The Tardis of Woy Woy…Friday Fictioneers.

Bill was completely bamboozled. The ringing in his ears had become so blaringly loud, it sounded like someone was banging inside the donations bin. Yet, that was ludicrous. He had the only key, and guarded his charge like a hawk. There was no way anyone could get in or out without his explicit say so.

However, everywhere else, the tinnitus decrescendoed back to its annoying pianissimo.

Monday, Bill was making his coffee when the banging became an explosion. A flash of light, and the red bin was gone like the Tardis.

 Ouch! What was he going to tell Head Office?

….

100 words exactly. PHOTO PROMPT © Rowena Curtin (me)

This is another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wishoff Fields. We’d love you to join us: https://rochellewisoff.com/

By the way, this week I have an unfair advantage. I supplied the photo prompt. So, I can also let you know that the photo should be rotated left with the beam of sunlight in the top left corner. That was my fault. Well, I’ll blame my dodgy photo editor and trouble rotating images.

This clothing bin is a bit battered and bruised, and I felt it looked a bit like it had crash-landed from outer space and would make great inspiration for Friday Fictioneers. Despite being an avid amateur photographer and responding to other people’s photo prompts for many years, this was my first contribution. I can’t wait to read all of your responses.

BTW in case you’re wondering, Woy Woy is in New South Wales about an hour North of Sydney, Australia. I know this is quite a throw back. However, here’s a link to a 1932 movie of Woy Woy and I particularly loved seeing a steam train crossing the Hawkesbury River Bridge: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ci3_j_1iQpY

Here’s a few local images, and you’ll be excused for thinking Woy Woy is home to the pelican:

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Best wishes,

Rowena

The Unmentionable Door…Thursday Doors.

Welcome to Another Thursday Doors.

This week, I’ve gone rogue and featured a toilet door.  Indeed, I’ve not only photographed a toilet door, but an ordinary toilet door at that.

Yesterday, I was out buying pointe shoes for our budding junior ballerina, when nature called. While gracing the throne, I spotted the keyhole and whipped out my camera, leaned across and did the deed.

So, while I acknowledge that many around here take their doors rather seriously, I mean no disrespect. I simply fancy old-fashioned keyholes with their inherit mystery and magic. It doesn’t matter whether that keyhole is on a toilet door, or a door at Parliament House, they each evoke a sense of awe and wonder.

Anyway, perhaps I shouldn’t be apologizing for photographing a toilet door. While not as auspicious as the front door, the toilet door certainly bears good tidings for those in need, especially when you’re “busting” to use the lingo of Australian children’s author,  Andy Griffiths. This is particularly true when you’re out and about and might’ve had a few coffees or too many beers and everywhere’s shut. Then, you’ll praise the Lord (or anyone else) for any kind of toilet… door or no door.

 

Couldn’t help editing my keyhole bringing out what looked to me like a monk figure viewed from behind. Do you see it?

This is not the first time I’ve photographed a keyhole for Thursday Doors. Last year, in one of my earliest contributions, I photographed Government House, Parramatta in Western Sydney and included a close-up through the front door lock, which actually seems upside down.

Unfortunately, the powers that be didn’t like someone sitting on the floor and photographing their precious keyhole. Indeed, having someone sitting on the floor was deemed uncouth, vulgar an affront. I don’t know if anyone has ever spoken to me in such a disrespectful way and I certainly defended myself , which roused further disdain. I was probably lucky not to be thrown out. Despite paying my entry fee, I was also told to  call up and “book in a photo shoot”. I suppose this is what comes with having a weird photographic device called a “camera”, and not using a camera that’s better known as a “phone”. I should probably mention that for those more accustomed to phone cameras, my zoom lens probably resembles a telescope. However, it’s not my fault that mere mortals have succumbed to inferior equipment. 

Front Door, Government House, Parramatta.

By the way, I should also mention that the reason I was sitting on the floor, was due to my muscle weakness and disability, while also seeking a particular perspective. 

Anyway, as you could imagine, I was mighty grateful when nobody caught me taking photos through the keyhole yesterday. Indeed, I might’ve had a “please explain”*.

This has been another contribution to Thursday Doors hosted by Norm 2.0. Why don’t you come and join us and share a few of your favourite doors. It’s a lot of fun and helps you see parts of the world you’ll never get to visit.

Best wishes,

Rowena

* While I’m no fan of One Nation  Party founder, Pauline Hanson, like many Australians I’ve adopted her iconic phrase: “Please explain”.

The Emporium, Sheffield, Tasmania…Thursday Doors.

You’ve got to feel for us simple folk who don’t live in Italy where every house sports a magnificently carved, ancient front door. Indeed, for those of us surrounded by ordinary doors, each and everything Thursday our stomach’s tighten and we feel veritably ill as the querst continues. Will we ever find that perfect door? The door of our dreams? Or,  as the moon rises high above the sky threatening to go to sleep, will we simply have to lower our standards and accept that any door will do? Well, I haven’t got there yet, because I still have a stash of door photos from our trip to Tasmania last year.

This week, we’re visiting The Emporium, in Sheffield in NW Tasmania and it’s not far from that crazy place we’ve visited before in search of wacky doors…Tazmazia. For better or worse, The Emporium was closed by the time we arrived in Sheffield. So, we can only appreciate it from the outside.

 

I’m feeling way too tired to process this place is any way that could possibly make sense. So, I’ll just leave you with these photos and make a run for it.

This has been another contribution to Thursday Doors hosted by Norm 2.0. Why don’t you come and join us and share a few of your favourite doors. It’s a lot of fun and helps you see parts of the world you’ll never get to visit.

Best wishes,

Rowena

A Walking Tour of Wollombi, Australia.

Welcome to Wollombi, NSW.

After what turned out to be a very convoluted route, which my husband has called “driving to Wollombi via Darwin”, the little red car and I pulled into Wollombi and I did the rest on foot.

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In case you haven’t read the  preamble, I’d driven to Wollombi to see historic St Michael’s Church of the Archangel, and also to steep myself in Wollombi’s historic ambiance. It was no exaggeration to say that arriving in Wollombi, felt like stepping out of a time capsule into the 19th Century and I loved that. Love, loved, loved it. It’s so good that some places have in a sense been by-passed, fallen asleep and been spared from the crappinization process. That’s what we loved about so much of Tasmania and it was great to find that so close to home.

Obviously, Wollombi  isn’t a huge metropolis. So, you won’t be surprised that I spotted the Church straight away, but it did feel a bit funny to actually see it in person for the first time, and it was much smaller than expected. Wondered how you could fit both sides of a good Catholic family inside back in the days before TV. I guess they were probably used to squishing in.

On 1^st April, 1891, my Great Great Grandfather, William Henry Gardiner, married his second wife, Jane Ann Lynch from Glendon Grove, Wollombi at St Michael’s. This press excerpt provides a great impression of their special day and I can just hear those bells ringing out:

“On Tuesday last our little town, usually so dull and quiet, was the scene of much excitement, and that eventful day will long be remembered as a red-letter day in the annals of our history. At the early hour of eight o’clock the tolling of the bell at St. Michael’s Church announced that some ceremonies of a very rare occurrence were about to take place there, and immediately crowds of spectators could be seen wending their way to it. Half an hour later two brides (sisters), the Misses Lynch, of Glendon Grove, were standing before the hymeneal altar in the above-mentioned place. The elder, Miss Jane Lynch, who for some years has been residing near West Maitland, was united in the bonds of matrimony to Mr. William Gardiner, a resident of West Maitland, and afterwards her sister, Miss Agnes Lynch, was joined to Mr. Joseph Tripp, of Aberdeen. Each was assisted by two bridesmaids, the former by her sister and niece, Miss Teresa Lynch and Miss Bourke, and the latter by Míss Tripp and Miss Katie Bourke. The Rev. Father Flanagan, who came here the previous evening from Cessnock, performed both ceremonies, and afterwards celebrated Mass, during which the choir, of which Miss Agnes Lynch was a prominent and efficient member, sang some beautiful selections, and as the long procession was leaving the church, Miss M. Kenny played the Wedding March with great effect. On the previous evening the ladies of the Altar Society, as a last tribute of respect to one of their members, decorated with artistic skill the church and altar the walls being hung with magnificent wreaths and festoons. At ten o’clock a start was made for the brides’ residence, and as tho long train o£ buggies passed through the streets the firing of guns and ringing of bells could be heard in every direction.” Tuesday 7^th April 1891The Maitland Advertiser & Hunter River Advertiser pg 7.

The Forge, Wollombi.

Next to the Church, I spotted an intriguing looking building called: “The Forge” and I couldn’t quite make out whether it was a home or a shop. There was a mannequin tied up to a telegraph pole out the front and I’m not sure whether she was waiting for a bus, a ghost or an alien landing, but she’d definitely been heading somewhere before she’d been detained. Macca, the Proprietor, invited me in, even though it was closed and let me take photos, which I really appreciated as this place really felt like home to me. Perhaps, I should be concerned about that, and book myself in with a shrink. However, I love maccabre and I love how random objects can be thrown together in a space, creating a licorice allsorts of possibilities in my head. It also reminded me of exploring under both my grandparents’ houses where things weren’t thrown out, but simply “retired’. What gave this place the edge over your garden-variety vintage store, was Macca’s artworks peering out inbetween old dolls and vintage mannekins a few Sunbeam Mixmasters, books and salvaged farm equipment. He’d also arranged things in intriguing combinations, which ranged from maccabre to down right hilarious.

Naturally, this place which seemed like a kind of “Mecca to Displaced Euphemora”, deserves its own post and so I’ll be back with more photos.

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Meanwhile, I’m heading off to the cemetery. William Henry Gardiner wasn’t buried here, but Jane Lynch’s family is well-represented. I love exploring and photographing old cemeteries like this, especially capturing haunting  shadows lurking on tombstones and the like. They get you thinking.

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Anyway, I was delighted to spot this magpie sitting on top of a Celtic Cross, especially when it didn’t dive bomb me as I approached. It’s Spring here, and I’d already been warned about a dive-bombing magpie earlier on the trip and was on guard. I know I often overinflate the dangers of Australian wildlife, but these swopping magpies are beyond a joke.

I walked back to the car via the grocery store and old courthouse.

By now, it was approaching 5.00PM and impending darkness. It was a windy drive home through Wombat country and I needed to be alert. I was also concerned about having a possible encouter with a kangaroo. They come out and feed on dusk, and let’s just say they’re best avoided.

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However, I popped into the local pub for an apple juice and toilet stop before leaving. I very rarely go into pubs and they’re not my scene. However, I really loved the country feel of this one, which felt very authentic and real. Names had been carved into the tables outside. Farm utes were parked out the front. I felt surprisingly relaxed and would’ve loved to stay for a yarn.

I am already planning my next trip and am even looking into camping there with friends. However, next time, no detours. It’s just a 70 minute drive “up the road”.

xx Rowena

 

Grandma’s Featherbed…#WeeklySmile

Back in the 60’s, Spike Milligan described our areas as “the largest above ground cemetery in the world”. Ouch! Not exactly the most positive feedback. However, there are some benefits to being the place where folks retire before moving onto the pearly gates for that final port of call. Aside from having loads of living treasures to talk with, our local opportunity or charity shops have a stead stream of antique and vintage treasures at very reasonable prices…which, I must admit, seem to add up when you buy in bulk like someone I know…

So, I’ve decided to share a wonderful find I had this week…twin paisley eiderdowns (Quilts) dating back to the 1940s/50s in beautiful condition. They arrived in the shop while I was there, and literally walked straight out. I had no idea what they were worth but I wanted them because I had an eiderdown just like it as a child, which came from my grandparents’ place and I felt like I could roll myself up on it and think about my grandparents and their rambling old house overflowing with uncles, aunts and us kids. We did wicked things like swinging from my grandparents’ Hills Hoist clothes line and there were at least 10 of us on there. Needless to say, the whole thing snapped and we run for the hills.

Isn’t is amazing how an object can trigger those memories almost as effectively as a time machine?!! Moreover, as someone who does have their pyjama and doona days, there’s something about wrapping yourself up in a fluffy feather quilt that is so comforting…just like chicken soup for the soul!

John Denver & The Muppets.

Indeed, perhaps some of you remember John Denver’s: Grandma’s Featherbed:

Grandma’s Featherbed

When I was a little bitty boy
Just up off-a floor
We used to go down to Grandma’s house
Every month end or so
We had chicken pie and country ham
And homemade butter on the bread
But the best darn thing about Grandma’s house
Was her great big feather bed

It was nine feet high and six feet wide
Soft as a downy chick
It was made from the feathers of forty ‘leven geese
Took a whole bolt of cloth for the tick
It’d hold eight kids, four hound dogs
And a piggy we stole from the shed
We didn’t get much sleep but we had a lot of fun
On Grandma’s feather bed

John Denver

Being a Muppets fan, I also can’t go passed this version of the song, where John Denver sang it on the show: John Denver & The Muppets Sing

If you are looking for a few more smiles, Florence Henderson and The Muppets were great too: Happy Together

After all, you can’t have too many smiles!

What’s made you smile lately?

xx Rowena

Weekend Coffee Share 2nd July, 2016.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share, a new financial year and GROAN…the Australian Federal Election. I have voted and the polls close in 15 minutes and then the coverage begins. For better or worse, we live in a very marginal seat and so our votes really matter. I’ve long been conscious of that and taken my vote seriously, even though I’m not a party player. This sense of the importance of the power of those individual votes, however, has been reinforced by Brexit, which I’m still watching from the sidelines.

Thanks for popping by! Could I get you a cuppa while we’re catching up? How about a Double-Coated Tim Tam?  We also have an open packet with only four biscuits remaining so you’d better get in quick. Tim Tams are an extremely endangered species but thank goodness they reproduce quickly enough to overcome the high attrition rate.

I’m not going to whinge anymore about the cold and the imminent possibility that my fingers and toes are about to drop off. Or, simply shatter like ice! They’re usually deep purple or very worrisome shades of grey! This isn’t just a product of the cold but Reynard’s Syndrome, another bonus thanks to my auto-immune disease, dermatomyositis. While I LOVE research, it can also get a bit scary, even terrifying: “while infrared therapy play’s it’s part in relieving the painful symptoms, drug therapy or surgical intervention may be necessary.”

I was joking about my fingers and toes falling off, wasn’t I? Looks like I’d better get back on my bike and get the blood pumping. I think it’s almost frozen too.

However, as the saying goes… cold hands, warm heart!

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was doing some family history research. This has been an obsessive passion of mine since I was a child. Over the years, it’s grown way beyond names, dates and finding our where we come from to becoming more of a sociological project, placing my ancestors back into their geographical and historical contexts. Many of our historical Australian newspapers have been digitised and uploaded, enabling ready searching where you can really scrounge up some dirt on your ancestors. After all, you don’t earn yourself a headline being virtuous and helping little old ladies across the road. Oh no! It’s all about crime, divorce, notoriety and back then petty theft made the papers and the nitty gritty sordid details about divorce made the papers as well. So, if your ancestors were even just a little bad, there’s some good reading!

Unfortunately, what seemed like a relatively simple task of finding out when John Gardner/Gardiner came from has become mission impossible. To that unfathomable mystery, you can add his wife, Mary Sullivan. She could actually be a bigger concern because, two roads which had seemingly been divergent in the geneological woods, could to be merging together. Just because Sullivan is a fairly common name, that doesn’t mean that your ancestors aren’t common…if you catch my drift. Being related to yourself isn’t what this quest is all about! While I’ve bagged my husband out about Tasmanians being inbred, it seems the Irish Catholic community in Sydney’s Surry Hills could be worse! Thank goodness, my mother has German/Scottish heritage and comes from inter-state and we’ve diluted the pot!!

Convicts in Sydney, 1830s.

By the way, you might also be interested to know, that it looks like I’m related to three sheep-stealing, Irish butchers from County Cork who were caught, sentenced to 10 years imprisonment in 1838 and dispatched to the colonies at His Majesty’s pleasure. While I don’t condone theft, you could argue that they were enterprising businessmen with a keen eye on the bottom line, reducing costs and maximizing profits!

Aside from playing Sherlock Holmes with my geneological research, I’ve had a fairly quiet week. Tuesday night, we watched our daughter dance with her school at Showcase, a regional dance festival and the kids are involved in final rehearsals for the Scout Gang Show which is now only 2 weeks away. I am continuing my ongoing Roald Dahl reading/research project and am getting through Charlie & The Great Glass Elevator.

A View of Heaven…Sunset Down the Road.

Probably the highlight of the last week, has been Thursday night’s breathtaking sunset where the entire sky metamorphosed into a mesmerising sunburnt orange. It was electric and needless to say, I catapulted straight out of my lounge chair and down the street my camera despite a bung foot, cold, and encroaching darkness.

It was definitely worth it! It’s amazing how that bung foot got moving without any kind of complaints, when I was only seeing through my eyes with that same absolute tunnel vision as the children of Hamelyn being lured away by the Pied Piper. Such intense and captivating beauty, was a much needed pick-me-up when I’ve been feeling flat, achy and blah! Moreover, having those photos to remind me of the moment, carries that wonder forward. Keats and so many poets, artists and philosopher’s didn’t get it wrong when they advised turning the the beauty of nature as an instant pick-me-up!

Yum personified…Koi Dessert Bar, Sydney.

The kids will now be on school holidays for the next two weeks. We have no plans to go away but a trip down to the Koi Dessert Bar in Sydney’s Chippendale is must.

The 1940s-1940s Paisley Eiderdown

By the way, any of you thrift shop/ retro junkies, I picked up two single bed eiderdowns today. Don’t know how many of you remember the 1940s/1950s paisley eiderdowns but my grandmother had one and it migrated to our place. So, even though I no memories of ever jumping in either of my grandmothers’ beds, I can wrap myself up in this and think of Mama Eunice. I might even have a cup of Twining’s English Breakfast tea in one of her tea cups as well. By the way, I also picked up an original 1970s metal milkshake cup and some vintage cake covers/fly screens. This is Australia and I’m also hoping these domes might protect our dinners from marauding dogs! I’m sure Lady’s ancestors had been sent out with the convicts for repeated food thievery and take it from me, I bet they stole more than just a loaf of bread. Indeed, I reckon those so called royal Cavaliers, were operating in cahoots with those wicked sheep stealers. Never trust a pretty canine face!

How has your week been? Good, I hope!

This has been part of the Weekend Coffee Share hosted by Diana at Part-Time Monster. You can click  for the linky to read the other posts.

Best wishes for the week ahead!

xx Rowena

 

 

Bride Doll Leads Me Astray.

There are time you REALLY don’t want to run into someone you know and being seen photographing a doll in a cemetery could very well top the list.

You see, rewinding back to Monday, I am still on my way home from my train trip to Surry Hills and the medical appointment, which really was the reason for the whole trip, not the deviation I’ve portrayed it.

You can read about the train trip down here: https://beyondtheflow.wordpress.com/2015/08/19/me-myself-i-writing-a-complex-character-profile/

And the trip from Surry Hills to Gore Hill here: https://beyondtheflow.wordpress.com/2015/08/20/surry-hills-to-gore-hill-sydney-a-hill-climbing-odyssey/

So, I go to my doctor’s appointment and am told I have mild Barrett’s Disease, caused by reflux. They change my medication but are concerned about the stomach acids damaging my lungs and so they want to see me in a month and there’s talk of a small operation. On the upside, the tell me that I won’t need another endoscopy for two years. However, it was looking like I wasn’t going to need another one at all.

One thing is certain. No more chocolate or other snacks just before bed! I don’t drink. I don’t smoke and yet again my one vice comes under attack. What did I ever do to deserve this? Humph! Sometimes, I swear the Wowsers* are out to get me!

I haven’t really given the latest too much thought but there are a few warnings there. The most obvious being “see you in a month”. That’s not a good sign. That’s doctors’ speak for: “Danger, Will Robinson!”

It’s no wonder I’ve been posting quirky photos on my blog…distraction.

The bride doll on the train.

Anyway, as you might recall, I bought a vintage bride doll for my daughter from the Salvo Store in Surry Hills and I’m lugging her around in a huge Ikea bag along with a chenille bedspread and a cookbook, despite the long trip home. I’m someone who takes their bargains seriously but even I thought it was a bit mad trying to lug this lot up hill and down dale and on multiple trains…especially as I’m not exactly well.

One of my attempts to create a ghost.

But these are the sort of feats which build resilience and it could just be that one day that resilience could save my life…if it hasn’t already.

Gore Hill Cemetery in Bloom.

Anyway, not unsurprisingly, there’s an old cemetery just across the road from the hospital: Gore Hill Memorial Cemetery. Established on 19 May 1868, the first body was interred in 1877 and it closed in 1974. I have a few relatives buried there, although I’ve never found their graves.

These days the cemetery is almost used as a park and there are park benches and in Spring, the place comes alive with a diversity of flowers.

Anyway, since I was walking past, I thought I’d photograph the bride doll, which I have since named Lucinda, in the cemetery. I wondered if she would come out looking like a ghost with the long white dress and I thought there might be some good backdrops as well, given the age of the place.

Looking very glamorous!

However, even though we are at the tail-end of Winter, very few flowers were out but photographic conditions were perfect so I decided to mostly just take advantage of the light.

This one looks quite eerie, especially with a bit of help from Photoshop.

While I find the idea of taking photographs in the cemetery intriguing, I am, of course, mindful that these are not just names etched in stone but the remains of loved ones, which need to be respected.

So, after a few photos, Lucinda and I caught the train home and I was able to find out a bit more about her on Google. She is a Mighty Star Doll and was made in Canada during the 60s or 70s. I am thinking that she might have been used to model wedding gowns. I’m not sure. The clothes have actually been sewn onto her. If anybody knows more about her, I’d love to know.

It’s also a bit intriguing how she came to Australia. No doubt brought over by a little girl or perhaps brought back here as a gift.

Hard to believe how much I managed to cram into one day and how many new ideas are peculating around inside my head.

There is such a thing as creative overdrive!

xx Rowena

*Wowser: In Australia, it is a derogatory word denoting a person who saps all the fun out of any given situation. Derived from the temperance movement in Australia and New Zealand at the turn of the C20th, when it was hurled as an accusation towards conservative teetotallers who were too prim and proper to relax and socialise, it has become a more generic term that can be assigned to any straight bore lacking a sense of humour, especially petty bureaucrats and Aussies politicians. http://www.urbandictionary.com

Obsessed by My Second-Hand Quest

There’s a very fine line between success and obsessed. Quite often, I miss that line completely and accelerate right over the edge and straight onto the rollercoaster ride from hell. You’d think I’d learn but the lure of the thrill gets me every time. I too weak-willed and simply can’t say “no”!

In what must trigger off some deep, primal hunter-gathering instinct, I haunt opportunity shops like a determined hunter stalking its prey. l swear sometimes I’ve even felt an itch or “the call of the wild” to drop in and my instincts were spot on. There was something with my name written all over it.

“Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity”

“Hippocrates

This obsessive stalking of opportunity shops waxes and wanes like the moon and like a gambler, I really have to stay right away or I’ll succumb. It’s not that we usually don’t need what I’ve bought. Indeed, today I’ve managed to score a heap of quality, striking t-shirts for the kids at $4.00 each. I also found myself a LBD (little black dress) with white polka dots and it fits me like a glove. Thanks to Summer gear being half price, it was an absolute steal.

Divine Inspiration. The Bible just fell open at this page.

However, a lurking danger with stalking op shops is that passion can shift to obsession and ultimately, dare I mention the word…(drum roll)…ADDICTION!!

Ouch!!! Double ouch!!! That really hurt!!

Although I’ve never heard of a support group called: “Op Shoppers Anonymous”, I probably should be on  the look out. Even though you’ve got to spend money to save money, there does come a point, as I said or had it said to me, when the bad outweighs the good and the whole shebang seriously starts to unravel.

Some of the eclectic fabrics on offer.

After all, although it might look quite innocent on the surface, op shopping is very much like gambling. You go in there maybe even just to fill in time while you’re waiting for a script. The next thing you know, you’ve spotted some fabulous antique baby’s jacket imported from Italy and you snap it up because you can, even though your baby is almost a teenager. This trip, I’ve bought a hand-painted Aboriginal vase, a Greek demi-tasse cup and saucer, a gorgeous wooden writer’s box, which probably came from Turkey or Morocco and seems completely unique…at least, that’s when I did a Google search. I even found a foldout driver’s map of Mt Kosciusko National Park dating back to the days of miles, before metric came in. We go skiing there and my daughter is currently doing an assignment for school on it, so it was a great find…especially as the dear old Lady at the Red Cross Shop threw it in. You see, I’m a regular.

Great find for a family of avid skiers! Vintage Map of the Snowy Mountains.

Humph, “regular” could be another euphemism for “addict” but I’ll overlook that.

I love the randomness of everything I find at the op shop and the eclectic smattering of treasures from all sorts of places, eras and designs. Feeling about 5 years old again, I could sneak my way through all the clothes racks and feel all those different fabric brush against my skin, while a kaleidoscope of colour dazzles my senses. I find the sheer array of fabrics alone intoxicating and so much more interesting than a contemporary boutique with it’s particular, usually very narrow, sense of style. I don’t want some supposed fashionista telling me what I can and can not wear. I’ll wear whatever I @#$% like. It’s my body…my life!!!

Sharon and I introduce Wandering Wally to op shopping. Wally has flown all the way from the UK to raise awareness of myositis, the muscle disease I live with.

However, not only do I go to the op shops for the treasures, I also go in there for a chat and some are better in this regard that others. My absolute fave is the Lifeline Shop at Avalon, Managed by my friend, Sharon. This is one of of your more “boutique” op shops, which specialises in designer labels and exotica from all around the world. Sharon meticulously yet passionately runs the shop like an upmarket boutique with the clothes and the window displays arranged with love and finesse. What with  Weight Watchers telling people to get rid of their fat clothes and the home improvement shows promoting decluttering, it’s a treasure hunter’s dream. As they feel good getting rid of it all, I’m only too happy to assist!!

After all, for some strange reason, it seems like people only want plain, white walls with one measly ornament on the shelf. Personally, I can’t understand it. How absolutely boring!! How could you possibly live in a home that’s as sterile as a hospital all white-washed and lacking in character? As far as I’m concerned, such minimalism also looks like they can’t afford to decorate the place!

After all, what ever happened to a bit of flamboyance and exuberant self-expression?

Of course, nobody has ever accused me of being a minimalist. Occasionally the word “hoarder” gets muttered but I’m really more of a collector. I just need to be careful There’s a fine line between passion, obsession and addiction.

However, there’s just one little weaknesses I haven’t fessed up to yet.

Books!

Op Shop Treasures

When it comes to books, I have well and truly exceeded the limit. Okay, you mean-spirited, Kindle freaks. I know that I’ve already got far more books than one person could ever read in a life time. However, you can’t always predict what will take your fancy and when they’re so cheap, how could I possibly resist?!!

I don’t quite know what I’m searching for in all these books. The meaning of life? I don’t know. These days, I’m actually not sure that I’ll find the meaning of life in a book.  After all, life is to be lived and not simply read about. You have to get out there! You need to find your own meaning. Write your own book.

Meanwhile, my rationale for managing all my “finds” is that I just need a bigger house.

That said, I am planning a big reorganisation when I get home from holidays.

I  am !! Truly, I am!!

Do you have any obsessions you might want to confess to? I’m all ears and extremely non-judgemental!!

O is or Obsession and Opportunity Shop… my latest installment for the Blogging A-Z April Challenge.

By the way, here’s a good complement to this post as Conversations Around the Tree discusses the difference between “needs” and “wants”. Tree teaches people with intellectual disabilities and even reminded me of a few home truths!! Well worth checking out: https://treerabold.wordpress.com/2015/04/17/n-needs/

xx Rowena

Time Traveling Through A Vintage 80s Magazine…

Everyone has a secret. Well, mine isn’t exactly a secret. I just haven’t got around to sharing  my passion for history and almost anything retro. This hasn’t been a conscious omission. I’ve simply been writing about other stuff. Besides, it’s a bit like stating the obvious.

You see, when you visit our place, there’s a Morris Minor parked out the front. There are rows of antique bone china tea cups which have broken out of the display cabinet and have started to wander. Old, black & white family photos peer through ornately carved, antique wooden frames and my computer is perched on top of an old oak desk with a gorgeous wood grain finish.

Being the eternal good Samaritan, I’m forever salvaging the past from our local charity or “op” shops as we call them. Indeed, you could say that I’m quite the “archaeologist” or even that I’m “kind to the homeless”. While I do have dogged persistence, most of my “finds” are beyond coincidence and were clearly: “serendipity” or “meant to be”. I had to take them home!!

Anyway, while my greatest archaeological weaknesses is vintage tea cups closely followed by illustrated books and cookbooks, another love of mine is collecting old magazines, which is quite odd in a way because I rarely buy contemporary magazines at all. My most cherished magazines are copies of the Australian Women’s Weekly dating back to the 1950s, which I picked up from an antique shop in the Queensland country town of Marburg, where my mother spent some years as a child. I love really getting into how people lived in “the olden days”.

Australia Day Wishes 1988.

Recently, I came across a new find for my collection. It was  an Australian Women’s Weekly dating back to January 1988. That’s now 24 years ago. While it is not as old as my other editions, it was the “Bicentennial Souvenir: Special Collector’s Edition”, which celebrated Australia’s “200th Birthday”. The Bicentenary was a very special time in Australia’s history when we really thought about our identity as a nation and there were all sorts of special events as well as much sorrow.

Personally, 1988 was also a very special year. You see, I’d left school at the end of 1987 and you could say life began in March 1988, when I walked through the gates of Sydney University and discovered a social whirl like none other. Aside from having my heart broken by my high school sweetheart, 1988 was a jolly good year!

While the magazine has much to say about the bicentenary, I’ll get to that after further research. I’m sure you can appreciate that any national celebration of that magnitude was “complex”. Meanwhile, I just want to bask in the light of the glorious 80s and soak up the social, fashion and technological changes and let the good times roll back.

Charles & Di: a great modern tragedy.

With a touch of schadenfreude, I opened up my Women’s Weekly to find the usual suspects, Diana and Charles, who were guests of honour for the Bicentenary. The headline read: “What will Australia see this time…Diana: Royal Charmer or Spoilt Princess?” After finding this little gem, I would probably advise royal reporter Ingrid Seward to stick to journalism as she makes a lousy clairvoyant: “If the fairytale royal romance were going to crack apart, overheated in the furnace of public scrutiny, it would be now. But it hasn’t. And it won’t.”

This, of course, is one of the disadvantages of getting published. Your words really are set in stone and can indeed come back to haunt you.

Not unsurprisingly,fashion was hot.

Style Icon Lady Sonia McMahon 1988

I came across an interesting feature called “Women of Style”, where they interviewed Australian style icons about their views on Australian fashion. Not unsurprisingly, Lady Sonia McMahon, wife of former Australian Prime Minister Sir Billy McMahon and mother of actor Julian McMahon, was interviewed.

Lady Mc Mahon had climbed to fashion royalty in 1971  when, as the wife of Australian Prime Minster Sir Billy McMahon,  she wore “that dress” to a reception held by US President Richard Nixon at the White House. The daring dress was split both sides to the armpits though held together by rhinestones about two centimetres apart from the waist up. While the dress appears quite revealing, it was actually lined with a pantyhose-type, flesh-coloured fabric.

Sonia McMahon in THAT dress at the White House.

Apparently, Lady McMahon was too impressed with how Australian women were dressing in the 80s. “She (Lady McMahon) used to think Australian women were among the best dressed in the world. But then came the jeans revolution and women relaxed- something Lady McMahon does not approve of. Smart clothes, she says, make a smart woman. Neatness and attention to detail, which some women are born with, but Lady McMahon says can be learnt, are paramount to style”. (I can’t help wondering what Lady McMahon would think of the current girl’s fashion…denim short shorts…)

While Dame Edna Everage wearing a signature piece of Australiana

Meanwhile, not one to be outdone in the fashion stakes, Dame Edna Everage also featured in fashion pages in: What Dame Edna is Wearing Overseas. If you haven’t encountered Dame Edna before, she has a certain je ne sais quoi, which completely defies any kind of interpretation. As my daughter said when I introduced her to Dame Edna tonight: “What kind of person is she?”

Only Dame Edna could manage to incorporate the Auistralian flag and a 3D version of the Sydney Opera House into a frock.

In contrast to Lady McMahon’s classic elegance,  Dame Edna is wearing a garish canary yellow outfit with two koalas up a gum tree. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she’s also pictured wearing a blue dress with the Australian flag sequined on the bodice. But wait!!! It gets worse. I just noticed that the white starchy collar is actually the Sydney Opera House. Yikes!!! Hasn’t she ever heard that less is more? Oh my goodness!! I can feel some kind of severe anaphylactic reaction setting in. Oh! I mean… there’s the pink hair, purple hair and I’m not even going to discuss the glasses…Oh my goodness. There just aren’t enough superlatives to do Dame Edna any kind of justice whatsoever!!  She just has to be the most truly cringe-worthy, “national symbol” EVER!!!!!

The big question I have is this: Who allowed Dame Edna to leave the country dressed like that and why on earth did a magazine like the Australian Women’s Weekly publish the evidence?

Quite frankly, someone should have grabbed Dame Edna by the horns and told her in no uncertain terms: “Go to your room. You’re not leaving the house looking like that!!!” I know fashion was a bit out there in the 80’s but I’m flabbergasted.

Indeed, when it comes to managing Dame Edna stronger measures would have been required. The fact that she ended up overseas dressed like that and representing our country makes her fashion choices a matter of national security.  She was destroying our National Credibility Rating (NCR). What with those crazy outfits, the pink and purple hair and all her “hello possums” and parading around as Australian royalty, she was a national embarrassment.

I understand that customs usually stop undesirables from entering into a country but couldn’t they have done something to stop her from getting out??? Anything!!!

Of course, there are the fashion police. If ever there was a case demanding their expert attention, this was it. They should have locked her up and thrown away the key! absolutely!! Sentenced her to life imprisonment rather than let her flaunt her peculiar fashions overseas and in The Weekly.

Yet, as much as Dame Edna has that incredible cringe factor, for some strange reason, we still love her even though we want to hit her with the nearest fly swat!!!

Gee, I hope Dame Edna never gets hold of Lady McMahon’s “dress” from the Powerhouse Museum. Seeing the epitome of kitsch dressed as the epitome of style would be the outrage to end all outrages…especially as I doubt Dame Edna has ever shaved her legs!!

Moving on from fashion, I also found an interview with then 60 Minutes journalist Jana Wendt. Among other topics, she was responding to a magazine article which appeared two weeks after the birth of her son, Daniel. The article had implied that Jana was “afraid of motherhood” and was fearful that motherhood would make her less effective as a journalist. She had not been consulted for this article and explained: “I can’t believe that any responsible journalist, who supposedly values the qualities of motherhood, would come out and try to undermine a working woman’s life by saying that, just because she’s had a child, she’s somehow going to be different, or unprofessional, or, all of a sudden, softer in her interviewing technique. The prejudice that women often lay at the feet of men- well, I think some women should examine themselves for that prejudice because it’s clearly there.”…

“Your priorities do change when you have a child. Not your personal priorities but the fact that your lifestyle has to accommodate another person.You have somehow to work out how you’re going to make that person happy and contented so, yes, it did- or is- taking a lot of thought and I’ve no intention of stopping work at all. My work is very important to me and it makes me a complete person. I don’t think I’d be very successful at just sitting at home,” Jana said.

I personally have mixed views about Jana’s comments. I wholeheartedly support her desire to combine motherhood and career but her assertion that full time parents are just “sitting down” is poorly informed. They’d be lucky enough to sit down long enough to get through a cup of tea uninterrupted.

Another point of interest was a joint photography feature between the Australian Women’s Weekly and Fuji Film: How to Take Perfect Photos…Every Time!

Of course, this was written before digital photography when cameras used film and you couldn’t see how your photo had turned out until you’d had them processed. That’s right. There was a door on the back of your camera for putting in the film and not a screen. You also had to choose the right speed of film and you couldn’t switch easily between colour and black and white either. Photography was a lot more conscious than it is now. You really did need to try to set your shot up well and get it right before you took it, rather than checking as you go. This feature also suggested that if you were traveling and wanted to remember characteristic sound effects, you could take along a small cassette recorder. Now, that really starts to date the magazine.I’d imagine that if we could travel backwards in time and tell them we’re taking selfies on our mobile phones, they’d tell us: “You’re dreaming.”

I also came across this photo of a computer 1988 style:

Computers 1980s style…a terminal connected to a mainframe.

However, as much as things have changed since January, 1988, some things have also stayed the same.

Thank goodness for Sao biscuits!!

Thank goodness some things never change!!

I don’t know if I really miss the 80’s but wouldn’t it be great to be 18 again for just one day!!

Yes, I’d have a lot to say to my 18 year old self!! What about you?

xx Rowena

Sources:

The Australian Women’s Weekly, January, 1988.

http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/features/a-love-beyond-understanding/story-e6frg6z6-1111114526775

http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/celebrity/sonia-mcmahon-elegance-loyalty-and-that-dress-20100403-rkcv.html

 

 

Second-Hand Miracles

On Wednesday, I went into the Lifeline opportunity (op) shop in Avalon and had a totally life-changing experience. Even with my great faith in op shops, even I was amazed!

After all, don’t you usually have to do something totally and utterly amazing to have such a profound life changing experience? This is why bucket lists are so popular and seekers almost go bankrupt climbing Mt Everest only to go scuba diving in the deepest depths of the Mariana Trench at the other the extreme.

I have more justifications than a politician for why I can’t undertake such adventures and you are probably much the same. You are also bound to your own patch of soil and just can’t take off and travel the world to “find yourself”. Instead, you have to find yourself in the much less glamorous context of home among the relatively mundane and every day.

Don’t despair!  You don’t have to go anywhere to be profoundly inspired and experience real miracles. Miracles can and do happen anywhere at any time… even in the most common, ordinary and everyday places!

They’ve even happened to me.

Although they seem unlikely sources of inspiration, I’ve been amazed at what I’ve actually found in op shops. In these halfway houses where discarded, unwanted junk and otherwise faded dreams are recycled and reborn, I’ve found treasures which fit my needs exactly, like a key in a lock. It’s like someone has gone in and left it there for me personally. That it’s had “my name on it” and the price is right too. However, Geoff will tell you that the cumulative effect has been quite expensive.

I’ve found a lot of truly inspiring things lately but I particularly wanted to share my visit to the Lifeline Shop in Avalon on Wednesday. This was the day before my latest session of chemo (or round one as I’ve now found out) and the day before I received my results so I was naturally in a fairly profound mood and actively searching for inspiration and retail therapy on a budget of sorts!!

I wasn’t disappointed!!

Hard to believe John Denver ever had “the look”!

My first amazing “find” was a record by John Denver called Rhymes & Reasons. The cover is so 1960s and he looks like a real Irish leprechaun is a very green outfit. I don’t usually buy old records but I’ve never found any worth buying before. This one strangely appealed to me. I don’t know why. It just said pick me up. Have a closer look. Turn me over.  By contemporary tastes, the cover was very “bad taste”, dated and even comical but there was a sincerity about it…his smile perhaps and I do love John Denver’s music. Actually, looking at the cover now, it was stamped 1969 which was the year I was born so perhaps this is even more of a message for me than for my children which is how I perceived it at the time. That’s right. I’m a real flower child.

So I picked up the record and read the back. Now, remember that I have been working on writing and sharing life lessons for the kids when you read this:

For the children and the flowers

Are my sisters and brothers,

Their laughter and their loveliness

Could clear a cloudy day,

Like the music of the mountains and

The colours of the rainbow,

They’re a promise of the future

And a blessing for today.

And the song that I’m singing

Is a prayer to non-believers,

Come and stand beside us,

we can find a better way.

 John Denver.

Doesn’t that just blow your mind away? I think I’m going to have to find this album on CD or convert it over or something. The songs are brilliant too and I really wish I could listen to it right now:  Leaving On a Jet Plane, the Love of the Common People, I Wish I knew How it Would Feel to be Free, Today is the First Day of the Rest of My life. There is also a song I haven’t heard called Catch Another Butterfly. Don’t know what that one is about but I use butterflies as Amelia’s symbol. She is the pink butterfly on my charm bracelet and I decorated her bedroom with butterflies before she was even born. She was my beautiful butterfly baby! By the way, I also picked up a little toy tea set for her with butterflies on it for her upcoming birthday. Another “coincidence”!

The record cover was my first “connection” but my finds rapidly continued.

Soon, I came across the handbag which I wrote about in a previous post. Now, I have been on the hunt for the perfect, black handbag for years. You see, I am seriously organisationally and spatially challenged and I’ve really been working hard to overcome these problems, especially once I found out about neuroplasticity. The idea that I could actually change the way I think and the very structure of my brain through repetition and that I wasn’t set in stone, set me free from so many self-imposed constraints. Armed with the evidence that practice instead of avoidance was the way forward, I could now radically improve some of what I had considered insurmountable personal faults. I even have a shunt in my brain to remind me that I’m not quite “normal” so I had good reason to believe in my limitations. They’d been fully documented on MRIs. However, this new found neuroplasticity literally took the bird out of the cage and offered me back up to the sky and now I’m flying free. That’s a huge change…liberation in fact!

Anyone who knows me will choke because they know how disorganised I can be. What I’ve found works for me, is having a place for everything and everything in its place. Please note that this hasn’t been achieved. I’m still struggling to find a place for the most important things and trying very, very hard to be systematic and actually put them back there again. You need a system, structure, routine. These are precisely the skills I lack in myself so I have to import them from outside myself. This is why I, in particular, needed this perfect, very well-structured and organised handbag. It’s finally going to get me “sorted”.

The trouble is that when it’s come to finding this perfect bag, I’ve had many false friends. The handles haven’t been strong enough to manage my books and there hasn’t been an outside pocket for my phone. I go to reach in for my keys and a handful of tissues fall out. I have many, many bags but most of them probably need to be sent to the op shop for someone else to “discover”.

Inside the bag- fabulous organisation!

Anyway, when I went to the op shop on Wednesday, I wasn’t looking for handbags. I was looking for books…inspiration! However, I spotted this bag. It was black. It was leather but it also had a $25.00 price tag and I was already in serious trouble for overspending in op shops. But it was leather and it wasn’t that expensive and it wasn’t going to cost anything to check it out. Aha! I lifted up the clasp and hey presto. There it was… the perfect handbag with separate, individualised spots for pens, my business card, cards, keys, wallet and room for my book and notepad. It had a place for everything to stay in its place and it also had a strong 2cm leather strap which could go across my body so it wouldn’t fall off my shoulder all the time. Moreover, if you are into brands it was a Fossil meaning it was very stylish and retails for around $300.00…so it was quite a steal at $25.00.

Yesterday, I took the bag with me for my big appointment with Professor and I felt so organised and “together” and that really helped. I had everything to hand at what was potentially going to be a very emotionally challenging time and that made such a difference. I was actually “together”!

Thank you Lord! I never expected that our God who created the universe could be bothered with my quest for the perfect handbag but he was. For some strange reason, he cares about me on a very personal, intimate level that doesn’t always make sense. Things dosn’t always happen in quite the way I’d expect but he’s always in the picture somewhere.

However, I wasn’t there for handbags or the John Denver record. I was mainly interested in books.

The books were up the back of the shop and I sat down there for quite some time meticulously going through them. First, I built up my pile and then I was trying to be ruthless, which I always find so difficult with books. They all want to be my friends and each has a compelling story to tell. I went through my pile several times putting back quite a few titles in a futile attempt to feign self-discipline. Each of the books somehow seemed to speak to me in a profoundly personal way. Books have a knack of that. However, contrary to appearances, I’m being very selective and am trying to rein the books in. Two years ago, I actually pulled off a quest to cull 100 books from our house and that was a massive effort. I have seriously undone all that good work on these holidays with the enormous swag of books I’ve bought. I dare not do a count.

Anyway, while I was hovering around the counter, I spotted a huge family King James Bible dating back to 1960. While it isn’t antique, it has a lot of Victorian flourishes including, as I subsequently found out, a section in the middle for writing up your family tree. You can’t get much more Rowie than that!! Anyway, the lady in the op shop gave me the Bible. “You can have that,” she said. She didn’t know this but I’d actually left my Bible at home so this was quite an inspired gift.

Well, you could say that a Bible is the ultimate inspirational gift but that means you also have to read it and there’s the sting.

Well, I’m bringing the Bible downstairs into the house and I’m flicking through it and I found this: . It has a presentation page, a title page and then it has an entire page dedicated to this verse:

Divine Inspiration. The Bible just fell open at this page:

Divine Inspiration. The Bible just fell open at this page.

As children, this was a verse we really had drummed into us in Sunday School. We all loved it, of course, because we thought it meant we could have all the toys and lollies our little hearts desired. However, I still remember my disappointment as our teacher explained that it didn’t work this way. I’m still not really sure that I fully understand how this verse does work even now but with my medical results due in the morning, it gave me fresh hope. Ask and it shall be given to you and it was. My treatment has worked. Just like a common pizza, God has delivered. It was almost too simple.

A very intriguing book which I hope is opening up my ears to God. I have plenty of scope for improving my listening skills in general too and applying the two ears one mouth ratio.

Seek and you will find also took me on another journey. I found a series of books by Neale Donald Walsch called Conversations With God. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what these were about and whether they were indeed Christian or something else. However, the lady in the op shop assured me they were very good and I was lucky to actually find all three books in the series and even an extra copy of Volume 1 (I only realised I’d doubled up today and am delighted. Geoff and I can read it together and I’ll also have a loan copy.)

I opened up Volume one when I arrived home and found this incredibly inspiring dedication to his parents in the front:

For ANNE M WALSCH

Who not taught me that God exists,

But opened my mind to the wonderous truth

That God is my best friend;

And who was far more than a mother to me,

But gave birth in me

To a longing for and a love of God,

And all that is good.

Mom was

My first meeting with an angel

(Just imagine if my children could say something equally inspirational about me. I am very humbled.)

And for

ALEX M WALSCH

Who told me repeatedly throughout my life,

“There’s nothing to it,”

“You don’t have to take No for an answer,”

“You make your own luck,”

And

“There’s more where that came from.”

Dad was

My first experience

Of fearlessness[1].

I’m going to paste this into my book of life lessons I’m putting together for the kids.

I started reading this book last night when I should have been more than fast asleep and couldn’t put it down. Picked it up again this morning. Too much inspiration to cope with in this book but this bit really leaped out at me:

You have been taught to live in fear. You have been told about survival of the fittest and the victory of the strongest and the success of the cleverist. Precious little is said about the glory of the most loving. And so you strive to be the fittest, the strongest, the cleverest – in one way or another- and if you see yourself as something less than this in any situation, you fear loss, for you have been told that to be less is to lose[2].

And…

“If you think you are right about everything, who needs to talk with God[3]?

With all this inspiration finding me at once, you can understand why I’m having trouble sleeping. All my neurones are firing at once…firing more bullets than Yosemite Sam who I mentioned in my last post.

Music for the soul.

I also found music. Managed to buy three CDs at $2.00 each. There was Celine Dion: the Colour of My Love. In keeping with my connection with Beethoven and subsequent explorations, I bought Piano Concerto No. 5, Emperor and the `Walstein’ Sonata. I’m sure I’ve heard my grandmother play these pieces and they’re all very familiar and comforting. As a child, I used to fall asleep to her playing curled up on my father’s lap. My father also remembers falling asleep to similar tones when he was a boy. I also picked up “The Best of Delius” which I actually mistook for Sibelius. One of the pieces on the CD, Koanga Act II: Closing Scene was actually arranged by British conductor Sir Thomas Beecham. Coincidently, my grandmother Eunice Gardiner had returned from her studies at the Royal Academy of Music in London in 1940 for the ABC Tour of Australia with Sir Thomas Beecham. Personally, I didn’t actually know I wasn’t listening to Sibelius but I do love the music. Again, find it dare I say “inspirational”!

But wait! There’s more!!

I also found a beautifully illustrated book about angels and found this lovely poem for the kids:

Ex Ore Infantium

Little Jesus, wast Thou shy
Once, and just so small as I?
And what did it feel like to be
Out of Heaven, and just like me?
Didst Thou sometimes think of THERE,
And ask where all the angels were?
I should think that I would cry
For my house all made of sky;
I would look about the air,
And wonder where my angels were;
And at waking ‘twould distress me–
Not an angel there to dress me!
Hadst Thou ever any toys,
Like us little girls and boys?
And didst Thou play in Heaven with all
The angels that were not too tall,
With stars for marbles? Did the things
Play Can you see me? through their wings?
And did Thy Mother let Thee spoil
Thy robes, with playing on OUR soil?
How nice to have them always new
In Heaven, because ’twas quite clean blue!

Didst Thou kneel at night to pray,
And didst Thou join Thy hands, this way?
And did they tire sometimes, being young,
And make the prayer seem very long?
And dost Thou like it best, that we
Should join our hands to pray to Thee?
I used to think, before I knew,
The prayer not said unless we do.
And did Thy Mother at the night
Kiss Thee, and fold the clothes in right?
And didst Thou feel quite good in bed,
Kissed, and sweet, and thy prayers said?

Thou canst not have forgotten all
That it feels like to be small:
And Thou know’st I cannot pray
To Thee in my father’s way–
When Thou wast so little, say,
Couldst Thou talk Thy Father’s way?–
So, a little Child, come down
And hear a child’s tongue like Thy own;
Take me by the hand and walk,
And listen to my baby-talk.
To Thy Father show my prayer
(He will look, Thou art so fair),
And say: ‘O Father, I, Thy Son,
Bring the prayer of a little one.’

And He will smile, that children’s tongue
Has not changed since Thou wast young!

Francis Thompson

Further to all my musical travels with my violin and Beethoven of late, I found this celebration of music by poet Alexander Pope (1688–1744).  which spoke to me but also has a message I could pass onto the kids because music really does soothe and heal the soul:

Ode for Music on St. Cecilia’s Day.

VII.
Music the fiercest grief can charm,
And fate’s severest rage disarm:
Music can soften pain to ease,
And make despair and madness please:
Our joys below it can improve,
And antedate the bliss above.
This the divine Cecilia found,
And to her Maker’s praise confin’d the sound.
When the full organ joins the tuneful quire,
Th’immortal pow’rs incline their ear;
Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire;
And Angels lean from heav’n to hear.
Of Orpheus now no more let Poets tell,
To bright Cecilia greater pow’r is giv’n;
His numbers rais’d a shade from hell,
Hers lift the soul to heav’n.

Perhaps, you won’t be surprised to know that I’m going to head back for one last peak before I head home. While all those minimalistic declutterers are all madly dumping all their Christmas  gifts. This is better than the post-Christmas sales!

After finding all this inspiration, I can’t but wonder about these people who take their Christmas presents seemingly straight from the under the Christmas tree and dump them straight at the op shop. I found a beautiful framed picture of rainbow butterflies which was still sealed in its plastic wrapper. It hasn’t even been opened let alone hung up.

Now, I don’t know how you feel about butterflies but for me butterflies have some kind of resonating meaning and symbolism. They’re special and inspiring and I could just watch them flitter fluttering around my garden for hours. So it beats me how anyone could you ever throw a handmade butterfly picture out…especially when it has rainbow butterflies? Rainbows mean hope. Hope and butterflies combined…that’s a very powerful message to chuck out. I can’t help but think of whoever bought that gift and what messages they were trying to impart. This present wasn’t just a pair of common socks. It was the sort of present which takes a lot of thought, is carefully considered and yet it fell on concrete ground unable to soak up the rain. What an absolute shame!

However, as they say, one person’s loss is another person’s gain!

Speaking of gains, we’re moving back home early next week and I just can’t resist one more peek. It’s only been a couple of days but you never know who’s had a big clean-up and decided they don’t want their treasures anymore or have moved on to new horizons. After all, inspiration is made of stepping stones. That’s the point. The real aim is to grow and to seek new horizons and as you grow, you naturally have to leave some things behind and as they say “spread the love”.

Wish me luck or you could even say a prayer…seek and you will find. I always do! Perhaps, the real miracle would be Rowena arriving home from an op shop empty handed.

Xx Rowena

PS I am almost too ashamed to admit this but while I’m immersed in paradise with this wondrous view suspended just beyond my nose, I’ve been so lost in my writing and tap tap tapping away on the laptop that I’ve been oblivious. The view is out of view. Will remedy that when I get back. Immerse myself in it. Multitasking has never been my thing!

Child in Bush by Robert Dickerson 1959.

PPS: Found a sensational art book in there today: Masterpieces of Australian Art by James Gleeson published in 1969 with beautiful colour plates. It opens up with a single Aboriginal painting: A Gnormo or spirit called Yungwalia and closes with Stanislaus Ostaja-Kotkowski. What a find!

---

[1] Neale Donald Walsche, Conversations with God: An Uncommon Dialogue, Hodder & Stoughton, 1997, acknowledgements page.

[2] Ibid pg 19.

[3] Ibid p 7.