Two boys on bikes fly around the corner, following the sound of their own voices. They are about twelve or thirteen years old. The first boy is graceful and elegant, almost like the bike is part of him. As he comes around the corner, his hands are stretched out at his sides, like aeroplane wings, and he looks so loose and free. The second boy is everything the first boy is not. He's awkward and wobbly. He takes his hands off the handlebars for a second and the bike's frame shudders and shakes from side to side.
"How do you take your hands off without the handlebars wobbling?" he calls to the first boy.
"Balance," is the only response and not very helpful for a boy who struggles just to ride the bike.
"Yeah, I know! But when I take my hands of the handlebars, they wobble. Yours don't. How come?"
"Balance!"
Groan.
It was a futile conversation. The first boy has it naturally and it seemed miraculous that the second boy was able to ride the bike at all.
It was nice to see a couple of kids out and about on their bikes in the neighbourhood. I suddenly realised it's a rare sight these days. I remember riding my bike all over town when I was their age. We'd ride to and from school and be away for hours at a time on the weekends. Only once, did I go quite a long way and underestimate how long it would take me to get home. In the days before mobile phones, my parents must have worried about me. I did get there in the end.
I hope the second boy is really good at something that the expert bike rider isn't. That would only be fair.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Thursday, 16 April 2015
Monday, 2 February 2015
Telephone talk - childrens' perspectives
Just as I was getting ready to go out on Saturday night, my phone rang. It was the 4 year old niece and 6 year old nephew ringing. They were calling to let me know they had finally decided what to buy with a gift card I had given them for Christmas. (I had run out of time and inspiration, especially when added to the need to post everything.)
When I answered the phone, a boy's voice said, "It's your nephew speaking."
The formality was endearing.
A second after I said hello, Mr Nephew launched into a detailed description of Ninjas. They were in book form, they were in Lego form. He had read the book. He had built the Lego. However, it was noted very specifically that the Ninjas in video form had flaming swords. Mr Nephew was very firm on the point that the Lego Ninja's sword was only yellow in colour and that there was no fire involved.
I said I was very pleased to hear he had been able to choose something he liked with the money I had given.
"Yes," he said. "It cost around $100, but not quite."
I choked on my drink. I had given him $25. I heard my sister in the background say that it hadn't cost that much at all.
Mr Nephew corrected himself and said it cost less than $100. I predict a big future as a used car salesman or negotiator.
Suddenly I was speaking to my niece. (The same one I wrote about here.) She rattled something off about what she had bought. I thought Peppa Pig was mentioned, but it was impossible to tell. She was in a very chatty mood and her consonants had fallen by the wayside. (While checking how to spell Peppa Pig, I discovered that Peppa Pig has her (?) own website!)
When I could get a word in, I asked how she had been spending her day.
There was a big sigh.
"Working." The voice was world weary.
"Working? Where have you been working?"
Again, the world-weary tone: "Around the house."
I pictured child slavery along the lines of Oliver Twist. What had she been doing? Cleaning the oven?
"What about tomorrow then? What are you doing tomorrow?" I asked.
"I'm going to a party." This statement was again accompanied by a very put-upon-sigh and sounded like the word "party" had changed meaning to refer to hard labour building a railway in the desert.
Upon enquiring about who was hosting this joyous occasion, my niece advised it was Emily. I could hear her eyes rolling as she told me.
"Do you like Emily?" I asked.
"She hides and then after she's been hiding she treads on my toes. She's always hiding. I'm giving her a packet of jewellery and I'm getting a packet as well," she declared.
Ah the days of innocence - when jewellery came in packets!
Upon further enquiry I discovered that Emily and my niece are in fact best friends!
After this encounter, I was talking to a friend and her youngest son started to talk in the background. My friend explained to whom she was speaking and asked her son if he would like to say hello. Soon I heard "hello". I responded with "hello" and then there was deathly silence. After a little while, I said, "Bye bye!". He echoed me happily and handed the phone back to his mother.
I do love these conversations. Sometimes the hardest thing is not to burst out laughing. These children have the best element of the comic "straight man" - they're naive about the fact that they're hilarious.
When I answered the phone, a boy's voice said, "It's your nephew speaking."
The formality was endearing.
A second after I said hello, Mr Nephew launched into a detailed description of Ninjas. They were in book form, they were in Lego form. He had read the book. He had built the Lego. However, it was noted very specifically that the Ninjas in video form had flaming swords. Mr Nephew was very firm on the point that the Lego Ninja's sword was only yellow in colour and that there was no fire involved.
I said I was very pleased to hear he had been able to choose something he liked with the money I had given.
"Yes," he said. "It cost around $100, but not quite."
I choked on my drink. I had given him $25. I heard my sister in the background say that it hadn't cost that much at all.
Mr Nephew corrected himself and said it cost less than $100. I predict a big future as a used car salesman or negotiator.
Suddenly I was speaking to my niece. (The same one I wrote about here.) She rattled something off about what she had bought. I thought Peppa Pig was mentioned, but it was impossible to tell. She was in a very chatty mood and her consonants had fallen by the wayside. (While checking how to spell Peppa Pig, I discovered that Peppa Pig has her (?) own website!)
When I could get a word in, I asked how she had been spending her day.
There was a big sigh.
"Working." The voice was world weary.
"Working? Where have you been working?"
Again, the world-weary tone: "Around the house."
I pictured child slavery along the lines of Oliver Twist. What had she been doing? Cleaning the oven?
"What about tomorrow then? What are you doing tomorrow?" I asked.
"I'm going to a party." This statement was again accompanied by a very put-upon-sigh and sounded like the word "party" had changed meaning to refer to hard labour building a railway in the desert.
Upon enquiring about who was hosting this joyous occasion, my niece advised it was Emily. I could hear her eyes rolling as she told me.
"Do you like Emily?" I asked.
"She hides and then after she's been hiding she treads on my toes. She's always hiding. I'm giving her a packet of jewellery and I'm getting a packet as well," she declared.
Ah the days of innocence - when jewellery came in packets!
Upon further enquiry I discovered that Emily and my niece are in fact best friends!
After this encounter, I was talking to a friend and her youngest son started to talk in the background. My friend explained to whom she was speaking and asked her son if he would like to say hello. Soon I heard "hello". I responded with "hello" and then there was deathly silence. After a little while, I said, "Bye bye!". He echoed me happily and handed the phone back to his mother.
I do love these conversations. Sometimes the hardest thing is not to burst out laughing. These children have the best element of the comic "straight man" - they're naive about the fact that they're hilarious.
Wednesday, 7 January 2015
Afternoon chats with my niece
I took a very important phone call today. It was my four year old niece calling. She needed to fill me in on her day. She was watching her older brother (aged 6) paint a pirate ship. Clearly, there was a limit to her powers of concentration and she decided to call her Aunty instead.
"Did you have a nice Christmas?"she asked me and followed up with an open question for me: "What did you get for Christmas?" I told her about a few things and she latched onto the perfume set which had come from her whole family.
The last time we spoke on the phone, I noticed that my facilitator's habit of asking good open questions led nowhere when it came to engaging in conversation with a four year old. My engaging, excellent questions were met with discombobulated silence. In a few short weeks, I can hear how her language skills and comprehension have advanced. Or maybe she was just in a chatty mood.
"Did you have a nice Christmas?"she asked me and followed up with an open question for me: "What did you get for Christmas?" I told her about a few things and she latched onto the perfume set which had come from her whole family.
"I got some perfume too!" she exclaimed.
"Wow! That's great. You must smell very nice. What sort of perfume did you get?" I enquired.
"It's special kids' perfume. It's stuff I can put on myself!"
I was struggling to imagine what this might be and saw fleeting iamges of her dousing herself and the house with some sickening aroma.
"What does it smell like?" I asked?
"It smells like mashed potato and carrots! It's lovely!"
I held my laughter wondering what this perfume could possibly be. Then I pictured the advertising campaign. There'd be a handsome man, sniffing the ear of a woman. He'd be in raptures as he inhaled the smells of mashed vegetables. The woman would morph into his mother...It was time to change the subject, but she beat me to it by telling me that she and her brother had collected all the cards they needed to complete a special book of animals and now they could hear all the sounds the animals make. The cards that Grandma had sent had helped them complete their collection. It was a significant achievement.
"Do you know what I saw in the garden today?" I asked.
"No." That's where a closed question will get you.
"It was a hare."
Silence.
"Do you know what a hare is?"
"A kind of a rabbit?"
"Yes. Sort of. It's a big rabbit and its ears stand straight up."
"What was he doing?"
"Just sitting in the garden eating some grass and looking at me."
"Did you pick him up?"
"No! He was too big. I thought he was a small wallaby when I first saw him."
"Was he a wallaby-rabbit?"
"No! He was a hare, but he looked like a wallaby - that's how big he was."
"How big?"
"As big as a small wallaby."
Silence.
Then came this gorgeous question: "Was he bigger than something small?"
I thought about the answer for a while.
"Yes. He was bigger than something small."
"Okay. Bye!"
She's off to find out what sound a hare makes. I'll look forward to our next conversation.
Friday, 8 August 2014
Life at 9 and gratitude
I've come across many people this week who are in some kind of pain. Often their pain has been caused by their efforts to control things that are not within their control.
I also watched the excellent show on the ABC, Life at Nine which is following children as they grow up. This week's episode was about creativity and not only was it interesting to watch the children, but I also learned a bit about myself.
These experiences influence what I'm grateful for everyday:
1. I am grateful for my creativity.
2. I am grateful for my imagination.
3. I am grateful for my resilience.
4. I am grateful for my own company.
5. I am grateful for my failures.
6. I am grateful that I have the capacity to write this post.
7. I am grateful that I have the freedom to publish this post.
8. I am grateful for the opportunities my parents gave me.
Here's two of my favourite photos from the week.
 |
| Shadow bike © 2014 divacultura |
 |
| Shot tower, Melbourne Central © 2014 divacultura |
What are you grateful for? Have you been watching the Life Series? Who's your favourite? (Mine's Wyatt, but don't tell anyone.)
Tuesday, 5 August 2014
Shaking my booty - memories of an undiscovered ballerina.
"Ah!" she said with a sense of realisation. "I see what you're doing."
I waited to receive my diagnosis.
"You turn like a ballerina," she declared.
That was quite unexpected. In all my life, I've never been told I do anything like an ballerina.
I've started a dance class. It's been a while since I took a class. I love to dance, but then I can't bear most people in the world of formal dance. I find the world intimidating. I can move, but usually the class goes too fast for me; I get left behind and before long, I feel useless and give up.
The class is not a ballet class, so turning like a ballerina is a redundant skill. The class is called Born to Boogie and is pitched for enjoyment, although we are learning a routine and will perform in a dance off with another class. I was doing so well until we came to the instruction to "turn". The first time I tried, I didn't make it all the way around. I tried again, and this time kept going. My legs were twisted around themselves like a corkscrew. I could not work out what was wrong. This is when the study was undertaken and the declaration made.
"Have you done some ballet?"
"A long time ago," I whispered.
"Well, it's obviously in your muscle memory then."
I didn't dare tell her that the sum total of my ballet training consisted of about two classes when I was five years old. I hated it. They made us dance across the room in front of the other girls. I was embarrassed. Clearly I hadn't yet discovered my performance gene. I felt ungainly next to the other, wispy girls. Wispy is an adjective that has never and could never be applied to me. Substantial is more likely to be used and that doesn't really work for a ballerina, even when swathed in pastel pink tulle.
I must ask my mother how I came to be at ballet. I was also having piano lessons and went to art and craft classes and judo lessons. Piano turned into a lifelong passion. There is evidence of my participation in art and craft still in my parents' house; it takes the form of lumps of yellow glazed clay dishes, loosely designated as 'ashtrays'. I remember nothing about judo.
I think I must have been a high maintenance child as I always had lots of extra curricular activities. When I was about twelve I went to "cooking for adolescents". You can be forgiven for thinking that the class was for parents so they could cook delicious food for the teenagers. It did turn out to be a cunning way to give my mother the night off as whatever I produced was taken home for the family at the end of the night.
There were eight of us in the class and Mrs Quade was the ferocious teacher. I was perpetually in trouble. Using the tubular spaghetti as a straw may have been one of my transgressions. I thought it was excellent. The cuisine was basic, but I learned some great skills, like how to skin tomatoes and make fresh tomato sauce. My family feasted on such delights as rissoles, sausage casserole and something called "Apple Windsor". I carefully wrote out all the recipes in an anthology book. (Do you remember anthology books? They were a bit larger than an exercise book, one page was blank and the facing page had lines. Both pages had a decorative border. They were for writing out poems and drawing a matching picture. Talk about redundant. Isn't the poetry supposed to paint the picture? I can't draw, and am still haunted by a lumpy drawing of a malformed eagle to accompany the words "He clasps the crag with crooked claw". Well, the 'claw' was certainly crooked.)
My first dance class was great fun. I was complimented on my positive energy again. It seems to be appreciated, but I just hope it's not what people say when they're thinking "oh god, where are we going to hide her?"
In the meantime, I turn like a ballerina you know.
Do you dance? Have you rediscovered a love for something you didn't enjoy in your youth?
I waited to receive my diagnosis.
"You turn like a ballerina," she declared.
That was quite unexpected. In all my life, I've never been told I do anything like an ballerina.
I've started a dance class. It's been a while since I took a class. I love to dance, but then I can't bear most people in the world of formal dance. I find the world intimidating. I can move, but usually the class goes too fast for me; I get left behind and before long, I feel useless and give up.
The class is not a ballet class, so turning like a ballerina is a redundant skill. The class is called Born to Boogie and is pitched for enjoyment, although we are learning a routine and will perform in a dance off with another class. I was doing so well until we came to the instruction to "turn". The first time I tried, I didn't make it all the way around. I tried again, and this time kept going. My legs were twisted around themselves like a corkscrew. I could not work out what was wrong. This is when the study was undertaken and the declaration made.
"Have you done some ballet?"
 |
| Making friends with my new jazz shoes - on the feet of a latent ballerina. © 2014 divacultura |
"Well, it's obviously in your muscle memory then."
I didn't dare tell her that the sum total of my ballet training consisted of about two classes when I was five years old. I hated it. They made us dance across the room in front of the other girls. I was embarrassed. Clearly I hadn't yet discovered my performance gene. I felt ungainly next to the other, wispy girls. Wispy is an adjective that has never and could never be applied to me. Substantial is more likely to be used and that doesn't really work for a ballerina, even when swathed in pastel pink tulle.
I must ask my mother how I came to be at ballet. I was also having piano lessons and went to art and craft classes and judo lessons. Piano turned into a lifelong passion. There is evidence of my participation in art and craft still in my parents' house; it takes the form of lumps of yellow glazed clay dishes, loosely designated as 'ashtrays'. I remember nothing about judo.
I think I must have been a high maintenance child as I always had lots of extra curricular activities. When I was about twelve I went to "cooking for adolescents". You can be forgiven for thinking that the class was for parents so they could cook delicious food for the teenagers. It did turn out to be a cunning way to give my mother the night off as whatever I produced was taken home for the family at the end of the night.
There were eight of us in the class and Mrs Quade was the ferocious teacher. I was perpetually in trouble. Using the tubular spaghetti as a straw may have been one of my transgressions. I thought it was excellent. The cuisine was basic, but I learned some great skills, like how to skin tomatoes and make fresh tomato sauce. My family feasted on such delights as rissoles, sausage casserole and something called "Apple Windsor". I carefully wrote out all the recipes in an anthology book. (Do you remember anthology books? They were a bit larger than an exercise book, one page was blank and the facing page had lines. Both pages had a decorative border. They were for writing out poems and drawing a matching picture. Talk about redundant. Isn't the poetry supposed to paint the picture? I can't draw, and am still haunted by a lumpy drawing of a malformed eagle to accompany the words "He clasps the crag with crooked claw". Well, the 'claw' was certainly crooked.)
My first dance class was great fun. I was complimented on my positive energy again. It seems to be appreciated, but I just hope it's not what people say when they're thinking "oh god, where are we going to hide her?"
In the meantime, I turn like a ballerina you know.
Do you dance? Have you rediscovered a love for something you didn't enjoy in your youth?
Saturday, 1 March 2014
I love him - a ten year old's perspective.
When I saw my niece Heidi last, she asked if I could make her a koala. I like to say yes if possible, so I did and thought I'd just figure it out later.
Today is her tenth birthday and I finished this fellow and popped him in the post during the week. He started out as a series of nondescript grey shapes, then a series of grey balls. As I assembled him, attached his eyes, ears and nose, he gained a personality. I felt vaguely worried as I sealed him in the darkness of the post bag and then put him in the letterbox!
 |
| Introducing Mr Chub, the koala © 2014 divacultura |
She texted me last night to say hello and let me know that she had learnt how to do a fishtail braid on hair. And that she was watching the Smurfs and that it was her birthday tomorrow. Today she gave the Smurfs five stars.
When we first spoke this morning, she was yet to receive my parcel. I asked her about how her day was going. She told me about her gifts, including a saddle blanket. I asked her to tell me about it and she told me it was red and navy blue with her name and her logo on it, as though it was perfectly normal for a ten year old girl to have a logo. I haven't even sorted out the logo for my business yet! I asked her what my logo should say and she replied without hesitation "Tanya's Knitting Service".
The child is Nostradamus. About half and hour later Heidi called me again to tell me she had received her parcel. She expressed her feelings: "I love him!"
This was such a relief. Clearly I will have risen in the Favourite Aunty Stakes. I'm still scarred from when my nephew pointed at my sister-in-law identifying her as his favourite aunty.
"Do you think it's a he?" I asked her.
"Yes, I do," she replied solemnly.
"I like his nose."
"He's eaten a lot of eucalyptus leaves!" she laughed.
"Why do you say that?"
"He's so fat!"
"Well I had to make sure he didn't starve to death on the way up to live with you Heidi. Is he okay? Is he still alive?"
"Yes. His eyes are as big as Sofia's." Sofia is Heidi's younger sister.
"I know! He's definitely an Edlington."
She laughed and I asked if she had a name for him yet. She hadn't yet and promised to send me a message when she had come up with his name.
A few hours later, I was informed that his name is "Chub". He'd better not lose weight now that he's survived the epic journey.
I'm off to work out how to make a kangaroo for her sister.
Saturday, 18 May 2013
Impromptu spelling bee
Two small boys travelling with their mother on the number 8 tram were occupying their time by spelling words. The boys were aged 7 and 5. I know because I asked, having listened to the older one spell words like "precinct" and "exterminational device".
His younger brother was on three letter words and having good success with "bus", "boy", "cat" and "dog".
Both boys were dressed in striped zip up knitted cardigans and newsboy caps.
The older boy asked for a "really hard one, Mum". As we neared Southbank Boulevard, I heard her say "boulevard".
"Boulevard?"
"Yes. Boulevard."
"B-U ?..."
"Not quite. Try again. Boulevard."
"B - A ?"
"No."
"B - I ?"
"You were nearly right with "B- U, but you need to put another letter before the U."
"B - U - L - E - V- A - R - D. Boulevard!"
"Very good. You were nearly right. You just need to start off B - O - U - L - E - V - A - R - D. Well done!"
"What is a "boulevard" anyway?"
"It's a fancy word for road."
"You mean I could have just said 'R - O - A - D'?"
Clearly a very efficient young man. It was refreshing to see children engaging in the world and learning rather than travelling around with their eyes glued to an electronic device. And for boys aged 7 and 5, i thought their spelling was fantastic.
His younger brother was on three letter words and having good success with "bus", "boy", "cat" and "dog".
Both boys were dressed in striped zip up knitted cardigans and newsboy caps.
The older boy asked for a "really hard one, Mum". As we neared Southbank Boulevard, I heard her say "boulevard".
"Boulevard?"
"Yes. Boulevard."
"B-U ?..."
"Not quite. Try again. Boulevard."
"B - A ?"
"No."
"B - I ?"
"You were nearly right with "B- U, but you need to put another letter before the U."
"B - U - L - E - V- A - R - D. Boulevard!"
"Very good. You were nearly right. You just need to start off B - O - U - L - E - V - A - R - D. Well done!"
"What is a "boulevard" anyway?"
"It's a fancy word for road."
"You mean I could have just said 'R - O - A - D'?"
Clearly a very efficient young man. It was refreshing to see children engaging in the world and learning rather than travelling around with their eyes glued to an electronic device. And for boys aged 7 and 5, i thought their spelling was fantastic.
Monday, 8 April 2013
Kid fix
Maybe you've noticed that I've been away from the blog. I had a little break over Easter and it felt good to go offline for most of that time. So I did.
I spent some quality time with nieces and a nephew: baking cup cakes filled with tiny Easter eggs with a seven year old girly-girl who is also a super organised perfectionist was great fun; throwing a frisbee with a nine year old tom boy as she stood dangerously - and nonchalantly - close to the septic tank; hearing about my 10 year old nephew's sporting and academic achievements.
My brother and I were entertained in the evenings with shows produced by the children - a medley of fairytales brought erratically to life was entertaining, surprising and better than anything on television.
I marvelled at the technological facility displayed by the children as I received facetime requests from their ipods. I laughed that they failed to understand the superfluous-ness...(superfluity? unnecessariness?) of communicating electronically when we were sitting in the same house. A sign of the future perhaps.
I laughed my head off as I heard my brother issue this instruction: "No running on the couch!" Hilarious!
It was my first sugar-free Easter. I did well, having removed sugar from my life months ago. It's not even a question for me anymore. I actually requested that the Easter Bunny not pay me a visit. (This was a big relief to my younger niece who was concerned the Bunny would be confused by the fact that I was sleeping in her room. She was deeply relieved when I advised her that if the Bunny delivered the eggs to me I would, in turn, pass them to her untouched.) I had cream in my coffee as a special treat instead.
I left my brother's house equipped with a big tray of home made lasagne which lasted, miraculously, almost a week.
Arriving back in Melbourne and taking off again for Sydney, I pondered the purpose of muzak in car parks. Why?
I spent some quality time with nieces and a nephew: baking cup cakes filled with tiny Easter eggs with a seven year old girly-girl who is also a super organised perfectionist was great fun; throwing a frisbee with a nine year old tom boy as she stood dangerously - and nonchalantly - close to the septic tank; hearing about my 10 year old nephew's sporting and academic achievements.
My brother and I were entertained in the evenings with shows produced by the children - a medley of fairytales brought erratically to life was entertaining, surprising and better than anything on television.
I marvelled at the technological facility displayed by the children as I received facetime requests from their ipods. I laughed that they failed to understand the superfluous-ness...(superfluity? unnecessariness?) of communicating electronically when we were sitting in the same house. A sign of the future perhaps.
I laughed my head off as I heard my brother issue this instruction: "No running on the couch!" Hilarious!
It was my first sugar-free Easter. I did well, having removed sugar from my life months ago. It's not even a question for me anymore. I actually requested that the Easter Bunny not pay me a visit. (This was a big relief to my younger niece who was concerned the Bunny would be confused by the fact that I was sleeping in her room. She was deeply relieved when I advised her that if the Bunny delivered the eggs to me I would, in turn, pass them to her untouched.) I had cream in my coffee as a special treat instead.
I left my brother's house equipped with a big tray of home made lasagne which lasted, miraculously, almost a week.
Arriving back in Melbourne and taking off again for Sydney, I pondered the purpose of muzak in car parks. Why?
Sunday, 11 November 2012
Open Day at the Abbotsford Convent - includes Sunday slideshow
 |
| Full bike racks at the Abbotsford Convent Open Day (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Convent Courtyard (c) divacultura 2012 |
We sang in the Convent Courtyard just after 1pm. The courtyard is home to a big old shady tree, perfect to cluster under on a sunny day like today. Some people were lounging in the sun and the shade, others were milling and others were purposefully striding towards their next activity. The crowd was appreciative and we sang well in the relaxed environment. This is one of my favourite kinds of gigs - relaxed and enjoyable.
 |
| Today's performance space (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Romeo (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| A glimpse of Juliet (c) divacultura 2012 |
As we finished, Complete Works Theatre made great use of the space during their Pop Up Theatre performance. The balcony scene was performed with great gusto and humour, Juliet perched high up on the balcony and Romeo down in the courtyard amongst the audience. The performers were marvellous and brought the scene and characters well and truly to life.
 |
| Drum circle (c) divacultura 2012 |
The enjoyment amongst the circle was infectious. Strangers were smiling at each other. Parents looked at their children in wonder as they imitated complex patterns and followed instructions, their attention never wavering.
We finished our round and I wandered off towards the smell of a barbecue and the sounds of samba, past some market stalls, stopping off at a garden tap to refill my water bottle.
 |
| Abbotsford Convent angles (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Courtyard corner (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Rosina Dormitory building, Abbotsford Convent (c) divacultura 2012 |
I had caught a taxi from the city to avoid the stress of trying to park and now needed to find a way home. (The taxi driver had no idea where I was going and asked me to direct him. I reckon there should be a discount if you have to navigate for the taxi driver.) I walked towards Victoria Street in Richmond. The street I was on was a mixture of old factories and warehouses, older homes and apartment blocks, as well as funky new buildings. Big plane trees cast their dappled shade making the walk even more enjoyable. The peace was broken as I approached Victoria Street. A Vietnamese music shop was blaring out some kind of Asian pop, smashing the magic bubble I'd been in all afternoon.
I watched the passing multicultural parade as I waited for the 109 tram. Five tall African girls arrived, carrying numerous plastic bags of shopping and dragging a small boy along. I assume he was the little brother. He looked happy enough. I marvelled at the shape of the girls - looooooong thin legs, compact torsos, long willowy arms, plump backsides, long necks and beautiful faces with their white teeth and eyes flashing when they smiled.
If you're in Melbourne, you don't have to wait for next year's open day to enjoy a day out. There are regular markets and the cafes and bakery are great to visit. There's lots of information on their website. The Good Hustle at the Shadow Electric Bar is on my list, not only for the music lineup, but also for the "meterage" of ping pong tables!
How did you spend your Sunday? Got any tales to tell?
Friday, 5 October 2012
My favourite things - the lemonade stand
1. The "pop up shop" at Seddon train station. It popped up this morning and was still there four hours later when I returned from the city. The proprietors are two bold, blond-headed eight-year-old boys and they have a cunning entrepreneurial spirit. This morning as I walked to the station, the one with the curls approached me and offered to sell me some flowers. They had a tartan rug and all the flowers were beautifully laid out. I explained about my hayfever and said that I couldn't buy flowers because of it, but I wished them well. I asked him how it was going and he said "okay" and that they'd had donations from a couple of people. He looked at me meaningfully with a maturely cocked eyebrow. I decided not to make a donation; these boys looked like they were serious about business.
When I returned in the afternoon, they had diversified. They were now offering home made lemonade for $1 a cup. I asked who made it. Ethan had. I asked if it was good.
"It's very good," he said solemnly. There was pulp floating in it so it looked real. I had a momentary worry about washing up and who else had used the cup, but decided I would be okay.
The boys engaged in entertaining banter while I sipped my lemonade. An old man made his way from across the street to enquire about the price of a cup of lemonade. He decided $1 was a good price but shook his head when a cup was proffered at half mast. "If I'm paying a dollar, I want a full cup," he said. These boys showed excellent customer service instincts, apologising immediately and happily rectifying the error.
I noticed some small bunches of lavender were still available.
"How much is your lavender?"
"It's a dollar. We've got the English or the French. The French is a smaller bunch 'cos the flowers are bigger, but the English smells better, I reckon," one of them said earnestly.
He displayed the two options and asked me which I would like.
"I'll take one bunch of the English please."
"An excellent choice," he said as he took my dollar.
I asked how business was. They said it was pretty good and that they had made $60 for the day.
"What are your expansion plans?" I asked.
"Well we're getting ready for peak hour."
"What do you think about your shop location for peak hour?"
"Yeah, we've been thinking about that. What do you think?"
I made a couple of suggestions, including staying right where they were until they had seen the pattern of foot traffic coming off the first couple of peak hour services. They thought this was a good idea and advised they would consider it.
I wished them all the best and thanked them for the lemonade and the lavender.
I was going to ask them if I could take a photo of them and their shop, but felt it freak them out. Here's a picture of the lavender instead.
2. I discovered a precinct in Melbourne Central that I hadn't visited before. It's a new food court and shopping area which is cleverly decorated and has better than the usual foodcourt suspects. I enjoyed a Mexican quesadilla from one of the zillion Mexican joints springing up and also had a coffee and cake for afternoon tea after some wandering around with my camera.
This place has a wonderfully coherent and pleasing design theme. The pale green (shown in the saucer above) shows up in a few places.
I gazed at this still life arrangement as I enjoyed my afternoon tea. You can see the same green in the handle of the egg beater.
The chairs were funky too.
3. There's a little library in this part of the world! A cool idea in the middle of a retail area frequented by students. Its philosophy is written on the window and I'm inspired to drop of some books when I'm next in the neighbourhood.
4. The shot tower at Melbourne Central. This has to be one of the cleverest renovations/preservations around. Who ever is in charge of the centre deserves congratulating. There are lots of delightful details.
5. The prose in Nick Cave's first novel, "And the Ass saw the Angel". It's incredible: dense, rich and requiring gorging. I'm very grateful for the built-in dictionary in my e-reader too. Here are a couple of my favourite passages. Not for the fainthearted:
"Mummy was a swine - a scum-cunted, likkered-up, brain-sick swine. She was lazy and slothful and dirty and belligerent and altogether evil. Ma was a soak - a drunk - a piss-eyed hell-bag with a taste for the homebrew." (page 26).
"Finding Toad covered in pig-shit and sucking a trotter, they had chased him out of the Morton's valley to roam the gullies and gulches of the out-hills, a sore Goliath shunned by his own blood, without friend or companion save the league of demons that rubbed and itched amongst the crags and sunless cracks of his bad, mad and unholy brain." (page 34)
"His demented eyes egged in their orbits as if they were being laid." (page 56)
What are your favourite things this week? Have you ever run a lemonade stand?
When I returned in the afternoon, they had diversified. They were now offering home made lemonade for $1 a cup. I asked who made it. Ethan had. I asked if it was good.
"It's very good," he said solemnly. There was pulp floating in it so it looked real. I had a momentary worry about washing up and who else had used the cup, but decided I would be okay.
The boys engaged in entertaining banter while I sipped my lemonade. An old man made his way from across the street to enquire about the price of a cup of lemonade. He decided $1 was a good price but shook his head when a cup was proffered at half mast. "If I'm paying a dollar, I want a full cup," he said. These boys showed excellent customer service instincts, apologising immediately and happily rectifying the error.
I noticed some small bunches of lavender were still available.
"How much is your lavender?"
"It's a dollar. We've got the English or the French. The French is a smaller bunch 'cos the flowers are bigger, but the English smells better, I reckon," one of them said earnestly.
He displayed the two options and asked me which I would like.
"I'll take one bunch of the English please."
"An excellent choice," he said as he took my dollar.
I asked how business was. They said it was pretty good and that they had made $60 for the day.
"What are your expansion plans?" I asked.
"Well we're getting ready for peak hour."
"What do you think about your shop location for peak hour?"
"Yeah, we've been thinking about that. What do you think?"
I made a couple of suggestions, including staying right where they were until they had seen the pattern of foot traffic coming off the first couple of peak hour services. They thought this was a good idea and advised they would consider it.
I wished them all the best and thanked them for the lemonade and the lavender.
I was going to ask them if I could take a photo of them and their shop, but felt it freak them out. Here's a picture of the lavender instead.
 |
| (c) divacultura 2012 |
2. I discovered a precinct in Melbourne Central that I hadn't visited before. It's a new food court and shopping area which is cleverly decorated and has better than the usual foodcourt suspects. I enjoyed a Mexican quesadilla from one of the zillion Mexican joints springing up and also had a coffee and cake for afternoon tea after some wandering around with my camera.
 |
| Coffee and cake at Cupcake Central (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| The tiles (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Still life with cupcakes (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Geometrix (c) divacultura 2012 |
3. There's a little library in this part of the world! A cool idea in the middle of a retail area frequented by students. Its philosophy is written on the window and I'm inspired to drop of some books when I'm next in the neighbourhood.
 |
| Little Library rules (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Giant white chandeliers, reimagined (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Mezzanine chairs (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Shot tower shadows and living wall (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Shot tower I (c) divacultura 2012 |
 |
| Shot tower II (c) divacultura 2012 |
"Mummy was a swine - a scum-cunted, likkered-up, brain-sick swine. She was lazy and slothful and dirty and belligerent and altogether evil. Ma was a soak - a drunk - a piss-eyed hell-bag with a taste for the homebrew." (page 26).
"Finding Toad covered in pig-shit and sucking a trotter, they had chased him out of the Morton's valley to roam the gullies and gulches of the out-hills, a sore Goliath shunned by his own blood, without friend or companion save the league of demons that rubbed and itched amongst the crags and sunless cracks of his bad, mad and unholy brain." (page 34)
"His demented eyes egged in their orbits as if they were being laid." (page 56)
Saturday, 22 September 2012
When I was eleven
Today I popped into the Sun Theatre in Yarraville to see the film, "I am Eleven". It's a series of interviews with eleven year old children from all over the world. They talk about their lives and share their thoughts on life, culture, religion, war and many other things.
If you can, take the time to see this film. It is funny, astonishing and humbling.
It's extraordinary to hear Remi from France talk about the three types of love there are in the world: love for family; love for people you know, but who aren't your family; and love for people you don't know. I haven't spent a lot of time with eleven year olds, so I don't have a benchmark to know whether this is what eleven year olds generally sound like. Remi also had clear views about racism and the French Government's tough immigration laws. It was incredible to hear him speak and refer to himself as a citizen of the world.
Vandana and Ginisha live in an orphanage in Kerala in India. They have meagre possessions and speak about never having known a father's love, yet they see the beauty in their shabby, even squalid, surroundings. Their wide smiles and ambitions for themselves in the face of a very hard start in life brings tears to my eyes.
Billy from the UK has a perpetually worried look on his face and an adult turn of phrase. He's a comedian but it's hard to know if he knows this. He speaks about growing up, getting married, having children, grandchildren and then "boom, it's all over". He seems non-plussed but the cinema audience roars with laughter. His favourite films are "Dirty Dancing 1 and 2" because of the great dance moves.
Kimberly from New Jersey in the US precociously enacts the scene of her future marriage proposal. Her Jersey accent is pronounced and it all happens on one date. It's a boy she will meet in college and he will tell her that he likes her hair. It's all over after that.
Since seeing the film, I've been trying to think about what I was like at eleven.
I know that I had reached the height I would be (167cm) and had already reached puberty. It was really hard to buy age appropriate shoes.
I was bigger than everyone except the Egyptian girl Dahlia Aziz which meant I had to play Goal Defence or Goal Keeper in the netball team and was always cast in the male parts in school plays.
I had piano lessons, played for as many hours a day as I possible could and attended "gourmet cookery for children" classes with Mrs Quade at the TAFE in Toowoomba. This meant I cooked dinner for the family on Tuesdays. I look back at the recipes and laugh at the idea they were considered gourmet, but still remember techniques I learned there like how to skin fresh tomatoes for cooking.
I was in love with Bo Duke (played by John Schneider), the blond one from the TV show, "The Dukes of Hazzard" and would throw a tantrum if I wasn't allowed to watch the show. My bedroom was wall-papered with pictures of him I had torn from American fan magazines.
I would ride my bike all over town. I was given a new bike after my brother dismantled my old one and had pieces left over after reassembly. My parents asked me to take the garbage outside which I did in a huff and returned. I hadn't even seen the brand new bike waiting for me!
Days would be consumed by reading novels, one after the other. I think it was at about this age I decided that I would read every novel in the school library, starting with the letter A. I think I made it to C.
It was at the age of eleven that my worst dental experience occurred, leaving me with a lifelong fear.
My best friend was Angela Seymour.
I think I was in love with Philip Hamilton or Treg Kleidon or one of those boys. I don't think it was reciprocated, but Philip did attend a college ball with me while we were at university.
I wanted to be an actress or a writer or a musician.
It's interesting to think how much of the person I am today, thirty years later, was evident at the age of eleven. A good age I think.
What were you like when you were eleven? Would you recognise yourself?
If you can, take the time to see this film. It is funny, astonishing and humbling.
It's extraordinary to hear Remi from France talk about the three types of love there are in the world: love for family; love for people you know, but who aren't your family; and love for people you don't know. I haven't spent a lot of time with eleven year olds, so I don't have a benchmark to know whether this is what eleven year olds generally sound like. Remi also had clear views about racism and the French Government's tough immigration laws. It was incredible to hear him speak and refer to himself as a citizen of the world.
Vandana and Ginisha live in an orphanage in Kerala in India. They have meagre possessions and speak about never having known a father's love, yet they see the beauty in their shabby, even squalid, surroundings. Their wide smiles and ambitions for themselves in the face of a very hard start in life brings tears to my eyes.
Billy from the UK has a perpetually worried look on his face and an adult turn of phrase. He's a comedian but it's hard to know if he knows this. He speaks about growing up, getting married, having children, grandchildren and then "boom, it's all over". He seems non-plussed but the cinema audience roars with laughter. His favourite films are "Dirty Dancing 1 and 2" because of the great dance moves.
Kimberly from New Jersey in the US precociously enacts the scene of her future marriage proposal. Her Jersey accent is pronounced and it all happens on one date. It's a boy she will meet in college and he will tell her that he likes her hair. It's all over after that.
Since seeing the film, I've been trying to think about what I was like at eleven.
I know that I had reached the height I would be (167cm) and had already reached puberty. It was really hard to buy age appropriate shoes.
I was bigger than everyone except the Egyptian girl Dahlia Aziz which meant I had to play Goal Defence or Goal Keeper in the netball team and was always cast in the male parts in school plays.
I had piano lessons, played for as many hours a day as I possible could and attended "gourmet cookery for children" classes with Mrs Quade at the TAFE in Toowoomba. This meant I cooked dinner for the family on Tuesdays. I look back at the recipes and laugh at the idea they were considered gourmet, but still remember techniques I learned there like how to skin fresh tomatoes for cooking.
I was in love with Bo Duke (played by John Schneider), the blond one from the TV show, "The Dukes of Hazzard" and would throw a tantrum if I wasn't allowed to watch the show. My bedroom was wall-papered with pictures of him I had torn from American fan magazines.
I would ride my bike all over town. I was given a new bike after my brother dismantled my old one and had pieces left over after reassembly. My parents asked me to take the garbage outside which I did in a huff and returned. I hadn't even seen the brand new bike waiting for me!
Days would be consumed by reading novels, one after the other. I think it was at about this age I decided that I would read every novel in the school library, starting with the letter A. I think I made it to C.
It was at the age of eleven that my worst dental experience occurred, leaving me with a lifelong fear.
My best friend was Angela Seymour.
I think I was in love with Philip Hamilton or Treg Kleidon or one of those boys. I don't think it was reciprocated, but Philip did attend a college ball with me while we were at university.
I wanted to be an actress or a writer or a musician.
It's interesting to think how much of the person I am today, thirty years later, was evident at the age of eleven. A good age I think.
What were you like when you were eleven? Would you recognise yourself?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)