Fun day - went uber-touristy in Sydney and enjoyed Monorail mania! We have such limited time to explore together, we decided to do just one thing today, and do it well; so we got day tickets to Sydney's Monorail, and enjoyed visiting those seven stops thoroughly.
Sadly I have a migraine-like headache and nausea, so cut short my exploring in favour of a short nap before attending the opening session of the Philosophies of Travel conference, which is the reason we're here. Pete continued looking around our locality - but I suspect that, with much of the next two days to himself, he'll be spreading his Sydney wings further afield!
Have already met some really lovely and fascinating people at the conference, and am looking forward very much to conversations and shared ideas over the next few days.
Right now, have taken a couple of sleeping tablets and am trusting that a very early night's sleep will allow my body to cure itself.
(Please, please, please cure yourself, body ...)
Thursday 29 September 2011
Mark 31:1
Yes, I'm in a Markan mood; this title is meant to reflect the experience my husband and I had as we stepped out of Central Station in Sydney yesterday and looked up at all the tall, tall buildings.*
Since my grandparents followed us to Adelaide in the mid-1980s, I haven't regularly spent time in Sydney, but it was exciting to re-visit familiar places like Hyde Park and taste familiar names on one's tongue: Pitt Street; Castlereagh Street; Circular Quay. Yum.
Of course, people are people, wherever you go, but we encountered two of the least helpful information booth attendants I've met in a long time yesterday.
An example of our interactions:
"Excuse me, what bus do I catch to get to Sydney University?"
"Anything with a four."
Oh ... and it turns out I was on the wrong street, anyway. Thanks, mate.
But today we have some time for tourism, so we're going to 'Simpson it up' on ... The Monorail! Looking forward to it.
Since my grandparents followed us to Adelaide in the mid-1980s, I haven't regularly spent time in Sydney, but it was exciting to re-visit familiar places like Hyde Park and taste familiar names on one's tongue: Pitt Street; Castlereagh Street; Circular Quay. Yum.
Of course, people are people, wherever you go, but we encountered two of the least helpful information booth attendants I've met in a long time yesterday.
An example of our interactions:
"Excuse me, what bus do I catch to get to Sydney University?"
"Anything with a four."
Oh ... and it turns out I was on the wrong street, anyway. Thanks, mate.
But today we have some time for tourism, so we're going to 'Simpson it up' on ... The Monorail! Looking forward to it.
* The NRSV translation reads:
As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!"
Jesus then goes on to foretell the destruction of said buildings, a sense of impending doom Peter and I didn't share yesterday!
(You're right; I'm not a Christian any more. However, Christians don't exclusively own ancient texts. And sharing is a virtue.)
Monday 26 September 2011
My favourite image of today
Today, I noticed that one of the trees on our street is so thickly laden with blossoms that the pretty pink petals crowd out the new fresh-green spring leaves.
It is an almost excessive bounteousness of beauty.
I feel a similar bounteousness exists in my life at present: a richness of experience, a time of promise, a profusion of things to be grateful for.
It is an almost excessive bounteousness of beauty.
I feel a similar bounteousness exists in my life at present: a richness of experience, a time of promise, a profusion of things to be grateful for.
Sunday 25 September 2011
Wishing facebook wasn't so damned useful
I'm writing this today after reading a blog posted by a friend on facebook titled "Five Things to Know about the new Facebook". This was after I'd woken up, showered, powered up my computer, read my emails, perused the facebook timeline, checked my progress in my current favourite facebook game, and then eaten breakfast.
Facebook's crept up on me. It's become more significant ... without me noticing how much of my life now revolves around it. I even have one friendship I value highly with a person I've only actually met once - based on our interactions through facebook. I'm not on facebook all hours of the day, but it's certainly become more than just a way of keeping up with friends.
So when I read Sharon Vaknin's blog this morning about the changes to facebook, I felt a distinct disquiet.
Why? Well, the changes to our profiles are what concern me most. I quote from Vaknin's article:
I don't like the thought that thoughts I've had in the past - perhaps some years ago, now! - can be found by someone and may be taken as indicative of my current beliefs. I don't like the fact that information from apps I'm using will be displayed. Yes, I understand that I can change the privacy settings of apps so "Only Me" will see my activity; and I understand that, as Viknin says, I can go back and delete any old comments. But should I have to?
I particularly feel for friends who have posted comments, pictures or video while drunk or otherwise, shall we say, "incapacitated". What seems fun and even status-enhancing at 17 or 18 becomes embarrassing and potentially damaging just a few years later.
Am I a Luddite? Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply object to the fact that a medium I assumed had an element of time-boundedness turns out, instead, to have a more eternal quality.
I'm certainly going to be even more cautious about what I post on facebook, going to keep an eagle eye on my privacy settings, and make sure I'm kept up to date with these and other changes.
Facebook's crept up on me. It's become more significant ... without me noticing how much of my life now revolves around it. I even have one friendship I value highly with a person I've only actually met once - based on our interactions through facebook. I'm not on facebook all hours of the day, but it's certainly become more than just a way of keeping up with friends.
So when I read Sharon Vaknin's blog this morning about the changes to facebook, I felt a distinct disquiet.
Why? Well, the changes to our profiles are what concern me most. I quote from Vaknin's article:
Your profile begins with a large photo at the top. Below that is your general information, a status update box, and then a timeline of your activities. You'll see photos of you, status updates, life events (like a new job), and activity from any apps you're using (like Nike+, FarmVille, or Foodspotting.) Unlike the previous interface, your friends will now be able to look back on your past activity, all the way to the moment you joined Facebook.
I don't like the thought that thoughts I've had in the past - perhaps some years ago, now! - can be found by someone and may be taken as indicative of my current beliefs. I don't like the fact that information from apps I'm using will be displayed. Yes, I understand that I can change the privacy settings of apps so "Only Me" will see my activity; and I understand that, as Viknin says, I can go back and delete any old comments. But should I have to?
I particularly feel for friends who have posted comments, pictures or video while drunk or otherwise, shall we say, "incapacitated". What seems fun and even status-enhancing at 17 or 18 becomes embarrassing and potentially damaging just a few years later.
Am I a Luddite? Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply object to the fact that a medium I assumed had an element of time-boundedness turns out, instead, to have a more eternal quality.
I'm certainly going to be even more cautious about what I post on facebook, going to keep an eagle eye on my privacy settings, and make sure I'm kept up to date with these and other changes.
Saturday 24 September 2011
Turning Forty
I turned forty on the first of September, and was happy to do so.
The celebrations ended up being spread over some days; it was a veritable birthday festival! On the day, I enjoyed a special "high tea" with one of my sisters and my newest niece, and a lovely night out with my husband. We had lunch with my stepsons two days later, and I'd already caught up with my parents when they'd visited some weeks earlier. Oh - and I ran my first half marathon.
"Hold on a minute," regular readers may wonder, "weren't you training for the Melbourne half marathon event on the ninth of October?" Yes, I was; but when I went to register, two days before my birthday, it was completely booked out. So I decided to do the run on my birthday. After all, it's a much better story! "I ran my first half marathon on my fortieth birthday ..."
You can't Google the event, and it didn't appear in any newspapers; it was my own personal half marathon, run in two loops - north and south - with a hydration pit stop at home halfway through. I had such fun doing that run! The day itself hadn't been ideal preparation: a high-calorie, luxury morning tea with my sister, and the obligatory few hours spent in Melbourne traffic. But I was well-rested, well-trained, and despite experiencing the expected challenges of running a half ("I am in so much pain!" "I want to throw up!" "I want to GIVE UP!") I ran with a huge grin on my face. I entered serious "running zen state" during the seventeenth kilometre: I heard my GPS announce I'd completed the sixteenth, started playing Vivaldi in my head, and before I knew it I'd reached the seventeen kilometre mark. It was all pretty easy from there, except for a brief panicked moment when I was about to turn into my street, looked at my GPS and thought I had to find an extra kilometre to run. I was wrong; in my fatigue, I'd mis-read the numbers.
Everyone wants to know how I feel about turning forty. I feel great about it! There's a real sense of my life opening up; I'm fitter than I've ever been, stronger, and more resilient. My professional life is opening up, likewise my academic presence (I'm presenting my first conference paper next weekend). I believe that the next ten years are going to be among the best, most productive and happiest of my life - so far!
The celebrations ended up being spread over some days; it was a veritable birthday festival! On the day, I enjoyed a special "high tea" with one of my sisters and my newest niece, and a lovely night out with my husband. We had lunch with my stepsons two days later, and I'd already caught up with my parents when they'd visited some weeks earlier. Oh - and I ran my first half marathon.
"Hold on a minute," regular readers may wonder, "weren't you training for the Melbourne half marathon event on the ninth of October?" Yes, I was; but when I went to register, two days before my birthday, it was completely booked out. So I decided to do the run on my birthday. After all, it's a much better story! "I ran my first half marathon on my fortieth birthday ..."
You can't Google the event, and it didn't appear in any newspapers; it was my own personal half marathon, run in two loops - north and south - with a hydration pit stop at home halfway through. I had such fun doing that run! The day itself hadn't been ideal preparation: a high-calorie, luxury morning tea with my sister, and the obligatory few hours spent in Melbourne traffic. But I was well-rested, well-trained, and despite experiencing the expected challenges of running a half ("I am in so much pain!" "I want to throw up!" "I want to GIVE UP!") I ran with a huge grin on my face. I entered serious "running zen state" during the seventeenth kilometre: I heard my GPS announce I'd completed the sixteenth, started playing Vivaldi in my head, and before I knew it I'd reached the seventeen kilometre mark. It was all pretty easy from there, except for a brief panicked moment when I was about to turn into my street, looked at my GPS and thought I had to find an extra kilometre to run. I was wrong; in my fatigue, I'd mis-read the numbers.
Everyone wants to know how I feel about turning forty. I feel great about it! There's a real sense of my life opening up; I'm fitter than I've ever been, stronger, and more resilient. My professional life is opening up, likewise my academic presence (I'm presenting my first conference paper next weekend). I believe that the next ten years are going to be among the best, most productive and happiest of my life - so far!
Friday 23 September 2011
It's a Bach Day
Well, actually, it's also an "I'm sick, I'm tired, and I can't wait for this week to be over - but hooray for Friday!" day.
But, after a couple of months of a very limited musical diet - exclusively Vivaldi for some weeks, Nina Simone singing "Feeling Good" for my fortieth birthday, then Boy & Bear's version of "Fall At Your Feet", which ticks all the boxes for a superb cover - I've replenished the pile of burnies in the car, and am treating my ears to old friends.
Bach's violin concertos have taught me so much about life. Sometimes a piece of music will grab my attention and yell at me until it's taught me what I need to know. (Yes, I am speaking metaphorically; no need to consult a psychiatrist about possible diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia just yet.) It can be an entire piece, or movement - for example, the first movement of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D (Op. 35), or just a few bars. Those few bars in the third movement of Bach's Double Concerto (BWV 1043) where the music changes from being, if you like, "horizontal" to "vertical" (melodic to chordal) helped me understand that our personalities are not set in stone, but have the capacity to change over time.
Another Bach violin concerto perfectly illustrated an intense moment in my life. It was a few days before I left Adelaide, and I was driving away from my last conversation with my therapist. We had done some excellent work together, so I was rejoicing in the happiness of time spent talking, and the satisfaction of things achieved, but also felt a deep sadness that my professional relationship with him was over. I got into the car and turned on the CD. It was halfway through the second movement of Bach's Concerto for Two Violins in C minor (BWV 1060): the falling cadences and sustained notes matched my melancholy mood. Then, the third movement started; energetic, upbeat, relisient, persistent - all qualities my therapist had identified and fostered within me! If only I were still able to believe in a god, I would have considered this as something "meant to be", or perhaps some sort of cosmic joke - but there is no joke without a joker, and sadly, I can't. Still, it was one of those times when an apparently random musical moment melds perfectly with one's life experience.
Bach also reveals me to myself. The third movement of the Violin Concerto in A Minor (BWV 1041), with that beautifully persistent repeated solo note which holds its own against the pressure of the changing keys and cadences beneath it, reflect my capacity to live a successful life alongside my depression and anxiety. I do bounce back, I do press on, and at the very least - even on days like today when I am weakened by fatigue and infection - I do endure.
So: today is a Bach day. It is a day of reflection; of assessing where I'm at; of recognising my strengths, and acknowledging my capacity to survive - and even thrive!
Finally, I heard Pekka Kuusisto (with Iiro Rantala) perform some superb Finnish jazz trios earlier this year (you can read about the concert here). Pekka remarked, almost in passing, that Bach was the master of improvisation. This gave me a whole new way of being able to listen to his music. Try it! Listen to a piece you know really, really well - I'd suggest BWV 1043 or 1041 as excellent examples - and imagine hearing them in terms of improvisation. This has given me a lot of joy, and I hope it will bring you joy today, too.
But, after a couple of months of a very limited musical diet - exclusively Vivaldi for some weeks, Nina Simone singing "Feeling Good" for my fortieth birthday, then Boy & Bear's version of "Fall At Your Feet", which ticks all the boxes for a superb cover - I've replenished the pile of burnies in the car, and am treating my ears to old friends.
Bach's violin concertos have taught me so much about life. Sometimes a piece of music will grab my attention and yell at me until it's taught me what I need to know. (Yes, I am speaking metaphorically; no need to consult a psychiatrist about possible diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia just yet.) It can be an entire piece, or movement - for example, the first movement of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D (Op. 35), or just a few bars. Those few bars in the third movement of Bach's Double Concerto (BWV 1043) where the music changes from being, if you like, "horizontal" to "vertical" (melodic to chordal) helped me understand that our personalities are not set in stone, but have the capacity to change over time.
Another Bach violin concerto perfectly illustrated an intense moment in my life. It was a few days before I left Adelaide, and I was driving away from my last conversation with my therapist. We had done some excellent work together, so I was rejoicing in the happiness of time spent talking, and the satisfaction of things achieved, but also felt a deep sadness that my professional relationship with him was over. I got into the car and turned on the CD. It was halfway through the second movement of Bach's Concerto for Two Violins in C minor (BWV 1060): the falling cadences and sustained notes matched my melancholy mood. Then, the third movement started; energetic, upbeat, relisient, persistent - all qualities my therapist had identified and fostered within me! If only I were still able to believe in a god, I would have considered this as something "meant to be", or perhaps some sort of cosmic joke - but there is no joke without a joker, and sadly, I can't. Still, it was one of those times when an apparently random musical moment melds perfectly with one's life experience.
Bach also reveals me to myself. The third movement of the Violin Concerto in A Minor (BWV 1041), with that beautifully persistent repeated solo note which holds its own against the pressure of the changing keys and cadences beneath it, reflect my capacity to live a successful life alongside my depression and anxiety. I do bounce back, I do press on, and at the very least - even on days like today when I am weakened by fatigue and infection - I do endure.
So: today is a Bach day. It is a day of reflection; of assessing where I'm at; of recognising my strengths, and acknowledging my capacity to survive - and even thrive!
Finally, I heard Pekka Kuusisto (with Iiro Rantala) perform some superb Finnish jazz trios earlier this year (you can read about the concert here). Pekka remarked, almost in passing, that Bach was the master of improvisation. This gave me a whole new way of being able to listen to his music. Try it! Listen to a piece you know really, really well - I'd suggest BWV 1043 or 1041 as excellent examples - and imagine hearing them in terms of improvisation. This has given me a lot of joy, and I hope it will bring you joy today, too.
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