Less than an hour left before my first meeting of the day, which luckily is here at home. Overslept after the exhaustions of yesterday so thought I'd pop on some Bach concertos to pep me up. Slight miscalculation: am now too caught up in the musical narrative to vacuum ... or move away from the laptop ... this is why I need to keep my iPod charged at all times!
I find that, while I am no longer a Christian, Biblical texts are deeply imprinted in my mind; tattooed by years of practice. So I am taking solace from the story in Luke's gospel and, in this moment, am choosing to be listening Mary rather than bustling Martha.
There'll be plenty of Martha-like activity in the rest of the day to make up for these few minutes.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Short Australian love story
Clip out; hair tumbles down. Lie back against the patio slats. Warm autumn sun pushes against my black tee, pinning me to the ground. Fold arms over sun-shy face skin.
Turn head sideways. Watch. Ask:
"Do you see our relationship as complicated, or simple?"
He turns a page of the newspaper.
"Both."
Another page over.
"How about you?"
Pause.
"Both."
Pause. Cigarette smoke rolls my way; he bats it grasswards.
"Something else we've got in common, then."
Turn head sideways. Watch. Ask:
"Do you see our relationship as complicated, or simple?"
He turns a page of the newspaper.
"Both."
Another page over.
"How about you?"
Pause.
"Both."
Pause. Cigarette smoke rolls my way; he bats it grasswards.
"Something else we've got in common, then."
Sunday, 24 April 2011
My umbrella tree has a new shoot!
A tiny domestic miracle: a lively green shoot, leaves already showing at its tips, which will grow at an amazing rate over the next fortnight to join its sister branches adding life and joy to our livingroom. See the tiny sprout in the centre of the picture? It's about 3cm long (just over an inch, if you're still non-metric):
I love growing things. Sadly circumstances haven't been conducive to nurturing a really fantastic veggie garden over the last few years, but still I have my potted plants which enrich my life.
My longest "relationship" with a potted plant is the palm I bought to adorn the first flat I leased alone. It is one hardy plant! It has followed me through thirteen moves sincew 1996 - a pretty good track record.
This umbrella tree has only been with me since June last year. It's endured my long hospitalisation and subsequent recuperation, three moves and the long and very crowded drive from Adelaide to Melbourne five weeks ago (yes, the poor trunk is still crooked ... but I have faith in its resilience). The recent branches each have their own story: this newest is the first shoot born in Melbourne; the previous arrived while I was living in some friends' granny flat; the one before that marked my return home from hospital ... it's a living storybook.
"So what? It's a shoot on a plant." Yes, but it's a shoot on my plant, my beloved plant, and it's a vivid sign of new life.
This certainly counts as one of my favourite things.
I love growing things. Sadly circumstances haven't been conducive to nurturing a really fantastic veggie garden over the last few years, but still I have my potted plants which enrich my life.
My longest "relationship" with a potted plant is the palm I bought to adorn the first flat I leased alone. It is one hardy plant! It has followed me through thirteen moves sincew 1996 - a pretty good track record.
This umbrella tree has only been with me since June last year. It's endured my long hospitalisation and subsequent recuperation, three moves and the long and very crowded drive from Adelaide to Melbourne five weeks ago (yes, the poor trunk is still crooked ... but I have faith in its resilience). The recent branches each have their own story: this newest is the first shoot born in Melbourne; the previous arrived while I was living in some friends' granny flat; the one before that marked my return home from hospital ... it's a living storybook.
"So what? It's a shoot on a plant." Yes, but it's a shoot on my plant, my beloved plant, and it's a vivid sign of new life.
This certainly counts as one of my favourite things.
A strange "good book"
My sleep habits are awry after our whirlwind visit to Adelaide, comprising a day in the car, three nights in a strange bed, the disturbing events of Friday morning, and another day in the car returning home yesterday. My poor body doesn’t know quite where it’s at – in more ways than one! – so I find myself wide awake in the middle of the night.
How to spend this time? I very much dislike insomnia; but I remembered one small highlight of our trip to Adelaide, previously overlooked amidst all the other excitement, and most certainly worthy of a brief mention here.
The Barr Smith Library, at the University of Adelaide, hosted an exhibition called “The Book that Changed the World”, a celebration of four hundred years of the authorized version of the Bible.
It was quite a small exhibition, but interesting: there were some exhibits particularly relevant to South Australia’s history, including one with a descriptive passage in Deuteronomy marked “South Australia”; one of the world’s smallest books, 3.5mm by 3.5mm; and old, as well as replica, illuminated texts.
However, my runaway favourite in its obscure quirkiness was a phonetically printed version. Here’s its own description, as printed on the card beside said book:
“Holy Bible, containing the Old and New Testaments: according to the authorized version: arranged in paragraphs and parallelisms, and printed phonetically.” London, Pitman, 1850.
Wow – a 160 year old phonetic text! I wonder who its intended audience was? Was this printing a further attempt at the vernacular for virtually literate lay readers? Or was it intended to calm jittery clergy, whose daily duties would have required reading tracts out loud publicly? The accompanying notes, reproduced above, were unhelpful but left my imagination running wild.
Beneath the glass case, it lay open at the first page of John’s gospel, and I’ve typed out the title line and first sentence here:
ᴆhe Gospel Acordiŋ tw S. Jon
In đe beginiŋ woz đe Wurd, and đe Wurd woz wiđ God, and đe Wurd woz God.
These words are so familiar to me; when I was a Christian, they were imprinted on my mind, at once cosmically grandiose and comfortingly familiar - but in this rendering they have become mysterious and strange. I keep wondering why Pitman publishing printed such an obscure version, and for whom it was intended.
Perhaps this blog posting, reflecting on the Bible and finding that familiar text obscure and mysterious, is as good any to make early in the hours of this, my second Easter “without God”. What was once the ground beneath my feet has become mysterious and strange; finding a 160-year-old Bible which baffles me seems fitting. Was this what drew me to Pitman's strange publication in the first place?
Once more, as so often these days, my musings leave me with more questions than answers. And the world seems a more open place for that.
Friday, 22 April 2011
Gin and Vodka ... intoxicating
We're just back from watching The Crucible, presented by Gin and Vodka Productions at the Old Adelaide Gaol.
It was superb.
Kyle Kaczmarczyk, as John Proctor; Imogen Nicholas, as Abigail Williams; Dianne K Lang, as Elizabeth Proctorl and Rachel Burke, as Mary Williams, gave dynamite performances, supported by a mostly rock-solid cast who brought Miller's powerful script to life amidst the claustrophobic surrounds of Cell Block B in the old gaol.
Imogen, a dear friend of mine, was absolutely outstanding as Abigail - but as I said to her after the show, I would have come home raving even if she hadn't been playing the female lead; my fulsome praise is independent of our friendship. Having said that, though, one stand-out moment of the entire performance came early in the first act, when John and Abigail were left alone in a room with an unconscious girl (Betty); as though a switch were flicked, the mood instantly changed from one of tense activity to intimate sexual tension ... brilliant.
During interval, my husband - heroically braving the cool night in the midst of illness - mentioned a connection between the events depicted in the play and our world today. I agreed, making reference to the Director's Notes which invited audience members to ask how far they would go to protect their name; but he cited one particular and very pertinent example from current affairs - that of Kim Duthie, the schoolgirl involved in the St Kilda photos scandal. All the elements are there: mass hysteria, peer pressure, and (quoting the Director's Notes) "that unspoken streak in human nature that leads us to fend off danger to ourselves by pointing it at someone else" ... I'll leave that sentence hanging there, I think!
I think I heard the season's sold out, but if you can, get yourself some tix and get to this show.
You won't regret it.
It was superb.
Kyle Kaczmarczyk, as John Proctor; Imogen Nicholas, as Abigail Williams; Dianne K Lang, as Elizabeth Proctorl and Rachel Burke, as Mary Williams, gave dynamite performances, supported by a mostly rock-solid cast who brought Miller's powerful script to life amidst the claustrophobic surrounds of Cell Block B in the old gaol.
Imogen, a dear friend of mine, was absolutely outstanding as Abigail - but as I said to her after the show, I would have come home raving even if she hadn't been playing the female lead; my fulsome praise is independent of our friendship. Having said that, though, one stand-out moment of the entire performance came early in the first act, when John and Abigail were left alone in a room with an unconscious girl (Betty); as though a switch were flicked, the mood instantly changed from one of tense activity to intimate sexual tension ... brilliant.
During interval, my husband - heroically braving the cool night in the midst of illness - mentioned a connection between the events depicted in the play and our world today. I agreed, making reference to the Director's Notes which invited audience members to ask how far they would go to protect their name; but he cited one particular and very pertinent example from current affairs - that of Kim Duthie, the schoolgirl involved in the St Kilda photos scandal. All the elements are there: mass hysteria, peer pressure, and (quoting the Director's Notes) "that unspoken streak in human nature that leads us to fend off danger to ourselves by pointing it at someone else" ... I'll leave that sentence hanging there, I think!
I think I heard the season's sold out, but if you can, get yourself some tix and get to this show.
You won't regret it.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
The Adelaide Parklands
Today my running feet were reunited with the Adelaide Parklands - to their, and my, great delight!
For non-Adelaide people, the Parklands are a broad band of natural land and gardens surrounding the square mile of Adelaide CBD. Listen to local radio for a week and you'll almost always hear something about the Parklands - whether they should be preserved or developed; how they should, or should not, be used by private enterprises for entertainment purposes, and so forth.
For my husband, who only lived in Adelaide a few years (definitely not a local!) the Parklands are the butt of many a joke - but for me, they're something which makes this city very special. The Parklands are full of space, peace and trees, things close to my heart.
So today I enjoyed jogging sweeping loops through the south and east Parklands. I heard Pulteney Grammar's alarms going off at 8.15 - tests, or tripped by someone? Not me, officer: I was running on the other side of South Terrace.
To my embarrassment, I nearly ran into the nearly-invisible two-strand wire fence along Greenhill Road - that'll teach me to check my heart rate monitor on the go.
I ended my run back to Gilles Street running the diagonal path from the corner of Fullarton and Greenhill Roads to South Terrace. This is a section I have run countless times. Some of those trees are like old friends, and it warmed my heart to see them and "catch up", as it were, on what's been happening in their lives. All seem to be thriving and I couldn't see gaps, indicating a fallen comrade.
Tomorrow morning I hope I'll be able to actually run: today's pace was a little slower than usual, having fought off a virus and been inactive in the car yesterday. But for today, the delight was in being reunited with one of my favourite places.
Bliss.
For non-Adelaide people, the Parklands are a broad band of natural land and gardens surrounding the square mile of Adelaide CBD. Listen to local radio for a week and you'll almost always hear something about the Parklands - whether they should be preserved or developed; how they should, or should not, be used by private enterprises for entertainment purposes, and so forth.
For my husband, who only lived in Adelaide a few years (definitely not a local!) the Parklands are the butt of many a joke - but for me, they're something which makes this city very special. The Parklands are full of space, peace and trees, things close to my heart.
So today I enjoyed jogging sweeping loops through the south and east Parklands. I heard Pulteney Grammar's alarms going off at 8.15 - tests, or tripped by someone? Not me, officer: I was running on the other side of South Terrace.
To my embarrassment, I nearly ran into the nearly-invisible two-strand wire fence along Greenhill Road - that'll teach me to check my heart rate monitor on the go.
I ended my run back to Gilles Street running the diagonal path from the corner of Fullarton and Greenhill Roads to South Terrace. This is a section I have run countless times. Some of those trees are like old friends, and it warmed my heart to see them and "catch up", as it were, on what's been happening in their lives. All seem to be thriving and I couldn't see gaps, indicating a fallen comrade.
Tomorrow morning I hope I'll be able to actually run: today's pace was a little slower than usual, having fought off a virus and been inactive in the car yesterday. But for today, the delight was in being reunited with one of my favourite places.
Bliss.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)