Spent more time in churches last week than I have in years.
The first event was a funeral in St Joseph's Catholic church for the sister of my old friend Brian. A sad occasion, as are all funerals, but uplifting in many ways.
Moyna was elderly and had been in poor health for some years. But she had a full life, growing up on a small farm in South Australia, eventually becoming a well-known piano player, living, working and teaching at various times in Adelaide, Canada, and Melbourne, before returning to Adelaide.
Brian told us of evenings at home on the farm when the family made its own entertainment with family members singing and playing various instruments, often to the delight of local friends and visitors. Moyna first played in public at the age of 12 as the subsitute pianist in her local church. She played for dances during the war, and later played in various bands and small combos.
As usual, I enjoyed the mass. I love the ritual, the theatre, the glorious old words resonating in the spaces and down the years.
The second was an Anglican affair in St Andrew's: the marriage of my niece (my wife's sister's daughter). One of the most genuinely happy weddings I've been to. The bride and groom are a bit older (34 and 40) and combined modern and traditional elements in their ceremony and reception. A black tie affair, the theme was 'vintage', with bride, bridesmaids and m.o.b. looking great in 1930s style gowns and outfits. Again the ceremony was rich and warm in an elegant venue.
Hmmm, this was going to be a piece about the nature of ritual, the language of religion and the spiritual experience. Instead it's turning into something from the social pages. Oh well, let's go with the flow.
The reception was at Kooyonga Golf Club, where both bride and mother are keen players. The groom still can't believe his luck that his new wife is a fanatical sports person and loves her golf. Added to which she is stunning looking and a successful business women. I've rarely seen a new husband looking so genuinely happy, and like the cat that got the cream. At times he was almost incoherent with joy. Entertaining speeches from the bride, groom, best man and father of the bride. The band "Wintercherry" got the upmarket crowd dancing with an eclectic mix of old favourites and uptempo newer stuff.
All-in-all, a good night.
Good night.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Sunday, August 28, 2005
The Prodigal Returns
Tracy came home yesterday after her first big adventure.
After eight weeks packpacking around Europe she walked out through the Arrivals door looking amazingly fit and well, wearing her packpack like a veteran and with a new air of confidence.
She has found her way through parts of England, Scotland, France, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland Italy and Spain - sometimes via pre-planned bus links, at other times by improvising and jumping on and off trains and boats and planes. Well, not really boats, although she did water taxis in Venice.
A little older , a little tireder, and a little wiser, she is now trying to settle back into an Adelaide life-style. I wonder if it will ever be the same.
After eight weeks packpacking around Europe she walked out through the Arrivals door looking amazingly fit and well, wearing her packpack like a veteran and with a new air of confidence.
She has found her way through parts of England, Scotland, France, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland Italy and Spain - sometimes via pre-planned bus links, at other times by improvising and jumping on and off trains and boats and planes. Well, not really boats, although she did water taxis in Venice.
A little older , a little tireder, and a little wiser, she is now trying to settle back into an Adelaide life-style. I wonder if it will ever be the same.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Conundrum and resolve
Q. So how come you're a monk yet you have two children?
A. I wasn't always a monk.
A. I wasn't always a monk.
On symmetry
My two daughters, Sharon and Tracy, are all growed-up.
Sharon, the older one, has just left Australia to spend some time overseas (see previous post).
Tracy, the younger one, is just about to return to Australia after spending some time overseas.
Thus balance is maintained in the universe.
Sharon, the older one, has just left Australia to spend some time overseas (see previous post).
Tracy, the younger one, is just about to return to Australia after spending some time overseas.
Thus balance is maintained in the universe.
Aaaah, couriers.
My eldest daughter, Sharon, has gone overseas.
She packed many of her wordly goods into 17 parcels and sent them via a 'backload' transport company to the ancestral home for safe-keeping.
They didn't turn up, and the more I waited, the more they didn't arrive.
Through the miracle of e-mail and internet cafes, she managed to send the name of the transport company. I used the internet Yellow Pages to track down their contact details. The helpful guy there tracked down the order and said the load was now in a warehouse in one of the industrial suburbs of our fair city. I could pick it up for free or pay $80 to have it delivered. I got a trailer and went out there - no problems, all stored safely in a giant dry shed.
As I signed for it, I said that I'd been expecting it to be delivered a couple of weeks ago. The guy said they'd tried to, but there was no one home.
We'd had a couple of tradesmen working at the front of the house on the day the delivery was due. I had asked them to tell the delivery driver to leave the load on the front verandah if it arrived while I was out.
He did, saying that I'd be back in an hour. But the driver wouldn't leave it because it was in full view of the street, and company policy ...etc.
The warehouse guy said they'd tried to contact me, but couldn't, because they didn't have any contact details for me. True, there was no indication on the paperwork. However, in the two weeks that the pallet had been in storage, they hadn't noticed the 17 large labels, one on each package, each of which had my name, address and telephone number in HUGE LETTERS that you could read from the other side of the warehouse!
She packed many of her wordly goods into 17 parcels and sent them via a 'backload' transport company to the ancestral home for safe-keeping.
They didn't turn up, and the more I waited, the more they didn't arrive.
Through the miracle of e-mail and internet cafes, she managed to send the name of the transport company. I used the internet Yellow Pages to track down their contact details. The helpful guy there tracked down the order and said the load was now in a warehouse in one of the industrial suburbs of our fair city. I could pick it up for free or pay $80 to have it delivered. I got a trailer and went out there - no problems, all stored safely in a giant dry shed.
As I signed for it, I said that I'd been expecting it to be delivered a couple of weeks ago. The guy said they'd tried to, but there was no one home.
We'd had a couple of tradesmen working at the front of the house on the day the delivery was due. I had asked them to tell the delivery driver to leave the load on the front verandah if it arrived while I was out.
He did, saying that I'd be back in an hour. But the driver wouldn't leave it because it was in full view of the street, and company policy ...etc.
The warehouse guy said they'd tried to contact me, but couldn't, because they didn't have any contact details for me. True, there was no indication on the paperwork. However, in the two weeks that the pallet had been in storage, they hadn't noticed the 17 large labels, one on each package, each of which had my name, address and telephone number in HUGE LETTERS that you could read from the other side of the warehouse!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Pell pontificates
Today, Catholic Archbishop Pell welcomed the news that the Pope had named Sydney as the venue for the next world congress of Catholic youth in 2007.
He said, "Not only does it bring $100 million dollars to the Australian economy, it also promotes Christian values."
Is it just me that sees any irony in this?.
He said, "Not only does it bring $100 million dollars to the Australian economy, it also promotes Christian values."
Is it just me that sees any irony in this?.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Useful things my dad taught me.
Never bet on slow horses.
If it looks like a conspiracy it's probably just a stuff-up.
Don't play cards with anyone called "Doc".
Bullshit baffles brains.
If the candle blows out in the middle of a card game, grab the pot.
Never argue with a mug.
If it looks like a conspiracy it's probably just a stuff-up.
Don't play cards with anyone called "Doc".
Bullshit baffles brains.
If the candle blows out in the middle of a card game, grab the pot.
Never argue with a mug.
A Japanese poet contemplates the role of the adviser:
The prince takes counsel. Philosophers ponder Spring
And the scribes attend.
Note: This is the same subject as the 'lost' Shakespeare poem (see previous post), but written as an original Haiku.
And the scribes attend.
Note: This is the same subject as the 'lost' Shakespeare poem (see previous post), but written as an original Haiku.
A lost Shakespeare poem*
Let kings and generals discourse, here is my space.
Every subject’s duty is the kings, ‘tis my vocation,
And ‘tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.
They say miracles are past, but hope looks forward yet.
All the world’s a stage, and each man in his time plays his part.
So you, good yeomen, show us here the mettle of your pasture.
How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty,
In thought and judgement how express and admirable.
Rightly to be great is not to stir without great argument.
In enterprises of great pith and moment to thine own selves be true,
And it must follow, as the night follows day,
We have done the State some service.
Then must you speak; tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow.
We have kissed away Kingdoms and principalities
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds
So wisdom shines. A plague on both your houses.
*Note of explanation:
I wrote this ‘poem’ as a satirical comment on a furious debate with the executive officers of an Advisory Council which reports to the Premier, and an Advisory Board, which reports to a Minister.
The argument was about the form of words to be used on the relevant Government Department’s web site to describe the two advisory bodies' respective functions. The issue at the heart of the conflict was to give due deference to their respective levels of ‘seniority’ and precedence.
It took an inordinate amount of time and soul-searching, negotiation and word-smithing until I managed to come up with a form of words that was acceptable to both parties.
Although the catalyst was the specific conflict described above, the 'poem' is about the nature of service and role of those whose task it is to help achieve their leaders' visions and implement their policies for the benefit of our society. It is also a satire on the growing trend of process versus outcomes in areas of public endeavour.
The parody is made up of various lines from about 15 different Shakespeare plays, massaged to suit, with invented linking material in the same style.
Then I wrote it as an original Japanese haiku, following as many of the traditional 'rules' as are possible in English (see next post).
Every subject’s duty is the kings, ‘tis my vocation,
And ‘tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.
They say miracles are past, but hope looks forward yet.
All the world’s a stage, and each man in his time plays his part.
So you, good yeomen, show us here the mettle of your pasture.
How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty,
In thought and judgement how express and admirable.
Rightly to be great is not to stir without great argument.
In enterprises of great pith and moment to thine own selves be true,
And it must follow, as the night follows day,
We have done the State some service.
Then must you speak; tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow.
We have kissed away Kingdoms and principalities
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds
So wisdom shines. A plague on both your houses.
*Note of explanation:
I wrote this ‘poem’ as a satirical comment on a furious debate with the executive officers of an Advisory Council which reports to the Premier, and an Advisory Board, which reports to a Minister.
The argument was about the form of words to be used on the relevant Government Department’s web site to describe the two advisory bodies' respective functions. The issue at the heart of the conflict was to give due deference to their respective levels of ‘seniority’ and precedence.
It took an inordinate amount of time and soul-searching, negotiation and word-smithing until I managed to come up with a form of words that was acceptable to both parties.
Although the catalyst was the specific conflict described above, the 'poem' is about the nature of service and role of those whose task it is to help achieve their leaders' visions and implement their policies for the benefit of our society. It is also a satire on the growing trend of process versus outcomes in areas of public endeavour.
The parody is made up of various lines from about 15 different Shakespeare plays, massaged to suit, with invented linking material in the same style.
Then I wrote it as an original Japanese haiku, following as many of the traditional 'rules' as are possible in English (see next post).
Friday, August 19, 2005
The Fainting Dog
Ever seen a dog faint?
My poor old mutt is diabetic. Don't laugh. Just like a human, she has to have insulin injections to help metabolise her food. Human insulin - she's resistant to dog insulin.
So that means I have to test her urine every few days to measure the right dose. Yes, that's right, I have to collect samples of dog piss and match the colour changes on a Diastix test strip.
Last weekend she got sick and went off her food for three days. Reduced to guesswork, the insulin balance went haywire.
Heard about little old ladies who skip breakfast then pass out in the street or supermarket because their blood sugar drops too far? (C'mon, remember your First Aid?) It's the same with dogs.
Poor old girl stood there right in front of me, wobbled, her front legs gave way and she pitched forward onto her face and rolled onto her side.
I thought she was a goner - heart attack or something.
No, she lay there breathing, and I got some honey onto my fingers and into her mouth. That got her back on her feet. Then I hand-fed her the left-over veal casserole we had had for dinner. My next day's lunch was now inside the dog.
Next day at the vet, they found she had a chest infection and was running a temperature. That's why she was off her food. So now she's on antibiotics morning and night. There's an improvement, but she's still not a well dog.
Somewhere in there is a metaphor, but I'm not sure what it is, yet.
My poor old mutt is diabetic. Don't laugh. Just like a human, she has to have insulin injections to help metabolise her food. Human insulin - she's resistant to dog insulin.
So that means I have to test her urine every few days to measure the right dose. Yes, that's right, I have to collect samples of dog piss and match the colour changes on a Diastix test strip.
Last weekend she got sick and went off her food for three days. Reduced to guesswork, the insulin balance went haywire.
Heard about little old ladies who skip breakfast then pass out in the street or supermarket because their blood sugar drops too far? (C'mon, remember your First Aid?) It's the same with dogs.
Poor old girl stood there right in front of me, wobbled, her front legs gave way and she pitched forward onto her face and rolled onto her side.
I thought she was a goner - heart attack or something.
No, she lay there breathing, and I got some honey onto my fingers and into her mouth. That got her back on her feet. Then I hand-fed her the left-over veal casserole we had had for dinner. My next day's lunch was now inside the dog.
Next day at the vet, they found she had a chest infection and was running a temperature. That's why she was off her food. So now she's on antibiotics morning and night. There's an improvement, but she's still not a well dog.
Somewhere in there is a metaphor, but I'm not sure what it is, yet.
A 'Doctor Who' moment
Went into the local Cash Converters today to check out the music stuff. (It's a franchised chain of pawnbrokers in Australia).
There was a young guy buying band p.a. gear. Mid 20s maybe, long straight black hair, eye liner, baggy black sleeveless t-shirt showing his Ozzy Osbourne style tattoos. The drummer, maybe.
I was looking at myself about 30 years ago, minus the tatts.
Gave him a 'hey, man' from inside my Christopher Eccleston look-alike, German U-boat commander, corporate costume.
"Hey", he replied. Then, "Do I know you?"
"Yeah", I said. "I'm you in 2035." He grinned.
"Just called in to say 'Keep on rocking'." He smiled again. He got it.
Then I left.
There was a young guy buying band p.a. gear. Mid 20s maybe, long straight black hair, eye liner, baggy black sleeveless t-shirt showing his Ozzy Osbourne style tattoos. The drummer, maybe.
I was looking at myself about 30 years ago, minus the tatts.
Gave him a 'hey, man' from inside my Christopher Eccleston look-alike, German U-boat commander, corporate costume.
"Hey", he replied. Then, "Do I know you?"
"Yeah", I said. "I'm you in 2035." He grinned.
"Just called in to say 'Keep on rocking'." He smiled again. He got it.
Then I left.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
The Resurrectionist.
It only took two years to get back, where did the time go?
I've just resurrected this blog from the mists of time when I first tried setting it up - I'm amazed it's still there.
I've just resurrected this blog from the mists of time when I first tried setting it up - I'm amazed it's still there.
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