></a><br /></div>We left Sydney on Monday for Nelson Bay. I'd called <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melaleuca" title="Melaleuca" rel="wikipedia">Melaleuca</a> Backpackers' Accommodation about 7 that morning to book a hut, having read good reviews on the Net.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweotNIdUJl7EE-qJYWQnHROJ1hXop0WvejJLycn4n-7B_GALd8lnksRLU82rCc8qM2icjk6lgOgPnmZGXWiYjnsvqG8N4iuelFR8yuvWtgYWHswlvyRwsrudCcIbuwWWOxB9lGLK4tmQk/s1600-h/DSC_0124.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweotNIdUJl7EE-qJYWQnHROJ1hXop0WvejJLycn4n-7B_GALd8lnksRLU82rCc8qM2icjk6lgOgPnmZGXWiYjnsvqG8N4iuelFR8yuvWtgYWHswlvyRwsrudCcIbuwWWOxB9lGLK4tmQk/s400/DSC_0124.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361525070388533794" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Met Jeannette (our hostess); Peter (our host) introduced us to Froggy, the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tawny_Frogmouth" title="Tawny Frogmouth" rel="wikipedia">tawny frogmouth</a> who is convalescing on the property after injury and rescue. Froggy was being fed twice daily but now has to shift for his own supper, which he is doing successfully. Unfortunately, though, he has a nasty habit of diving onto the guests, and this put back his full recovery for a few weeks when a frightened guest injured him trying to fend him off.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIi0UUiIs5vgxdO4hNo0quO-TnqfoEc7ck3oiVREWPLG4KR1i967bSBeP5UYaJA0ha9hpM_PGnp4aXtYLxa-1iOfgLD2U-mrRWjUluKFxFRLAdtsRqUo2XWg18H3gyv1ARzvggft_nJkI/s1600-h/DSC_0130.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIi0UUiIs5vgxdO4hNo0quO-TnqfoEc7ck3oiVREWPLG4KR1i967bSBeP5UYaJA0ha9hpM_PGnp4aXtYLxa-1iOfgLD2U-mrRWjUluKFxFRLAdtsRqUo2XWg18H3gyv1ARzvggft_nJkI/s400/DSC_0130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361528816939556546" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Also met one of the resident <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Koala" title="Koala" rel="wikipedia">koalas</a>.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3YxN6ZNzAblbvL_hoFUbxIYBwuKBQOc0zPSSY2aX3AtaZ6Lc9Wo2a2lycjCPmq3zo9ZfV6RoBzMZSxfOiJXVuudsypaClxGHiSBomehnjGv7oE2JhjAlWti9sDidBhPAIDfcdQpSkDxb/s1600-h/DSC_0125.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3YxN6ZNzAblbvL_hoFUbxIYBwuKBQOc0zPSSY2aX3AtaZ6Lc9Wo2a2lycjCPmq3zo9ZfV6RoBzMZSxfOiJXVuudsypaClxGHiSBomehnjGv7oE2JhjAlWti9sDidBhPAIDfcdQpSkDxb/s400/DSC_0125.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361530098080025778" border="0" /></a><br /></div>And a convalescing <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallaby" title="Wallaby" rel="wikipedia">wallaby</a>.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0ge93j-n984EN20geoVMIKht42X_oaiyD0JEej4lx011wjYskqL3CrCnfjN0bhtY9b-qMRqKQ_ALU8MR7pckHarkhyphenhyphenXsBWgk_I104KRqRsCG_6Dt3O3Q-fZ58Ulw1FiLrrnNuY990-Sg/s1600-h/DSC_0127.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0ge93j-n984EN20geoVMIKht42X_oaiyD0JEej4lx011wjYskqL3CrCnfjN0bhtY9b-qMRqKQ_ALU8MR7pckHarkhyphenhyphenXsBWgk_I104KRqRsCG_6Dt3O3Q-fZ58Ulw1FiLrrnNuY990-Sg/s400/DSC_0127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361533172638118290" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Went whale watching the next day.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqcnWNY_5Pb8LyscleFduUrUBH8_ilfTF0il8ZhArk8ErkSQWkH2RKqkloFBQ3oBkY51hBZES0cJPC-qx2fKNRlfPpkz0PeioH-xrh-YDsn5gz2DoofUDlcTRD-vtL-70VqJeCqPq6Qu1b/s1600-h/DSC_0414.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqcnWNY_5Pb8LyscleFduUrUBH8_ilfTF0il8ZhArk8ErkSQWkH2RKqkloFBQ3oBkY51hBZES0cJPC-qx2fKNRlfPpkz0PeioH-xrh-YDsn5gz2DoofUDlcTRD-vtL-70VqJeCqPq6Qu1b/s400/DSC_0414.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361534371846670322" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I've been reading that Australians, in this time of economic downturn, are opting to spend their holiday dollars overseas; and we didn't see big groups of holiday-makers. Lovely! We were able to book & check in on the same day. Well, could also be the time of year: most people going skiing perhaps, instead of to the beach. However, seems the South Korean influx is pretty healthy. Groups of young travellers arriving in Sydney, next day to Nelson Bay: whale watch and sand dune surfing. Next day to the Blue Mountains. . . a look at the Three Sisters and back to Sydney. Home to Seoul the next day.<br /><br /></div></div></div></div> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/a76102ae-2cf0-4c2b-9feb-f2d6b3c942ab/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=a76102ae-2cf0-4c2b-9feb-f2d6b3c942ab" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-35407699198741465422009-07-12T02:05:00.001-07:002009-07-12T04:05:23.510-07:00Wildlife in the Backyard<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SlmnukEaHCI/AAAAAAAAAJs/VoMmWqjaCho/s1600-h/DSC_0029.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SlmnukEaHCI/AAAAAAAAAJs/VoMmWqjaCho/s400/DSC_0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357497650131901474" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />Very often, I will see something amazing and take a photo of it. Sometimes I will take a photo and see something amazing in it.This is what happened with the photo above.<br /><br />I hoped to get a good shot of the rainbow through the kitchen window. (Mind you, rainbows haven't been very unusual over the last month or so. However, most of the state is still in drought, which is why we have had so many native birds in the city in recent years.) My <p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 250px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/78349556@N00/171175004"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/72/171175004_3994b8f20b_m.jpg" alt="Rainbow lorikeet in grevillea" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="160" width="240" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/78349556@N00/171175004">zoom_eric</a> via Flickr</span></p>neighbours' trees offer a continuous bird show: usually rainbow lorikeets--on this occasion, <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sulphur-crested_Cockatoo" title="Sulphur-crested Cockatoo" rel="wikipedia">sulphur crested</a> cockatoos. But how wonderful to see what I had not expected, an eagle, somewhere very high up, whose appearance would have been hidden by the cockatoo if I had taken the photo a split second later.<br /><br />It's the first time I have seen an eagle in the area. (Mind you, I don't go about looking for them.) But I have seen many wonderful animals in my yard and the neighbourhood, and here are some of them.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slm8SioXRNI/AAAAAAAAAKE/Hsy3somkawc/s1600-h/DSC_0019.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slm8SioXRNI/AAAAAAAAAKE/Hsy3somkawc/s400/DSC_0019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357520258453685458" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slmutj9tCSI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_fmHMhpID7c/s1600-h/DSC_0178.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slmutj9tCSI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_fmHMhpID7c/s400/DSC_0178.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357505329505306914" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SlmuD0J_c3I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/mwZ0tnnOyqE/s1600-h/pelican+%26+seagull.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SlmuD0J_c3I/AAAAAAAAAJ0/mwZ0tnnOyqE/s400/pelican+%26+seagull.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357504612297306994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slm9ZJEh87I/AAAAAAAAAKM/pauvfotFJ80/s1600-h/DSC_0285.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slm9ZJEh87I/AAAAAAAAAKM/pauvfotFJ80/s400/DSC_0285.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357521471363216306" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slm-WKkIeRI/AAAAAAAAAKU/ZGZ3Ez5os4c/s1600-h/DSC_0220_2.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slm-WKkIeRI/AAAAAAAAAKU/ZGZ3Ez5os4c/s400/DSC_0220_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357522519736219922" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Slmutj9tCSI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/_fmHMhpID7c/s1600-h/DSC_0178.JPG"><br /></a></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SlnCfI59tpI/AAAAAAAAAKc/8q-7-HvdNoM/s1600-h/DSC_0023.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SlnCfI59tpI/AAAAAAAAAKc/8q-7-HvdNoM/s400/DSC_0023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357527071956252306" border="0" /></a></div> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/708a5a90-1ec4-463b-a4cb-50f7c995547b/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=708a5a90-1ec4-463b-a4cb-50f7c995547b" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-10280518909031756792009-07-10T04:11:00.000-07:002009-07-10T05:07:00.572-07:00I met a young man. . .<div style="text-align: center;">Crepe myrtle in Mary Street last summer<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SlclRHOmYkI/AAAAAAAAAIY/_5zv_WJY35M/s1600-h/DSC_0090.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SlclRHOmYkI/AAAAAAAAAIY/_5zv_WJY35M/s400/DSC_0090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356791257708782146" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Wednesday I parked the car in Mary Street, just down the road from the college and outside the doctor who doles out methadone in the morning. After work, as I was stowing my bag & umbrella on the passenger side of my car I heard a voice greeting me: "Good afternoon madam."<br /><br />I looked up but I wasn't sure where the voice was coming from. There was a young man crossing the road walking quickly towards me, but I didn't see his lips moving, and his face was expressionless. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or past me. I turned my attention back to arranging my stuff. "How are you madam?" I heard and again I looked at the young man crossing the road. No-one else was so close to me, but his mouth hadn't moved as far as I could tell and the inanimate expression hadn't changed.<br /><br />I closed the door and started to go around the back of the car to the driver's side door. I couldn't though, because by that time the young man was blocking me. He was too close.<br /><br />He said: "Madam, I'm desperate. I haven't got anywhere to sleep tonight. My father and step-mother have thrown me out. I've got nowhere to sleep. I've got no family. I'm desperate. I've got cancer, madam." He took off his beanie and showed me a bald head, with a few wisps of fair hair just above his neck. His face was very pale, unearthly. He stood very close to me. I thought he would cry.<br /><br />"I need money madam. No-one will give me a job. I need to get a place to sleep tonight. I've got no family. You've got a family. Can you imagine what it's like to have no family?" I couldn't. His situation seemed hopeless. "I'm 27, madam. I don't take drugs," he told me. "I don't drink. I go to church every Sunday." That's what brought me up a bit. You don't tell an atheist that, and gain much kudos. But I wasn't sure it was just a story. He sounded credible. He sounded very sad. And he was standing very close to me.<br /><br />He wasn't tall. Just a little taller than me, but thin. He looked right into my eyes. I felt menaced, and I began to feel nauseous. He was obviously sick. "Have you been to Centrelink?" I asked him. And he replied, "I have to pay twice what they give me, for rent." I didn't understand what he meant or how it related to my question, or his situation. "I'm desperate madam. I don't want to beg but I'm desperate." I took out my purse and gave him $5. I was upset and I wanted to get away. He said, "I don't want $5. I need $50 to get somewhere to sleep tonight. I don't want to have to keep on begging. I hate it. I'm desperate."<br /><br />I inched past him and to the driver's door. I closed it and started the engine. And he didn't try to open my door for which I was grateful. He walked quickly away towards the doctor's.<br /><br />I felt nauseous all the way home, and I'm still upset as I think about it. If I were certain that he had wanted the money for drugs, I would be able to lay the experience to rest. But I'm not. I know he was suffering from something, quite possibly cancer. What he said was credible, perhaps, but doesn't Centrelink look after people who can't support themselves? I would have offered to go with him to Centrelink, but I was afraid of him.<br /><br />I am wondering what I should have done. I am wondering if I have a lack of basic human feeling. I am wondering if I could have made a difference. I can't forget what one speaker said to us on the last day of high school. He said we have many people now who ask us to help them. The number of people in need increases, and we are increasingly called on to open our hearts and purses. People become inured to the suffering of others and close themselves off from it. He said that it was the wrong way to go. The right way is to become increasingly sensitive to the suffering of our fellows. This is the way we must proceed if we are to create and live in a caring society.<br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/5fbfdd7a-8597-4eb4-94df-61ad6f3201cd/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=5fbfdd7a-8597-4eb4-94df-61ad6f3201cd" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-71041304700154944252009-07-07T02:46:00.000-07:002009-07-09T00:17:06.808-07:00Talking Books<p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 190px;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3087/2590838395_ddc33b9d62_m.jpg"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3087/2590838395_ddc33b9d62_m.jpg" alt="Radio Talking Book" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="240" width="180" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/69113444@N00/2590838395">kiddharma</a> via Flickr <div cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" about="http://www.flickr.com/photos/42329213@N00/2554203227"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/emilybean/" rel="cc:attributionURL">http://www.flickr.com/photos/emilybean/</a> / <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/" rel="license">CC BY-NC-ND 2.0</a></div><div cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" about="http://www.flickr.com/photos/42329213@N00/2554203227"></div><div cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" about="http://www.flickr.com/photos/42329213@N00/2554203227"> </div><div cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#" about="http://www.flickr.com/photos/42329213@N00/2554203227">Photo by Sam Mills</div><br /></span></p><br />I travel to work by car. I know I shouldn't; that it's better for me and better for the environment if I travel by train. But it takes so long. And I'm not a very organised person. I can't seem to shop and have stuff ready just to throw into a frypan or the oven and so compile an appetising evening meal for Alex and I. And I really want to get out for a walk along the beach every day. (Difficult to get in the 5 clicks these days. It's darkening at 5 o'clock.) So, I'm looking at 45 minutes by car, or at least an hour and a quarter by train.<br /><br />Self-justification now out of the way, this is my topic: the talking books I listen to going and coming, over the M5, up Fairford Road which becomes Stacey Street through Bankstown; becoming Rookwood Road through <a class="zem_slink" title="Chullora, New South Wales" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-33.89081,151.04751&spn=0.01,0.01&q=-33.89081,151.04751%20%28Chullora%2C%20New%20South%20Wales%29&t=h" rel="geolocation">Chullora</a> and then Joseph Street. I vroom through a host of suburbs I don't even want to learn the names of. The arse-end of Sydney town. I try to distract myself by listening to talking books. I h<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/69113444@N00/2590838395"></a>ave noticed that these do not all offer the same entertainment value.<br /><br />Some talking books are eminently satisfying: a great tale written by a skillful author and voiced by someone with an unitrusive and melodious voice, rhythms and accent absolutely fitted to the setting and characterisation of the tale. But, when the actor's rendition doesn't hit the mark for me, I find myself ready to judge the writing as sub-(my)-standard. I don't really know if the writing is poor. I just know that I can't stand to listen to it. If I wanted to search for the truth, I should go & get the print version and see whether my poor opinion of the novel stands up. But by the time I have become so disillusioned with the performance of the text that I cannot listen to it any more, I also cannot make myself read it; I am so convinced that it's badly written. It has already caused me such pain.<br /><br />A case in point: I had to stop listening to Jeffrey Eugenides "Middlesex" because the actor voicing the story used a Yiddish accent, instead of the <a class="zem_slink" title="Greek language" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_language" rel="wikipedia">Greek</a> accent the characters would have had. The earlier generation of characters are immigrants from the Greek-speaking part of Turkey at the time, Smyrna (present day <a class="zem_slink" title="İzmir" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=38.4333333333,27.15&spn=0.1,0.1&q=38.4333333333,27.15%20%28%C4%B0zmir%29&t=h" rel="geolocation">Izmir</a>). I found it excruciating to listen to him, especially when he voiced the women characters. He sounded like a hairy-legged drag queen.<br /><br />Another one I had to stop listening to was "<a class="zem_slink" title="The Unknown Terrorist" href="http://www.amazon.com/Terrorist-Richard-Flanagan/dp/0002000180%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D0002000180" rel="amazon">The Unknown Terrorist</a>" by <a class="zem_slink" title="Richard Flanagan" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Flanagan" rel="wikipedia">Richard Flanagan</a>. The <p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; display: block; float: right; width: 210px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Terrorist-Richard-Flanagan/dp/0002000180%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D0002000180"><img style="border: medium none ; display: block;" alt="'Cover" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51CfXn957pL._SL300_.jpg" height="300" width="200" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Cover of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Terrorist-Richard-Flanagan/dp/0002000180%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D0002000180">The Unknown Terrorist</a></span></p>protagonist, "the Doll" is an exotic dancer, and described as very beautiful by the narrator. Other characters admire her beauty. She is an anglo <a class="zem_slink" title="Westie (person)" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westie_%28person%29" rel="wikipedia">Westie</a>, so I know what she would sound like. I hear Anglo Westies every day. And she wouldn't sound like a 150 kilo Lebanese panel beater. The actor voicing her got it very wrong. I don't expect Richard Flanagan will ever read my review of his talking book, but if you do, Richard, I'm sorry, that's the way it is. The talking book stinks. I will never know if your novel cuts it now because I can't bear to read it. It's been spoiled for me.<br /><br />By comparison, I've just finished "People of the Book" by Geraldine Brooks. Masterfully read. Easy to listen to. A host of different voices created by the reader: male & female; English that is Italian-accented, Anglo-Australian accented, American (East Coast)-Accented, Hebrew-accented, Arabic-accented. And all of the accents, it seemed to me (and I encounter many of these accents most days while I'm teaching English to my students) were perfectly natural and credible.<br /><br /><br /><br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/5ebf806b-e6ed-4c8e-a317-6815e7bea52c/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=5ebf806b-e6ed-4c8e-a317-6815e7bea52c" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-36070447103925302002009-07-03T01:51:00.000-07:002009-07-03T05:44:10.376-07:00"Salmon Fishing in the Yemen"Have watched my four-month-old reading group give up the ghost, and I am in mourning.<p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 213px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Salmon-Fishing-Yemen-Paul-Torday/dp/0297851586%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D0297851586"><img src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51LQwZC6IkL._SL300_.jpg" alt="Cover of "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen"" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="300" width="203" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Cover of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Salmon-Fishing-Yemen-Paul-Torday/dp/0297851586%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D0297851586">Salmon Fishing in the Yemen</a></span></p><br /><br />It passed on Wednesday night. Left a sour taste in my mouth. . . and it wasn't just the half bottle of rough red I'd downed while cooking the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yhp_pLWHIvU">lasagne</a>. I should have taken more notice of "Any Good Books Lately": a paperback I picked up for $2.00 at the Basement Bookshop. It suggested that you need at least 12 eager souls to form a reading group. I kicked off with eight (including me). Some might say it was doomed to failure--an unlikely task--akin to training fish to swim up a dry river bed.<br /><br />Two members dropped out after the first meeting in April. (E. & M. had not been able to say "no" to me. They wanted to please me, so they came along to meeting number 1 and I appreciate that. They just couldn't go on pleasing me, and I bloody hate them for that.) However, I <span style="font-style: italic;">had</span> forced them to read "The Road" by <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cormac_McCarthy" title="Cormac McCarthy" rel="wikipedia">Cormack McCarthy</a>: a masterpiece, no doubt, but it had given me nightmares, even the third time through. Bleak. Some would say depressing.And then there were six.<br /><p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 190px;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3555/3310537045_551644c912_m.jpg"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3555/3310537045_551644c912_m.jpg" alt="The Road" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="240" width="180" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/57341662@N00/3310537045">-Ant</a> via Flickr</span></p><br />L. made an emergency dash to<br />London to care for her daughter. J., L.'s partner, stayed away from the next two meetings, too. And then there were four. <p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 310px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sgt-Peppers-Lonely-Hearts-Club/dp/B000002UAU%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3DB000002UAU"><img src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51SKN7EYK4L._SL300_.jpg" alt="Cover of "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Clu..." style="border: medium none ; display: block; width: 219px; height: 219px;" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Cover of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sgt-Peppers-Lonely-Hearts-Club/dp/B000002UAU%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3DB000002UAU">Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band</a></span></p><br /><br />But I met up with an old Moorefield school chum-Y.-and she was enthusiastic about coming to the next meeting in May. Said she'd bring the wine.<br /><br />A. brought along the nosh: wonderful Leb from deepest <p class="zemanta-img zemanta-action-dragged" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block;"><a href="http://www.last.fm/music/aldous%2Bhuxley"><img src="http://userserve-ak.last.fm/serve/126/3906822.jpg" alt="aldous huxley" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution"><a href="http://www.last.fm/music/aldous%2Bhuxley">aldous huxley</a> via <a href="http://www.lasftm.com/">last.fm</a></span></p>Ashfield. We drank Y's rather special red. Just the three of us. H. couldn't make it that night. The novel was "<a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brave_New_World" title="Brave New World" rel="wikipedia">Brave New World</a>". After we'd made a dent in the dinner, I showed them <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aldous_Huxley" title="Aldous Huxley" rel="wikipedia">Aldous Huxley</a> on the cover of "<a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sgt._Pepper%27s_Lonely_Hearts_Club_Band" title="Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" rel="wikipedia">Sgt Pepper's</a> Lonely Hearts Club Band", and shared my scoop about how the Doors had named their band after his book "<a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Doors_of_Perception" title="The Doors of Perception" rel="wikipedia">The Doors of Perception</a>". We discussed "Brave New World" too, at least A.& I did because Y. hadn't reread it.<br /><br />In June we met at A.'s place. Three present again, but not the same three. This time it was A., as you'd expect, myself and H. (Y. gave Alex a message on my mobile as I was driving to A's place. She wouldn't be there, she said, too much Cert 4 stuff to do.) So, A. & H. & I talked about "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen", which we all panned remorselessly. Comic title, I thought, but the one-liner couldn't carry the whole book. And it was so silly, wasn't it, the idea of flying schools of salmon to the desert for the fishing pleasure of a sheikh. Ridiculous!<br /><br />We decided we'd read "Shadow of the Wind", by Carlos Ruiz Zafon next time.<br /><br />Next time was Thursday, 1st July. A. called that afternoon & told me she & H. wouldn't be coming. I already had the lasagne prepared, the vegetables prepped and the house respectable. Oh well, down to four avid readers for the evening. L. & J. arrived promptly & we talked about "Shadow of the Wind". At seven o'clock I decided we should eat, but Y. hadn't arrived. And she hadn't called to cancel this time. I tried to call her, but she never picks up her mobile.<br /><br />And then there were three.<br /><br />We ate the lasagne and some delicious broccoli salad which I'd googled the recipe for that morning.<br /><br />But that flat feeling, as if my insides were coming together, stayed with me. I couldn't sleep. I was reamed out and empty, despite the big meal. Still hungry. Still up at 2 a.m. ruminating on the folly of assuming that my enthusiasm would beget enthusiasm in others.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/813c3c4a-b326-4224-bd56-b04643129fe9/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=813c3c4a-b326-4224-bd56-b04643129fe9" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-11640855522882804892009-06-26T13:36:00.000-07:002009-07-06T04:00:07.278-07:00Excursion to Featherdale Wildlife ParkEven water monitors in tanks do it!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkU7BBoXyyI/AAAAAAAAAGc/EPStoyy6Xss/s1600-h/DSC_0168.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351748621003377442" style="width: 400px; cursor: pointer; height: 268px;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkU7BBoXyyI/AAAAAAAAAGc/EPStoyy6Xss/s400/DSC_0168.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>It was time for a another excursion with my level 3 class of adult migrants. I organised Featherdale, again, because we had to go somewhere cheapish and accessible. Vik wanted to be in & he invited Cathy & Marie, and then decided he'd take the whole college. He did what he loves to do. Organise. He set up the bus and convinced R to open his purse & put in money to subsidise the teacher places.<br /><br />Vik is the frustrated entrepreneur. He is the bus man. He is the group happening man. He is the man.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkU5l6JATJI/AAAAAAAAAGU/wdDeH4hj6fo/s1600-h/DSC_0047.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351747055624670354" style="width: 410px; cursor: pointer; height: 273px;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkU5l6JATJI/AAAAAAAAAGU/wdDeH4hj6fo/s400/DSC_0047.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We arrived & herded the students through <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Koala" title="Koala" rel="wikipedia">koalas</a>, kangaroos, wallabies and a couple of irritated emus. Multiple photo opportunities: teacher grins locked on jaws, tension gripping back molars.<br /><br />Peter gave another good presentation:<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkU-4DRDO_I/AAAAAAAAAGk/O8Wp2mZeevc/s1600-h/DSC_0048.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351752864870120434" style="width: 417px; cursor: pointer; height: 278px;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkU-4DRDO_I/AAAAAAAAAGk/O8Wp2mZeevc/s400/DSC_0048.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Student</span>: (Pointing to koala in his hands) Can I take her home?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter</span>: No, but you can take me home.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Student</span>: Is she married?<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Peter</span>: No, but she's got lots of boyfriends. (Students laugh.) She's a hussy, my koala. (Level 3 students make a note to look up "hussy" in the dictionary when they get back.)<br /></div></div></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkVD1JH6HXI/AAAAAAAAAG0/qaZ93JIIoyA/s1600-h/DSC_0144.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351758312460918130" style="width: 491px; cursor: pointer; height: 326px;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkVD1JH6HXI/AAAAAAAAAG0/qaZ93JIIoyA/s400/DSC_0144.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">What I enjoyed most was sitting down with my colleagues and swapping information. We've been working together for years, but we don't know much about each other. We were doing what we get students to do with classmates in the first week of term: we sussed out ethnic background, experiences, likes & dislikes. A relief to sit down together & not have to fill in an attendance sheet, evalution or SAR to document it. We drank disgusting coffee & ate chips with chicken salt.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkVGfYD8p2I/AAAAAAAAAG8/6Tsb9tdAtQw/s1600-h/DSC_0178.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351761237048600418" style="width: 461px; cursor: pointer; height: 305px;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/SkVGfYD8p2I/AAAAAAAAAG8/6Tsb9tdAtQw/s400/DSC_0178.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div></div><br /><p align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Skgz3R0n2AI/AAAAAAAAAHc/FGg248fP2nk/s1600-h/Marie+%26+Cathy+%40+Featherdale.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352585181899773954" style="width: 464px; height: 362px;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_cmilG4GUzx4/Skgz3R0n2AI/AAAAAAAAAHc/FGg248fP2nk/s400/Marie+%26+Cathy+%40+Featherdale.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><div>And so it went, nothing very much out of the ordinary, except when we counted students before getting back on the bus at 1.30. Forty-six coming, only 45 at the exit. One elderly woman missing: Stella. Where was she? A posse of teachers went back through Featherdale. "Stella! Stella! Stella!" Images of Stella passed out among the emus, or on the floor of a cubicle in the toilet. "Stella! Stella! Stella!" What's her mobile number, we ask Marie. Stella can't use a mobile phone, Marie tells us. "Stella! Stella! Stella!"<br /><br />No Stella.<br /><br />Marie says we should leave on the bus. She'll stay to wait for Stella. No, Stella's gone, we argue. Information from a student on the bus. Stella was seen talking to people from her country. We think she's had enough of koalas and flying foxes. Just got a lift home. Marie calls Michael at school. He calls Stella's mobile, which she does answer. She's back at Auburn Station. Says she caught a bus. Asked the staff at Featherdale to point her to the bus stop and asked the driver to let her know when she got to the station, then hopped a train to Auburn. Well, she's a survivor all right. Survived war, and who knows what unspeakable atrocities in the dark days before she escaped. A piece of piss to find her way home from Featherdale in <a class="zem_slink" href="http://maps.google.com/maps?ll=-33.771,150.9063&spn=0.01,0.01&q=-33.771,150.9063%20%28Blacktown%2C%20New%20South%20Wales%29&t=h" title="Blacktown, New South Wales" rel="geolocation">Blacktown</a>.<br /><br />Must learn to let her teacher know when she's leaving, though.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/25fc3e34-d940-4611-a6a4-e7344df9a7b1/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=25fc3e34-d940-4611-a6a4-e7344df9a7b1" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6513838283190535472.post-6159763281887091852009-06-21T12:45:00.000-07:002009-06-21T20:13:27.194-07:00Death & "Disgrace"<p class="zemanta-img" style="margin: 1em; float: right; display: block; width: 190px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44124361952@N01/480945789"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/186/480945789_c5f3442618_m.jpg" alt="venice, the apartment, disgrace" style="border: medium none ; display: block;" height="240" width="180" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44124361952@N01/480945789">svanes</a> via Flickr</span></p>Adult excursion yesterday with T. Dropped Alex off at Celia's and then, light and free, skipped north in sunshine to Newtown. Picked up a couple of gratis tickets @ Better Read than Dead for the Dendy. The adaptation of J.M. Coetzee's "Disgrace" ( Dir: <a class="zem_slink" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0414646/" title="Steve Jacobs" rel="imdb">Steve Jacobs</a>; screenwriter: Anna-Maria Monticelli. ) Go <a href="http://www.salon.com/books/review/1999/11/05/coetzee/">here</a> for a review of the book.<br /><div><br /></div><div>I wondered whether it would be two hours well-spent. These days, as the years race by, I'm more frugal of my time. I know, since the deaths of Mum & Dad, that my life is finite and unsustainable. We "understand" about death from childhood: I started dreading bedtime at 12 when my cousin, Roz, recited the prayer: ". . . if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." But I didn't really understand death until I saw Mum gasp her last breath. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sandra Hall in Spectrum gave "Disgrace" 3<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">1/2</span> stars: mediocre; I hadn't seen <a class="zem_slink" href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0690085/" title="Margaret Pomeranz" rel="imdb">Margaret Pomeranz</a> and David Stretton's rating. Hall's star count wasn't stellar: "Makovich's essential iciness means the tragedy eludes us". But she's wrong. It's a beautiful film, and I did care about Malkovich's character, David Lurie, by the end. Jessica Haines, who plays Lurie's daughter Lucy, is absolutely right in the part. Compelling, tragic. I would have given the film 4 stars, and when I got home I caught the rerun of "<a class="zem_slink" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0421288/" title="At the Movies (Australian TV series)" rel="imdb">At the Movies</a>". Happy to report Margaret Pomeranz and David Stretton agree with me. </div> <div style="margin-top: 10px; height: 15px;" class="zemanta-pixie"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://reblog.zemanta.com/zemified/19731e25-d1ad-4f18-b3d9-e369149c2721/" title="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]"><img style="border: medium none ; float: right;" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/reblog_e.png?x-id=19731e25-d1ad-4f18-b3d9-e369149c2721" alt="Reblog this post [with Zemanta]" /></a><span class="zem-script pretty-attribution"><script type="text/javascript" src="http://static.zemanta.com/readside/loader.js" defer="defer"></script></span></div>queenofthenilehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14145470636206293071noreply@blogger.com0