When it's horrible outside and I don't have to work I love to immerse myself in another world. It's the best way to watch quality television. Oh, and I get a lot of knitting done.
Sunday, 10 June 2012
Photo a day June - Best bit of my weekend
It's a quality television bonanza at the moment. I've been waiting for several of my favourite series to release their latest seasons (Breaking Bad, True Blood, Big Love, The Big C). I've also discovered some new ones (Justified, Game of Thrones, Treme, The Walking Dead, Shameless.)
When it's horrible outside and I don't have to work I love to immerse myself in another world. It's the best way to watch quality television. Oh, and I get a lot of knitting done.
When it's horrible outside and I don't have to work I love to immerse myself in another world. It's the best way to watch quality television. Oh, and I get a lot of knitting done.
Photo a day June - Your view today
I got all mixed up! "Your view today" was the photo a day theme for Saturday. I thought it was for Friday. Friday's theme was "6 o'clock" which I completely failed to meet. So I thought I'd show you my view over the last couple of days.
This is the "official" photo of my view yesterday. Wandering around the city in the rain after choir practice yesterday, this display of colour in Australia on Collins caught my eye. The umbrellas were suspended over about three floors. The bright colours were a lovely contrast to the grey Melbourne weather.
This was much better than my view the day before.
I spent Friday in this room at St Vincent's hospital. I wasn't unwell, I was working as a simulated patient for medical students' exams. That pale green they paint everything in hospitals with is enough to make me feel green around the gills. Add some very strong fluorescent lighting and you've got the perfect circumstances to drain life from otherwise healthy people.
If I looked a little to my left I could see this.
At 6 o'clock I was tucked in a Thai restaurant in a Melbourne laneway having a very early dinner with a friend who had also been working at St Vincent's. No photo of that.
There were two other lovely views from yesterday that I want to share with you.
Rather than drive to choir practice on a Saturday, I've started catching the train. It actually takes less time and is much cheaper. I have time to buy a coffee after I arrive at Flinders Street before my connecting train leaves and I always enjoy having reading time. Yesterday, the park at Clifton Hill looked particularly lovely. The trees with their thinning, brightly coloured foliage, the lush green grass sprinkled with the fallen leaves and the tree trunks black from the rain. I didn't mind walking in the rain when I could see such a lovely piece of nature. (I have used a filter on this photo to emphasise the contrast.)
Outside my rehearsal space there is a herb garden. It's lovely to watch it change through all the different seasons. In summer the aroma of basil permeates the garden. Here's what it looked like yesterday.
The window has a mirror finish and there's a seat to sit and contemplate. I love the brick wall behind it with its peeling paint.
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| My View Today (c) divacultura 2012 |
This was much better than my view the day before.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
If I looked a little to my left I could see this.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
At 6 o'clock I was tucked in a Thai restaurant in a Melbourne laneway having a very early dinner with a friend who had also been working at St Vincent's. No photo of that.
There were two other lovely views from yesterday that I want to share with you.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
Outside my rehearsal space there is a herb garden. It's lovely to watch it change through all the different seasons. In summer the aroma of basil permeates the garden. Here's what it looked like yesterday.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
Thursday, 7 June 2012
Photo a day June - DRINK
My take on today's word, "drink", is a little oblique.
In the midst of a cold, grey winter's day, I went for a walk to the village and suddenly there was sun! and blue sky! I stood where it was and drank in the sun.
* I have not used a filter on this photograph. The sky really was this blue and the sun really was shining for a nanosecond at about 4pm.
In the midst of a cold, grey winter's day, I went for a walk to the village and suddenly there was sun! and blue sky! I stood where it was and drank in the sun.
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| DRINK (c) divacultura 2012 |
Throw away papers - anyone reading?
I'm currently on hold. The hold muzak is falsely upbeat, but slightly static, like a radio station tuned in the cracks between the stations. Every 30 seconds or so, the muzak is interrupted with the news that my call is important, they're grateful for my patience and they'll be with me real soon.
I'm calling the local give away newspaper after another lot was dumped in a pile at the foot of the 28 letter boxes which serve my apartment block. Often I chase the pages down the street before dumping them in the recycling bins. Other times I'm picking up wet paper slurry after the pile of papers has been rained on for a few days and dumping it in the recycling bins. "Throw away" would be a more apt name.
It's hard to imagine that the people who produce the paper and the people who pay to advertise in it would be happy that this is how their product ends up.
Today I decided to pick one up and see what's in it. There were two free local papers. One of them had some stories of local interest, the other was really a vehicle for real estate advertising. Inside the two papers there were 19 junk mail catalogues. Nineteen! It's end of financial year so there's a big pitch for people to spend money in the hope that they will gain a tax benefit. If you're stuck for ideas, look no further than the junk mail.
After almost five minutes on hold Andrew answers my call. I describe the fate of his publication and he agrees that the delivery process renders the whole exercise pointless. My "complaint" will go through to the people who do the deliveries.
I mention my "no junk mail" label that I have on my letter box. His hackles go up. His newspaper is NOT junk mail. It's unaddressed mail. Apparently I need to apply a more comprehensive sticker. I'm beginning to understand why my crazy neighbour has sealed his letter box shut by attaching a metal plate. So that pile of paper slurry at the entrance to my building is unaddressed mail, NOT junk mail. Must remember that.
I've written before about my relationship with junk mail. Looking after the world I live in is something I am passionate about. I don't like litter. I don't like waste. It could be argued that the very existence of these throw aways is an exercise in both, regardless of how they are delivered. I don't even read the newspapers offered for sale. Dumping them in a pile sends the message that the producers think the same way. I'm sure the advertisers probably suspect this. This problem could be solved with some creative streamlining: advertisers can transfer money to a bank acccount somewhere. No need for paper, ink, time or recycling collection. Same result, less litter.
I'll be interested to see whether the distribution method changes in coming weeks.
Do you read the throw away papers? How about the catalogues? What do you do with them?
I'm calling the local give away newspaper after another lot was dumped in a pile at the foot of the 28 letter boxes which serve my apartment block. Often I chase the pages down the street before dumping them in the recycling bins. Other times I'm picking up wet paper slurry after the pile of papers has been rained on for a few days and dumping it in the recycling bins. "Throw away" would be a more apt name.
It's hard to imagine that the people who produce the paper and the people who pay to advertise in it would be happy that this is how their product ends up.
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| It hasn't rained today, so the newspaper soup is not evident. (c) divacultura 2012 |
Today I decided to pick one up and see what's in it. There were two free local papers. One of them had some stories of local interest, the other was really a vehicle for real estate advertising. Inside the two papers there were 19 junk mail catalogues. Nineteen! It's end of financial year so there's a big pitch for people to spend money in the hope that they will gain a tax benefit. If you're stuck for ideas, look no further than the junk mail.
After almost five minutes on hold Andrew answers my call. I describe the fate of his publication and he agrees that the delivery process renders the whole exercise pointless. My "complaint" will go through to the people who do the deliveries.
I mention my "no junk mail" label that I have on my letter box. His hackles go up. His newspaper is NOT junk mail. It's unaddressed mail. Apparently I need to apply a more comprehensive sticker. I'm beginning to understand why my crazy neighbour has sealed his letter box shut by attaching a metal plate. So that pile of paper slurry at the entrance to my building is unaddressed mail, NOT junk mail. Must remember that.
I've written before about my relationship with junk mail. Looking after the world I live in is something I am passionate about. I don't like litter. I don't like waste. It could be argued that the very existence of these throw aways is an exercise in both, regardless of how they are delivered. I don't even read the newspapers offered for sale. Dumping them in a pile sends the message that the producers think the same way. I'm sure the advertisers probably suspect this. This problem could be solved with some creative streamlining: advertisers can transfer money to a bank acccount somewhere. No need for paper, ink, time or recycling collection. Same result, less litter.
I'll be interested to see whether the distribution method changes in coming weeks.
Do you read the throw away papers? How about the catalogues? What do you do with them?
Wednesday, 6 June 2012
What are they flogging: how to tell if you're in regional Australia
Visiting Shepparton this week allowed me to sample the local television ads. It's one of the things that I notice as a place marker in this increasingly monocultural world and I always like to take a look. Of course, while I was doing this, I also noticed some other things about television ads that are currently playing. Generally, I'm a watcher of the ABC and so don't see many ads, but there are two shows that I'm currently watching on commercial television: The Voice on Channel 9 and Downton Abbey on Channel 7.
If you turn on the television and see someone who is clearly the business owner rather than an actor, you know you're in regional Australia. Vin may be the world's greatest pest controller, but does that mean he makes for great TV? No it doesn't. Vin should stick to hunting down cockroaches and torturing mice. Sometimes, you won't see the business owner in the ad, you'll hear them instead. I do occasional voice-over work so I know what we cost, but I also know that we're sooooo worth it! There is an art to doing voice-over, just as there is an art to lubricating a car engine. How about we respect each other's skills and stick to what we're great at?
If you're not sure where you are, turn on the television and put it on a commerical channel. What's being advertised? If it's sheep dip and herbicide you're in farming and grazing territory. If there's an actual farmer running his (for he's always a bloke) hands through the dirt or the fleece on the sheep's back, then double your chances you're in regional Australia. And double the distance you are from a capital city.
I first noticed this phenomenon when I was at boarding school in Toowoomba. There was an ad for fertiliser to help your sunflower crop along. It featured an animated sunflower which uttered a groan as it shrivelled and died before our very eyes. The voice-over man gravely warned us that we could avoid this happening to our sunflower crops. Although I didn't have then, haven't had since, don't have now and probably won't have in the future, a sunflower crop, I remember this ad vividly. I think it was the humour. After we heard the sound of a dying sunflower, the voice-over man's script required him to say, "Let's hear that again", forcing us to relive the terrible sounds of a dying sunflower. Imagine if you had a whole paddack of dying sunflowers? The sound would be deafening. And hilarious. Unfortunately, while I remember the ad, I don't remember the product. What will I do if I ever do grow sunflowers? How will I save them from certain death?
Sheep suffering from all kinds of unimaginable afflictions also made strange sounds in television ads.
Unlikely copy writing in television ads is another clue that you're in regional Australia. This one can be tricky though - it could also mean it's 1 o'clock on Saturday morning and you know you'll regret opening that second bottle of red wine. A prime example I noticed this week was "Grouse Grout". It even had a jingle. Grout isn't usually front of my mind. If I was in a situation where I was required to think about grout I'm not sure that "grouse" would be in my top ten list of Essential Grout Qualities. But what would I know? Nothing. About grout. Anyway.
Along with locally produced ads, a smattering of other ads was also screened. Two stood out: KFC's campaign about canola oil and Proactiv's pitch to teenage boys.
KFC's latest pitch hinges on the "word" 'goodification'. Blah. It's so horrible that they have an explanatory clip on You Tube. Years of poor teaching of grammar is clearly paying dividends now as the generation of kids who were taught on the basis of "it doesn't matter how you spell it as long as everyone understands what you mean" grow up and start working for ad agencies. That's all I have to say about that one.
Proactiv is a skin care brand aimed at acne afflicted teenagers. Usually they target girls, so it was refreshing to see the pitch to the fellas. It featured a BMX bike riding star. He talked about how he likes bumps on a BMX track, but not when they're on his face. Talk about bumpy scripting! He talked about how his acne made him feel. I was right there with him until he told me that his acne was affecting his BMX racing. Seriously.
There was a time when ads were great. They had great jingles or were funny or were memorable for good reasons. Can't think of any right now.
What ads have you noticed lately? Do have a favourite ad? Or what's the one that makes you yell at the television?
If you turn on the television and see someone who is clearly the business owner rather than an actor, you know you're in regional Australia. Vin may be the world's greatest pest controller, but does that mean he makes for great TV? No it doesn't. Vin should stick to hunting down cockroaches and torturing mice. Sometimes, you won't see the business owner in the ad, you'll hear them instead. I do occasional voice-over work so I know what we cost, but I also know that we're sooooo worth it! There is an art to doing voice-over, just as there is an art to lubricating a car engine. How about we respect each other's skills and stick to what we're great at?
If you're not sure where you are, turn on the television and put it on a commerical channel. What's being advertised? If it's sheep dip and herbicide you're in farming and grazing territory. If there's an actual farmer running his (for he's always a bloke) hands through the dirt or the fleece on the sheep's back, then double your chances you're in regional Australia. And double the distance you are from a capital city.
I first noticed this phenomenon when I was at boarding school in Toowoomba. There was an ad for fertiliser to help your sunflower crop along. It featured an animated sunflower which uttered a groan as it shrivelled and died before our very eyes. The voice-over man gravely warned us that we could avoid this happening to our sunflower crops. Although I didn't have then, haven't had since, don't have now and probably won't have in the future, a sunflower crop, I remember this ad vividly. I think it was the humour. After we heard the sound of a dying sunflower, the voice-over man's script required him to say, "Let's hear that again", forcing us to relive the terrible sounds of a dying sunflower. Imagine if you had a whole paddack of dying sunflowers? The sound would be deafening. And hilarious. Unfortunately, while I remember the ad, I don't remember the product. What will I do if I ever do grow sunflowers? How will I save them from certain death?
Sheep suffering from all kinds of unimaginable afflictions also made strange sounds in television ads.
Unlikely copy writing in television ads is another clue that you're in regional Australia. This one can be tricky though - it could also mean it's 1 o'clock on Saturday morning and you know you'll regret opening that second bottle of red wine. A prime example I noticed this week was "Grouse Grout". It even had a jingle. Grout isn't usually front of my mind. If I was in a situation where I was required to think about grout I'm not sure that "grouse" would be in my top ten list of Essential Grout Qualities. But what would I know? Nothing. About grout. Anyway.
Along with locally produced ads, a smattering of other ads was also screened. Two stood out: KFC's campaign about canola oil and Proactiv's pitch to teenage boys.
KFC's latest pitch hinges on the "word" 'goodification'. Blah. It's so horrible that they have an explanatory clip on You Tube. Years of poor teaching of grammar is clearly paying dividends now as the generation of kids who were taught on the basis of "it doesn't matter how you spell it as long as everyone understands what you mean" grow up and start working for ad agencies. That's all I have to say about that one.
Proactiv is a skin care brand aimed at acne afflicted teenagers. Usually they target girls, so it was refreshing to see the pitch to the fellas. It featured a BMX bike riding star. He talked about how he likes bumps on a BMX track, but not when they're on his face. Talk about bumpy scripting! He talked about how his acne made him feel. I was right there with him until he told me that his acne was affecting his BMX racing. Seriously.
There was a time when ads were great. They had great jingles or were funny or were memorable for good reasons. Can't think of any right now.
What ads have you noticed lately? Do have a favourite ad? Or what's the one that makes you yell at the television?
Photo a day June - HAT
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| HAT (c) divacultura 2012 |
Monday, 4 June 2012
Photo a day June - CLOSE UP - and thoughts on sock knitting
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| CLOSE UP (c) divacultura 2012 |
This is where all the action happens in a sock. There's the heel flap (at the left of the photo). This is knitted back and forth (rather than in the round like the rest of the sock.) At the bottom is where the heel is "turned". You might remember this moment from reading "Little Women". They always seemed to be turning a heel or on the brink of turning a heel.
The diagonal line is where the gusset of the sock is being decreased to continue on and knit the rest of the foot.
I've now made 59 pairs of socks. I made the first pair in September 2008 as skill development. Everyone seemed to be knitting socks and so I decided to learn. I bought a book and I looked at you tube for some of the techniques. It took me two weeks to finish the first pair. I still have them and still wear them. My socks last me for a long time. I've seen other friends wear through theirs in a very short space of time. I wonder why?
Socks are the perfect place to learn knew stitches and approaches. The scale is small so mistakes don't cost a lot of time. I read somewhere over the weekend that it's good to make your mistakes fast. Lately I've just been "auto knitting" plain socks from the top down. I have all the numbers in my head and can make them without any reference to a pattern now. I'm doing this because I have a big stash of gorgeous sock yarn which I really need to use. So I am.
Hand knitted socks also make lovely gifts. Many of my friends and family are wearing my hand knitted socks right now. They are always received gratefully. My father loves them. Apart from feeling wonderful on the feet, they aren't so tight around the leg that the foot is at risk of falling off. It has also solved the dilemma of what to give the person who has everything. At least my current mission to knit through my stash has resulted in a healthy stockpile of gifts. I can also go shopping in my own home when I feel the need for a new pair.
Often I'm asked how much I sell my socks for. I've made a decision not to offer them for sale. After purchasing the yarn and fairly considering my investment of time, the selling price would be around $175 - more if the yarn is a "luxury" yarn with cashmere or silk in it. I'm not sure there's a market for socks at this price. Instead, I offer to teach people how to knit their own. None of my prospective students have turned into actual students yet.
I've recently signed up for some on-line classes to build my skills. One is for "toe-up" socks. I just need to find some clear air and be in the mood. It will be interesting to see how different it is from going cuff-down. The other class I've signed up for is called Mastering Lace Shawls. I've watched the first class and wound the two huge skeins of lace yarn into usable cakes. I think I'm going to need to have my wits about me!
Are you a sock knitter? Are you a sock wearer? What do you look for in a sock?
Sunday, 3 June 2012
Gothic in the suburbs - it's a two crow day
Two crows sit on the roof of the apartment block opposite. Still and black and looming. Against the grey sky they look like a Gothic omen; a motif used by a film director of a film set in the swamps of Louisiana. Their shadows loom over the other birds who are minding their own business and getting on with their day - small brown birds swooping and enjoying each other's company.
The crows sit in judgement. The collective noun springs to mind. (A murder of crows.) Their occasional "FAAAAR, FAAAAR, FAAAaaaaa" cut through the winter air. The small brown birds stop when they hear it, then go back to the spot they were pecking on the ground.
Impatience does not sit well with the crows and they lazily fly to join the small brown birds. The cast of the shadow is enough to make the small brown birds fly away.
This went on for a couple of hours this morning.
There is something about a big, black crow that makes me uneasy. It is probably because of all that Gothic symbolism used in films. Black crows appearing outside usually mean bad news is coming in a film. Especially if you see them reflected in a mirror!
When I saw two crows hanging around this morning, I turned all my mirrors to face the wall. It's enough to have one crow hanging around; I wasn't going to take any risks with two.
I tried to take a photo, but every time I would step outside with the camera they would fly away. Growing up on a farm, my mother always told me that you can't shoot a crow. She meant that they will not be shot. I remember asking why. I think the answer was along the lines of "they know".
Film makers probably came up with the crow as an omen for bad news because writers had used them before there was film. I hope that writers just dreamt them up and that their power is merely imagined. The other possibility is awful to imagine - that crows are an omen for bad news in film because they are a warning of bad things to come in life.
I'm going out to chase the crows away so I can watch the next episode of True Blood in peace. With the grey skies it is positively Gothic over here in Yarraville.
The crows sit in judgement. The collective noun springs to mind. (A murder of crows.) Their occasional "FAAAAR, FAAAAR, FAAAaaaaa" cut through the winter air. The small brown birds stop when they hear it, then go back to the spot they were pecking on the ground.
Impatience does not sit well with the crows and they lazily fly to join the small brown birds. The cast of the shadow is enough to make the small brown birds fly away.
This went on for a couple of hours this morning.
There is something about a big, black crow that makes me uneasy. It is probably because of all that Gothic symbolism used in films. Black crows appearing outside usually mean bad news is coming in a film. Especially if you see them reflected in a mirror!
When I saw two crows hanging around this morning, I turned all my mirrors to face the wall. It's enough to have one crow hanging around; I wasn't going to take any risks with two.
I tried to take a photo, but every time I would step outside with the camera they would fly away. Growing up on a farm, my mother always told me that you can't shoot a crow. She meant that they will not be shot. I remember asking why. I think the answer was along the lines of "they know".
Film makers probably came up with the crow as an omen for bad news because writers had used them before there was film. I hope that writers just dreamt them up and that their power is merely imagined. The other possibility is awful to imagine - that crows are an omen for bad news in film because they are a warning of bad things to come in life.
I'm going out to chase the crows away so I can watch the next episode of True Blood in peace. With the grey skies it is positively Gothic over here in Yarraville.
Photo a day June - ON YOUR PLATE
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| ON YOUR PLATE (c) divacultura 2012 |
I love the combination of fruit cake with a cup of strong tea. Blacksmith's tea loaf is even better because main liquid ingredient is strong black tea. I made this loaf with wholemeal spelt flour and it's delicious. My hair still smells like the loaf coming out of the oven.
I'm having a lazy day today. I've been watching television. I don't feel guilty about it though. I've finished a pair of socks I started only a few days ago and now have started to knit my own design! It's been in my head for a few weeks and I'm now playing around. So I guess I'm not that lazy. My hands are never idle. I'd never be able to sit and watch television for hours on end without doing something else!
I'm putting the kettle on. Who's for a cuppa?
Saturday, 2 June 2012
Photo a day June - EMPTY
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| EMPTY (c) divacultura 2012 |
Friday, 1 June 2012
Photo a day June - Morning
Has it really been a few months since I accepted the challenge to participate in Fat Mum Slim's photo a day challenge? It was MARCH. Now it's JUNE. Good grief!
I've decided to commit for June.
Today's word is MORNING.
I took this on my way to the Wheeler Centre today with my iphone. I've posted it to instagram, but I used no filter. Sometimes, it's great just the way it is!
Here's the list. Why not join in?
I've decided to commit for June.
Today's word is MORNING.
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| MORNING (c) divacultura 2012 |
Here's the list. Why not join in?
Emerging Writers' Festival Blogging Masterclass - being a good person
I've been locked in a classroom since 11am today. I am tired. My brain is full. I paid for the privilege. I'm pleased and inspired. I've been at the Blogging Masterclass presented by the Emerging Writers' Festival at the Wheeler Centre. Apart from the presenters themselves, I had some really interesting conversations with other participants, took pages of notes and had the unexpected pleasure of spending the day with Rose Wintergreen.
divacultura will celebrate her first birthday in July, so it's timely to be drinking inspiration and thinking about what I'm doing. My tool kit is bursting and my well of ideas is chockablock.
One of the things I loved most about today was the level of contradiction amongst the presenters. It highlights that blogging can be anything you want it to be and for any purpose at all. It's up to you! I plan to think about everything I heard today. Some things I may implement. They may work or fail. Other things I already know will be discarded because they don't fit with my personal philosophy and purpose.
Many times today, I felt myself thinking that I had already written on the subject being discussed; in particular the value of reciprocity and good will. My post "In the flow" holds really true. John Tjhia (blogger for the Wheeler Centre) resonated when he said that social media works the same as social encounters in the real world. His motto? "Try to be a good person". So simple.
As I have time to reflect I'll be writing about today's discussions and what I'm thinking as a result.
Feeling inspired is a wonderful, wonderful thing!
What inspired you today?
divacultura will celebrate her first birthday in July, so it's timely to be drinking inspiration and thinking about what I'm doing. My tool kit is bursting and my well of ideas is chockablock.
One of the things I loved most about today was the level of contradiction amongst the presenters. It highlights that blogging can be anything you want it to be and for any purpose at all. It's up to you! I plan to think about everything I heard today. Some things I may implement. They may work or fail. Other things I already know will be discarded because they don't fit with my personal philosophy and purpose.
Many times today, I felt myself thinking that I had already written on the subject being discussed; in particular the value of reciprocity and good will. My post "In the flow" holds really true. John Tjhia (blogger for the Wheeler Centre) resonated when he said that social media works the same as social encounters in the real world. His motto? "Try to be a good person". So simple.
As I have time to reflect I'll be writing about today's discussions and what I'm thinking as a result.
Feeling inspired is a wonderful, wonderful thing!
What inspired you today?
Thursday, 31 May 2012
Countdown to winter.
There is half an hour left of autumn for the year. In thirty minutes it will be winter. Officially. Mother nature blessed us with a final, stunning day, representative of the best of autumn - clear, blue sky, 18 degrees Celsius, still. I knew it was going to be like this, so I had the washing machine going early to maximise drying time out in the air.
My kitchen faces north and at this time of year, on a day like today, if I position a chair just so, it is like a sun room. So I do. I pull up a chair and I roll up my sleeves and I take some sun. As I write this, I'm mentally making a note to ask my doctor whether I can absorb vitamin D through glass.
The phone was working overtime today. This morning it was so constant that I didn't have my shower and get out of my pyjamas until about noon. It wasn't because I was lazing about either. I was working. Being able to do it in your pyjamas is one of the joys of working from home. I don't work in my pyjamas on a week day very often. Even though I have lovely pyjamas, I get dressed for work as part of gearing up mentally.
Anyway, I was drying off after my shower when I heard Skype calling on the computer. My brother and I work together via Skype and usually we've made a specific time to meet. I went out to answer the call - it was my brother - and almost accidentally pressed the "answer with video" option. Thankfully, for everyone, I didn't. Dashing naked from the shower to the desk at home is one thing, broadcasting via Skype is a whole other ball game. Everyone is okay.
I had some errands to run and took advantage of the day by walking the long way round. Crackling and swooshing through the papery autumn leaves is another one of my favourite things to do. It took ages for the leaves to change and fall this year and now suddenly, on the last day of autumn, there are plenty taking up the footpaths.
Heading to St Kilda this evening was gorgeous at about 5pm. The blue in the sky was darkening, tipped with blush pink and highlighted with golden streaks. Being in slow moving traffic over the Westgate Bridge did not bother me one bit when there was a sky like that as backdrop.
After dinner with a friend and opening night of a play, I was looking forward to a quick trip back home. My hopes were dashed when I turned on the car radio and heard that there had been an accident and the Westgate was closed in both directions. I sighed. I would have to drive the long way around. Instead of 20 minutes, it took 40. Five minutes from home I was pulled over for random breath testing. I'd had no alcohol to drink yet I still feel hot and guilty whenever I'm pulled over. They're streamlining too: no questions about what I'd had to drink tonight. Straight in with the request to "blow until I say stop". I always run out of breath and then fear inadequacy. I'm an actor and a singer for goodness sake. I have more breath than THAT!
With twelve minutes to go before winter's arrival, I'm happy to be in my electric-blanketed bed with its white sheets and big, square pillows. I imagine how much more I will appreciate it in winter.
My kitchen faces north and at this time of year, on a day like today, if I position a chair just so, it is like a sun room. So I do. I pull up a chair and I roll up my sleeves and I take some sun. As I write this, I'm mentally making a note to ask my doctor whether I can absorb vitamin D through glass.
The phone was working overtime today. This morning it was so constant that I didn't have my shower and get out of my pyjamas until about noon. It wasn't because I was lazing about either. I was working. Being able to do it in your pyjamas is one of the joys of working from home. I don't work in my pyjamas on a week day very often. Even though I have lovely pyjamas, I get dressed for work as part of gearing up mentally.
Anyway, I was drying off after my shower when I heard Skype calling on the computer. My brother and I work together via Skype and usually we've made a specific time to meet. I went out to answer the call - it was my brother - and almost accidentally pressed the "answer with video" option. Thankfully, for everyone, I didn't. Dashing naked from the shower to the desk at home is one thing, broadcasting via Skype is a whole other ball game. Everyone is okay.
I had some errands to run and took advantage of the day by walking the long way round. Crackling and swooshing through the papery autumn leaves is another one of my favourite things to do. It took ages for the leaves to change and fall this year and now suddenly, on the last day of autumn, there are plenty taking up the footpaths.
Heading to St Kilda this evening was gorgeous at about 5pm. The blue in the sky was darkening, tipped with blush pink and highlighted with golden streaks. Being in slow moving traffic over the Westgate Bridge did not bother me one bit when there was a sky like that as backdrop.
After dinner with a friend and opening night of a play, I was looking forward to a quick trip back home. My hopes were dashed when I turned on the car radio and heard that there had been an accident and the Westgate was closed in both directions. I sighed. I would have to drive the long way around. Instead of 20 minutes, it took 40. Five minutes from home I was pulled over for random breath testing. I'd had no alcohol to drink yet I still feel hot and guilty whenever I'm pulled over. They're streamlining too: no questions about what I'd had to drink tonight. Straight in with the request to "blow until I say stop". I always run out of breath and then fear inadequacy. I'm an actor and a singer for goodness sake. I have more breath than THAT!
With twelve minutes to go before winter's arrival, I'm happy to be in my electric-blanketed bed with its white sheets and big, square pillows. I imagine how much more I will appreciate it in winter.
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
Please ask me before you share.
It's 'flu season. I don't have it, but after being on public transport today I've increased my zinc dosage and positive thinking shield in the hope that I will remain untouched. As I catch public transport everywhere I know it's probably just a matter of time.
Travelling home this evening, I was encased in a carriage with a man who was sweating so much he had to mop his face with a handkerchief repeatedly during the journey. He was coughing without covering his mouth, generously sharing whatever he was carrying with all of us and doing that revolting super sniff. I'm not talking about mere sniffing where one breathes in through the nose. I'm talking about the action that results in whatever is residing in the nasal passages being inhaled back down the throat. Oh the sound that signals that! It is a beastly symphony! Worse than the soundtrack of a horror film.
One person making these sounds within a carriage seems to trigger the sinuses and throats of at least half of the fellow passengers. Soon it becomes a percussive symphony, threatening illness with every beat, every vibration.
At one level there is the rhythmic sniffer, recognisable by the single sniff every four beats or so. It doesn't sound particularly congested but it IS annoying. If they are nearby, I usually offer a tissue. They either take the tissue or they shut up.
Add in coughers at various pitches. The wet tenor cough, awful with rattling. Sometimes in harmony with a soprano toddler who is guaranteed to not cover the mouth. The dry barking baritone, usually played in triplets, offering interest with the cross rhythm it adds.
It's hard to believe that all of this is is barely enough to drown out the loud talkers on mobile phones revealing private details of their sex lives, deception of parents, financial failings and the more mundane bitching about co-workers and flatmates.
Days like today help me understand why Japanese people are frequently seen wearing masks. I breathe into my scarf, am choosy about what I touch when I'm out and about and avoid touching my face or putting my fingers in my mouth. I often refuse to shake hands or if this is not possible I carry hand sanitiser in my hand bag. I use it after touching things that are likely to be germ laden and before and after I eat. Can you imagine what would be on the handles in trains, the rails on escalators and staircases...and money? Shudder. When I'm home, I just wash my hands.
As far as I know, I don't suffer from OCD but I will suffer if I can't work and therefore can't earn an income.
As a community service, I wish everyone would be considerate about when and how they share their germs and diseases. Asking permission before you cough all over me would be polite. And I will refuse permission every time!
Travelling home this evening, I was encased in a carriage with a man who was sweating so much he had to mop his face with a handkerchief repeatedly during the journey. He was coughing without covering his mouth, generously sharing whatever he was carrying with all of us and doing that revolting super sniff. I'm not talking about mere sniffing where one breathes in through the nose. I'm talking about the action that results in whatever is residing in the nasal passages being inhaled back down the throat. Oh the sound that signals that! It is a beastly symphony! Worse than the soundtrack of a horror film.
One person making these sounds within a carriage seems to trigger the sinuses and throats of at least half of the fellow passengers. Soon it becomes a percussive symphony, threatening illness with every beat, every vibration.
At one level there is the rhythmic sniffer, recognisable by the single sniff every four beats or so. It doesn't sound particularly congested but it IS annoying. If they are nearby, I usually offer a tissue. They either take the tissue or they shut up.
Add in coughers at various pitches. The wet tenor cough, awful with rattling. Sometimes in harmony with a soprano toddler who is guaranteed to not cover the mouth. The dry barking baritone, usually played in triplets, offering interest with the cross rhythm it adds.
It's hard to believe that all of this is is barely enough to drown out the loud talkers on mobile phones revealing private details of their sex lives, deception of parents, financial failings and the more mundane bitching about co-workers and flatmates.
Days like today help me understand why Japanese people are frequently seen wearing masks. I breathe into my scarf, am choosy about what I touch when I'm out and about and avoid touching my face or putting my fingers in my mouth. I often refuse to shake hands or if this is not possible I carry hand sanitiser in my hand bag. I use it after touching things that are likely to be germ laden and before and after I eat. Can you imagine what would be on the handles in trains, the rails on escalators and staircases...and money? Shudder. When I'm home, I just wash my hands.
As far as I know, I don't suffer from OCD but I will suffer if I can't work and therefore can't earn an income.
As a community service, I wish everyone would be considerate about when and how they share their germs and diseases. Asking permission before you cough all over me would be polite. And I will refuse permission every time!
Tuesday, 29 May 2012
Facilitating in a virtual classroom.
Today I did something I've never done before. I facilitated in a virtual classroom. The students in the classroom were spread out over the Northern Territory and Western Australia and I was in my home in Melbourne! Technology is providing some amazing opportunities and I'm quickly learning that the more versatile I am as a facilitator, the more people are likely to want to hire me.
In case you're wondering what a virtual classroom is, it's like a webinar, but this term usually applies to meetings, rather than learning situations. There's a web based platform which provides the visual component and participants can interact by pointing, writing and highlighting. This is accompanied by voice, either using VOIP (voice over internet protocol) or a good old fashioned conference call. Web cams can also come into play and provide visibility of participants.
The material I was delivering today is material I am extremely familiar with. I've been facilitating the program regularly in a face to face classroom situation over the last nine months. Usually the program runs for a whole day, but in the virtual classroom it has been redesigned to be delivered as five 1 hour modules. With some good design work and really thinking about the "essence" of each part, it's an impressive transition.
A few things made it really work for me today:
1. Early reminders for all participants about etiquette for participating. Mostly this was similar to good practice for telephone conferences - say your name when you speak, use your mute button when you're not speaking. It was up to me as facilitator to model good behaviour and gently, consistently, remind participants. Years of practise chairing telephone conferences came in very handy!
2. Patience as participants learn how to use the platform. It was important for me to have a thorough understanding too so that I could incorporate instructions regularly.
3. A fear free approach to silence. This learning environment requires some heavy duty multi-tasking for everyone. Some people are better than others at doing this. It's important to remember that participants need to hear the question, think about the question, come up with an answer and then use the tools to share their answer. All of this is happening in the silence. In the facilitator's chair, the time taken before the first response appears can feel like hours. To participants it's much shorter - they have a lot to do!
The word "facilitator" comes from the French word faciliter which means "to render easy" and from the Latin word facilis meaning "easy". I always carry awareness of the meaning of the word with me as I approach any facilitation work. Today, I really saw it come to life.
In case you're wondering what a virtual classroom is, it's like a webinar, but this term usually applies to meetings, rather than learning situations. There's a web based platform which provides the visual component and participants can interact by pointing, writing and highlighting. This is accompanied by voice, either using VOIP (voice over internet protocol) or a good old fashioned conference call. Web cams can also come into play and provide visibility of participants.
The material I was delivering today is material I am extremely familiar with. I've been facilitating the program regularly in a face to face classroom situation over the last nine months. Usually the program runs for a whole day, but in the virtual classroom it has been redesigned to be delivered as five 1 hour modules. With some good design work and really thinking about the "essence" of each part, it's an impressive transition.
A few things made it really work for me today:
1. Early reminders for all participants about etiquette for participating. Mostly this was similar to good practice for telephone conferences - say your name when you speak, use your mute button when you're not speaking. It was up to me as facilitator to model good behaviour and gently, consistently, remind participants. Years of practise chairing telephone conferences came in very handy!
2. Patience as participants learn how to use the platform. It was important for me to have a thorough understanding too so that I could incorporate instructions regularly.
3. A fear free approach to silence. This learning environment requires some heavy duty multi-tasking for everyone. Some people are better than others at doing this. It's important to remember that participants need to hear the question, think about the question, come up with an answer and then use the tools to share their answer. All of this is happening in the silence. In the facilitator's chair, the time taken before the first response appears can feel like hours. To participants it's much shorter - they have a lot to do!
The word "facilitator" comes from the French word faciliter which means "to render easy" and from the Latin word facilis meaning "easy". I always carry awareness of the meaning of the word with me as I approach any facilitation work. Today, I really saw it come to life.
The best thing of all was the level of engagement among the group. Incredible, considering how far apart we all were!
Are you harnessing technology to support your people in creative and effective ways?
Monday, 28 May 2012
Warning! Danger! Read the instructions.
I've just pulled my new slow cooker out of the packaging.
I always read the instructions before doing anything with a new appliance. Having read these ones I'm wondering whether I'll be able to use it!
From the list under the heading "IMPORTANT":
Always use the Kambrook Essentials Slow Cooker on a dry, level surface. Finally I have a use for the the spirit level app on my iphone.
Do not use on metal surfaces, for example, a sink drain board. Lucky I'm not working in the new kitchen with aluminium benchtops.
Use the Kambrook Essentials Slow Cooker well away from walls. Hmmm. I have a small kitchen with small benches. The benches are near the walls. The cord on the appliance isn't that long.
Do not use in moving vehicles or boats. OK.
Then there is a list of things which are written for stupid people: be careful it's hot! Don't hang half of the appliance off the edge of the bench (how would you even do that?). Don't use it outside. Don't let children play with the appliance - it's not a toy.
No it's not a toy. It's clearly a very dangerous and complex item that mixes electricity with liquid and it gets hot!
All things considered, I should be able to use it safely by placing it in the middle of the kitchen floor!
I always read the instructions before doing anything with a new appliance. Having read these ones I'm wondering whether I'll be able to use it!
From the list under the heading "IMPORTANT":
Always use the Kambrook Essentials Slow Cooker on a dry, level surface. Finally I have a use for the the spirit level app on my iphone.
Do not use on metal surfaces, for example, a sink drain board. Lucky I'm not working in the new kitchen with aluminium benchtops.
Use the Kambrook Essentials Slow Cooker well away from walls. Hmmm. I have a small kitchen with small benches. The benches are near the walls. The cord on the appliance isn't that long.
Do not use in moving vehicles or boats. OK.
Then there is a list of things which are written for stupid people: be careful it's hot! Don't hang half of the appliance off the edge of the bench (how would you even do that?). Don't use it outside. Don't let children play with the appliance - it's not a toy.
No it's not a toy. It's clearly a very dangerous and complex item that mixes electricity with liquid and it gets hot!
All things considered, I should be able to use it safely by placing it in the middle of the kitchen floor!
Behaving badly
On Saturday night I went to the cinema with a friend. While I go to the movies regularly, it's been a while since I've been there during a peak time. These days I go during a weekday when I don't have work on. It's a much more pleasant experience being at the movies when there are hardly any other people filling the other seats. I also tend to see art house films where the audience tends to be filled with film buffs who take the experience of watching a film seriously.
My experience on Saturday night left me shaking my head.
We were seeing "Bel Ami" and were allocated seats in the second row from the front. The film was screening in one of the small cinemas at Yarraville's Sun Theatre and we decided to see how we went. If it was too close we could come out in the first ten minutes and have our tickets refunded.
The Sun doesn't show a lot of ads before the sessions start, so you don't have fifteen minutes of slack; you really need to arrive on time. In the smaller cinemas, people standing up or walking to their seats will result in a silhouette of their head being superimposed over the film on the screen.
The film had just started when a pair of latecomers arrived and discovered other people sitting in their seats. Instead of everyone resolving it quickly and politely, there was an extended, robust discussion about seating arrangements. They were right in the middle of the cinema and therefore were also in the line of the projector. Everyone was turning around to see what the commotion was and then the inevitable shushing began. I'm not sure how they resolved the issue but eventually they must have as the noise subsided and the silhouettes disappeared.
To the left of where my friend and I were seated was a group of three women. I'm not sure why they bothered to pay for a ticket to go to the cinema. They spent most of the film reading emails and sending text messages on their mobile phones. They also consulted extensively with each other over the content of the messages and the drafting of their replies. It was incredible! The film seemed entirely incidental to their world, let alone the fact that other people had also paid and were interested in actually watching the film. Shushing did nothing to modify their behaviour.
Ushers would have been helpful, I think. I remember seeing another film where a group of people were so inconsiderate in their behaviour that in desperation I left the cinema to find an usher to come and deal with the situation. It worked, but it seemed unfair that I had had to step out of the film and that the people concerned had not responded to requests for them to, er, shut up.
What's the etiquette these days? Am I being unreasonable to expect to be able to enjoy a film without being disrupted by the behaviour of other patrons? What do you do to silence the rabble when you're at the cinema?
My experience on Saturday night left me shaking my head.
We were seeing "Bel Ami" and were allocated seats in the second row from the front. The film was screening in one of the small cinemas at Yarraville's Sun Theatre and we decided to see how we went. If it was too close we could come out in the first ten minutes and have our tickets refunded.
The Sun doesn't show a lot of ads before the sessions start, so you don't have fifteen minutes of slack; you really need to arrive on time. In the smaller cinemas, people standing up or walking to their seats will result in a silhouette of their head being superimposed over the film on the screen.
The film had just started when a pair of latecomers arrived and discovered other people sitting in their seats. Instead of everyone resolving it quickly and politely, there was an extended, robust discussion about seating arrangements. They were right in the middle of the cinema and therefore were also in the line of the projector. Everyone was turning around to see what the commotion was and then the inevitable shushing began. I'm not sure how they resolved the issue but eventually they must have as the noise subsided and the silhouettes disappeared.
To the left of where my friend and I were seated was a group of three women. I'm not sure why they bothered to pay for a ticket to go to the cinema. They spent most of the film reading emails and sending text messages on their mobile phones. They also consulted extensively with each other over the content of the messages and the drafting of their replies. It was incredible! The film seemed entirely incidental to their world, let alone the fact that other people had also paid and were interested in actually watching the film. Shushing did nothing to modify their behaviour.
Ushers would have been helpful, I think. I remember seeing another film where a group of people were so inconsiderate in their behaviour that in desperation I left the cinema to find an usher to come and deal with the situation. It worked, but it seemed unfair that I had had to step out of the film and that the people concerned had not responded to requests for them to, er, shut up.
What's the etiquette these days? Am I being unreasonable to expect to be able to enjoy a film without being disrupted by the behaviour of other patrons? What do you do to silence the rabble when you're at the cinema?
Sunday, 27 May 2012
Beware the stick figures and salmon balls
A couple of things I saw today caused me to raise my eyebrows.
A blackboard menu outside a cafe was offering "salmon balls" for lunch. For a mere $15 too. I was pleased that the usual penchant for ill-placed apostrophes hadn't taken hold. Offering "salmon's balls", or even "salmons' balls" would have delayed me significantly, as I would have been forced to satisfy both my appetite and my curiosity.
Later, I was visiting my local K-mart on the quest to add a slow cooker to my kitchen. The store is on the lower ground level and entry and exit are via travelators (you know, escalators, but without the steps). The one on the left was not moving and the one on the right was travelling up. I stood at the top, wondering what to do. There were several aggressive signs advising that walking on the travelator is "prohibited", but the only way down was to walk on the travelator. I stood there contemplating. There was a teenage boy standing at the bottom of the travelator holding an armful of store catalogues. No doubt he had some special punishment powers available to him when people - like me, for instance - breached the prohibition on walking.
I decided to risk it. Luckily, as I neared the end of my walk, he was distracted by a small African boy. But that small African boy was not distracting enough and was gone, just as I walked off the end of the travelator. The teenage boy noticed me and called out "Hello!" as I scurried past. I kept walking without looking back. Phew! That was close!
Having completed my purchase, I thought it would be easy to exit without breaking the law as the travelator was moving upwards and towards the exit. I would just stand there and wouldn't walk at all. Except for the bit at the beginning where I walked on to the travelator. And the other bit at the end, where I walked off the travelator. I resented being turned into a criminal.
So there I was, just standing, enjoying the leisurely journey up to street level (they had the speed set to a smidgen faster than glacial today), when I noticed another series of threatening signs. The first one said that the travelator was for "passengers only". I remain confused about the message conveyed by this sign. I think it referred to the fact that only passengers are permitted to travel on the travelator. But then, who else would be travelling on the travelator? Wouldn't everyone who stepped onto the travelator become a passenger by definition? Perhaps there had been a spate of livestock transitting through...but what would be the point of the sign? Sheep and cows probably don't read English. Or were they hoping to deter people moving their pianos and baby elephants on the travelator?
It was all very confusing.
Then there was a frightening sign where the stick figures on the travelator looked like they were receiving some kind of electric shock where they gripped the handrail. I know it was an electric shock because it was depicted with sharp, pointy and yellow lines. The same result could be achieved if they put their stick figure feet too near the edge of the travelator. The baby stick figures were receiving the same treatment.
Suddenly it all became clear! Stick figures had been wandering around Footscray, taking up space on K-mart's travelators, walking on them and everything! Something had to be done and so they were being told in the only language they understand - stick figure pictograms. It was stick-figureism at its most blatant. And in my neighbourhood too.
I'm far from being a stick figure. The signs weren't meant for me at all. Be careful though; those stick figures can be very dangerous when they venture off the page.
Friday, 25 May 2012
Modern day shopping centre fairytale
I know, I know! I've missed a couple of days. My excuse is this: I've spent two very intense days facilitating a program with a very challenging group of men and one woman. I was so tired over the last two nights that I was falling asleep over dinner and was in bed by 8 o'clock. I was even too tired to knit. This morning I woke up at about 7:30 and feel terrific after all that sleep!
Anyway, I want to tell you a story about something that happened to me a few weeks ago.
I was riding down an escalator in the city centre when I heard a man say, "Where am I to behold such beauty?"
I was in my own world and didn't turn around as it didn't seem possible that this comment was directed to me. The speaker was waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator. He had a wide smile and was looking at me intently. As I stepped off the escalator he approached me and repeated his rather Shakespearean statement.
"Melbourne?" I responded, the upward inflection betraying my uncertainty.
I could feel myself blushing under his scrutiny. One part of my brain was flashing its "serial killer/weirdo" alert and the other part was saying "lap it up/this is interesting/why not?" There was also a message running in the background saying, "Wow, that facial that I just had was incredible. I must remember to have it again. What an effect!"
I smiled and said thank you. No need to lose my manners at this moment.
The man was like an enthusiastic puppy, clearly drunk on my beauty (!) as he asked me my name. I gave him my first name and then he asked me about my work. Such a boring question! I try to avoid this question in social settings. What does it really tell you about most people? Anyway, he then moved to direct questioning about my marital status. I told him I wasn't married and he shook his head in disbelief and declared himself the luckiest man on earth. He quickly moved to ask about boyfriends. I replied that I see lots of people. Then he pushed it too far and asked what I do with the people I see. I feigned innocence and he then asked whether we have sex.
Right. That was a line that was crossed. I told him it was none of his business and reminded him that we were standing in a shopping centre, having just met.
He then asked what he could do for me. I didn't really know how to answer this question and he then asked if he could take me out. The alarms in my head were going off again. On one hand I thought it was romantic to be stopped by a man making declarations - if we were in a fairytale, he'd be on a horse and I'd be gathering wild flowers in the forest while I chatted to the birds; on the other hand I feared I was being lured to my death.
While I was feeling overwhelmed, I wasn't feeling chemistry. I was non-committal and politely took his number without making any promises.
I haven't called. What would you do?
Anyway, I want to tell you a story about something that happened to me a few weeks ago.
I was riding down an escalator in the city centre when I heard a man say, "Where am I to behold such beauty?"
I was in my own world and didn't turn around as it didn't seem possible that this comment was directed to me. The speaker was waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator. He had a wide smile and was looking at me intently. As I stepped off the escalator he approached me and repeated his rather Shakespearean statement.
"Melbourne?" I responded, the upward inflection betraying my uncertainty.
I could feel myself blushing under his scrutiny. One part of my brain was flashing its "serial killer/weirdo" alert and the other part was saying "lap it up/this is interesting/why not?" There was also a message running in the background saying, "Wow, that facial that I just had was incredible. I must remember to have it again. What an effect!"
I smiled and said thank you. No need to lose my manners at this moment.
The man was like an enthusiastic puppy, clearly drunk on my beauty (!) as he asked me my name. I gave him my first name and then he asked me about my work. Such a boring question! I try to avoid this question in social settings. What does it really tell you about most people? Anyway, he then moved to direct questioning about my marital status. I told him I wasn't married and he shook his head in disbelief and declared himself the luckiest man on earth. He quickly moved to ask about boyfriends. I replied that I see lots of people. Then he pushed it too far and asked what I do with the people I see. I feigned innocence and he then asked whether we have sex.
Right. That was a line that was crossed. I told him it was none of his business and reminded him that we were standing in a shopping centre, having just met.
He then asked what he could do for me. I didn't really know how to answer this question and he then asked if he could take me out. The alarms in my head were going off again. On one hand I thought it was romantic to be stopped by a man making declarations - if we were in a fairytale, he'd be on a horse and I'd be gathering wild flowers in the forest while I chatted to the birds; on the other hand I feared I was being lured to my death.
While I was feeling overwhelmed, I wasn't feeling chemistry. I was non-committal and politely took his number without making any promises.
I haven't called. What would you do?
Tuesday, 22 May 2012
Dome lights the way
I took this photo of the dome of the Supreme Court on Saturday night after my dinner at Movida Aqui.
In these days of suggestions that democracy has been trashed and the presumption of innocence is being ignored in the case of the federal member for Dobell, Craig Thomson, I look at that light at what it represents. To me, it's about the law shining a light in dark places; the law being an instrument of enlightenment; and the law being a shining beacon of justice and fairness.
I'm not sure if that's what it's meant to mean, but that's what it means to me. I'm feeling uneasy that the right to a presumption of innocence continues to be ignored. What hope is there when we see the procedural battles in Parliament following Craig Thomson's statement to Parliament yesterday? I even heard a suggestion that he wasn't to be believed because he called no witnesses in his defence! This was a speech in Parliament, not defence counsel argument.
The local tabloid paper has even set up a "jury" to deliver their verdict based on Thomson's speech. I think this is irresponsible and also devalues the media's legitimate role as the fourth estate in a healthy democracy.
So while this sorry business looks set to go on and on and on, I am posting my photograph of the lit dome of the supreme court as a reminder about the foundations of our society which are valuable and should be honoured and upheld, not taken lightly and torn to shreds: everyone is entitled to a presumption of innocence, regardless of who they are and regardless of the allegations against them.
 |
| (c) divacultura 2012 |
I'm not sure if that's what it's meant to mean, but that's what it means to me. I'm feeling uneasy that the right to a presumption of innocence continues to be ignored. What hope is there when we see the procedural battles in Parliament following Craig Thomson's statement to Parliament yesterday? I even heard a suggestion that he wasn't to be believed because he called no witnesses in his defence! This was a speech in Parliament, not defence counsel argument.
The local tabloid paper has even set up a "jury" to deliver their verdict based on Thomson's speech. I think this is irresponsible and also devalues the media's legitimate role as the fourth estate in a healthy democracy.
So while this sorry business looks set to go on and on and on, I am posting my photograph of the lit dome of the supreme court as a reminder about the foundations of our society which are valuable and should be honoured and upheld, not taken lightly and torn to shreds: everyone is entitled to a presumption of innocence, regardless of who they are and regardless of the allegations against them.
Monday, 21 May 2012
Movida with mates
Food is something I enjoy. I love to cook, especially for other people. Increasingly, I cook vegetarian food when I'm at home. It's delicious, cheap and freezes well, meaning I can have a supply of nutritious food on hand for those nights when I would otherwise have toast. Or nothing. Or pizza.
I have dabbled with vegetarianism before, but struggle to keep adequate iron levels even when I'm eating steak every night.
So imagine my surprise when I found myself eating goat on Saturday night.
I had secured a table for me and two friends at Movida Aqui which took some doing. I told the truth about my friend who was visiting from the "desert" and how every time she visits we attempt to get a table at Movida, but have never been successful. The only condition was we had to agree to keep senior citizens' hours and dine at 6:30pm. Luckily daylight savings is over and it's black at 6pm these days.
We met for a pre dinner cocktail at 5:30 at TheTrust, the bar in the magnificent old Port Office building. We were the only people there at that hour, so the service was great. I had a Negroni and my friends had a dirty gin martini and a campari and soda. We left when the hen's party arrived, looking like the cast from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding". We then had to navigate our way through footpaths that have been dug up as part of the replacement of the William Street water mains. Not great when you're in your very high, suede shoes!
The address for Movida Aqui is Level 1, 500 Bourke Street, but you need to forget about that and go around to Little Bourke Street.
The space is intriguing and there is lots to look at. We spent some time considering the lighting - low energy fluorescent bulbs housed in milk crates along the top of the bar.
From the moment we arrived, the service was sensational. The greeting was warm and our coats were taken as we were seated. Our waiter was friendly and knowledgeable, refilling glasses and taking away plates unobtrusively. Perfect.
The restaurant promotes sharing plates and we were advised to order about five dishes to feel satisfied. Each of us put in our bids. I selected CONEJO AGRIDULCE - Andalucian Sweet and Sour Local Organic Rabbit with Pine Nuts and Dried Figs and was very pleased with that selection. It was tender and sweet.
We also had:
SERRANO 24 month old Jamon. I love the translucence of the paper thin slices.
BUTIFARRA - House Made Catalan Pork Pepper Sausage with Chickpeas and House Made Morcilla. This dish was robust and tasty and a wonderful experience to eat.
ALCACHOFAS - Fried Artichokes Served with Toasted Almonds and Manchego Custard. I liked this more than I expected to. The Manchego custard was what made me hesitate, but this was like a delicious, runny fondue cheese sauce.
SETAS - Braised Pine Mushrooms Cooked in White Wine. This was served last and was too delicate to appreciate after the robust flavours of the butifarra.
And we had the goat - which isn't on the menu, so must have been a daily special. I was nervous, but it was proposed as a trade for making people eat rabbit. I looked at the dish when it arrived and it just looked like meat. It didn't smell particularly strong and it's texture looked like lamb. I plunged in. The flavour was much milder than I expected. It was a bit dry and stringy for my liking. I could see why it is usually done in a long cooked curry. I spoke to a woman in the bathroom who had also had the goat and was unimpressed, agreeing that it was very dry.
We shared a bottle of Mayer "Big Betty" 2010 Shiraz based on the energetic description given by the sommelier. He was right about it being wild and its flavour changed considerably the longer it was out of the bottle.
We finished off the meal with FLAN - Crème Caramel Served with Pestinos and washed it down with a Pedro Ximinez sweet sherry and espressos.
I enjoyed the experience. It's loud and sensory overload, not the first choice for an intimate dinner, but great for dinner with some mates. Take the opportunity to wander past the open kitchen to see where the food comes from.
I have dabbled with vegetarianism before, but struggle to keep adequate iron levels even when I'm eating steak every night.
So imagine my surprise when I found myself eating goat on Saturday night.
I had secured a table for me and two friends at Movida Aqui which took some doing. I told the truth about my friend who was visiting from the "desert" and how every time she visits we attempt to get a table at Movida, but have never been successful. The only condition was we had to agree to keep senior citizens' hours and dine at 6:30pm. Luckily daylight savings is over and it's black at 6pm these days.
We met for a pre dinner cocktail at 5:30 at TheTrust, the bar in the magnificent old Port Office building. We were the only people there at that hour, so the service was great. I had a Negroni and my friends had a dirty gin martini and a campari and soda. We left when the hen's party arrived, looking like the cast from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding". We then had to navigate our way through footpaths that have been dug up as part of the replacement of the William Street water mains. Not great when you're in your very high, suede shoes!
The address for Movida Aqui is Level 1, 500 Bourke Street, but you need to forget about that and go around to Little Bourke Street.
The space is intriguing and there is lots to look at. We spent some time considering the lighting - low energy fluorescent bulbs housed in milk crates along the top of the bar.
From the moment we arrived, the service was sensational. The greeting was warm and our coats were taken as we were seated. Our waiter was friendly and knowledgeable, refilling glasses and taking away plates unobtrusively. Perfect.
The restaurant promotes sharing plates and we were advised to order about five dishes to feel satisfied. Each of us put in our bids. I selected CONEJO AGRIDULCE - Andalucian Sweet and Sour Local Organic Rabbit with Pine Nuts and Dried Figs and was very pleased with that selection. It was tender and sweet.
We also had:
SERRANO 24 month old Jamon. I love the translucence of the paper thin slices.
BUTIFARRA - House Made Catalan Pork Pepper Sausage with Chickpeas and House Made Morcilla. This dish was robust and tasty and a wonderful experience to eat.
ALCACHOFAS - Fried Artichokes Served with Toasted Almonds and Manchego Custard. I liked this more than I expected to. The Manchego custard was what made me hesitate, but this was like a delicious, runny fondue cheese sauce.
SETAS - Braised Pine Mushrooms Cooked in White Wine. This was served last and was too delicate to appreciate after the robust flavours of the butifarra.
And we had the goat - which isn't on the menu, so must have been a daily special. I was nervous, but it was proposed as a trade for making people eat rabbit. I looked at the dish when it arrived and it just looked like meat. It didn't smell particularly strong and it's texture looked like lamb. I plunged in. The flavour was much milder than I expected. It was a bit dry and stringy for my liking. I could see why it is usually done in a long cooked curry. I spoke to a woman in the bathroom who had also had the goat and was unimpressed, agreeing that it was very dry.
We shared a bottle of Mayer "Big Betty" 2010 Shiraz based on the energetic description given by the sommelier. He was right about it being wild and its flavour changed considerably the longer it was out of the bottle.
We finished off the meal with FLAN - Crème Caramel Served with Pestinos and washed it down with a Pedro Ximinez sweet sherry and espressos.
I enjoyed the experience. It's loud and sensory overload, not the first choice for an intimate dinner, but great for dinner with some mates. Take the opportunity to wander past the open kitchen to see where the food comes from.
Saturday, 19 May 2012
Humour - when it isn't very funny.
This week I've been thinking about humour. For the first time in my life, I experienced humour in a negative way and gained a different perspective.
From my perspective, I've always thought that a sense of humour is as necessary to sustaining life as a heart and lungs. I even remember ending a relationship because it became apparent that the man in question had no sense of humour. It was worse than a physical disability. I see the funny side of life and like to laugh, so was confronted when I had a participant in a program I was facilitating who used it to deflect responsibility.
The man was in a group of senior leaders in a significant organisation. As it turned out, several of the other participants were led by him. Very early in the course, he started to drop one-liners in response to anything anyone said. There's nothing wrong with making people laugh. What I noticed was that the response to his interventions was at best, lukewarm, polite chuckling. And still they kept coming. Any time this man was challenged or confronted he used humour to deflect responsibility and to dilute the confrontation.
This can be a really useful skill if you find yourself under attack. Distracting the attacker and making them laugh at themselves is a way of ensuring safety.
The program I was facilitating was in the realm of leadership development and by it's nature is confronting. My role as a facilitator is to "turn up the heat" and challenge participants to explore unfamiliar territory and think and act differently. I could see that this man needed to take responsibility for the way he was acting and the results he was getting. His use of humour as a deflection weapon was perfectly designed to distract attention away from his shortcomings.
He was very creative and tried everything to stay "safe": he forged alliances with anyone else struggling with a concept, he argued with me, he blamed me, he complained that a particular task was "hard". The one thing he failed to do was take responsibility. He was the king of the "yes, but" response. He had official status within the group - he was probably one of the most senior leaders in the room - but over the two days of the program his status was diminished. Through his unwillingness to take responsibility, he made himself less powerful and less relevant.
Truthfully, he was getting on my goat. I wondered whether this was because he was stealing my spot as the funny person in the room. I observed myself as carefully as I was observing him in the group. There were opportunities for humour and I felt myself hesitating to use it (would humour at this point allow the whole group to deflect responsibility?). I made the choice to be myself and took the opportunity to make the group really laugh. They did. Then I wondered whether I was actually being competitive with this man. I rationalised my behaviour, deciding that we had fundamentally different roles in the room and that no competition existed. I checked my view of this man with my co-facilitator. He was thinking the same thing.
So, I challenged this man by asking him what was happening for him. He opened right up and essentially debunked the organisation's view of leadership and what they are requiring of their leaders. Ah ha! He was fighting for air as the tide turned and he had to change or (metaphorically) die. If he could create the sense that he's a "good bloke" it would be a useful defence to help him retain his job.
By the end of two days, there was a massive shift. I was facilitating the closing session of the two days and asking participants to share their next steps. This man waited until last. He sat in his chair and put his hands on his head, thrust his chest out and spoke so quietly I had to ask him to repeat himself. He started by saying "if I'm honest, and I suppose I have to be" and then said that he could see that the world had moved on and he had some decisions to make about what he would do.
I was so pleased! Without this realisation and acceptance, this man would not give himself the opportunity to change. He would continue on his path and then wonder why he was being moved on. At least he was now in charge of his decisions.
In a different setting, perhaps I would have found him funny and been happy to laugh along with him. Even though he was very challenging, I'm thankful that he was in a workshop with me. He gave me the opportunity to question something fundamental to my way of working - humour.
As the group dispersed, another participant came to say goodbye to me. He made the point of telling me that he really enjoyed my humour.
What's your relationship with humour?
From my perspective, I've always thought that a sense of humour is as necessary to sustaining life as a heart and lungs. I even remember ending a relationship because it became apparent that the man in question had no sense of humour. It was worse than a physical disability. I see the funny side of life and like to laugh, so was confronted when I had a participant in a program I was facilitating who used it to deflect responsibility.
The man was in a group of senior leaders in a significant organisation. As it turned out, several of the other participants were led by him. Very early in the course, he started to drop one-liners in response to anything anyone said. There's nothing wrong with making people laugh. What I noticed was that the response to his interventions was at best, lukewarm, polite chuckling. And still they kept coming. Any time this man was challenged or confronted he used humour to deflect responsibility and to dilute the confrontation.
This can be a really useful skill if you find yourself under attack. Distracting the attacker and making them laugh at themselves is a way of ensuring safety.
The program I was facilitating was in the realm of leadership development and by it's nature is confronting. My role as a facilitator is to "turn up the heat" and challenge participants to explore unfamiliar territory and think and act differently. I could see that this man needed to take responsibility for the way he was acting and the results he was getting. His use of humour as a deflection weapon was perfectly designed to distract attention away from his shortcomings.
He was very creative and tried everything to stay "safe": he forged alliances with anyone else struggling with a concept, he argued with me, he blamed me, he complained that a particular task was "hard". The one thing he failed to do was take responsibility. He was the king of the "yes, but" response. He had official status within the group - he was probably one of the most senior leaders in the room - but over the two days of the program his status was diminished. Through his unwillingness to take responsibility, he made himself less powerful and less relevant.
Truthfully, he was getting on my goat. I wondered whether this was because he was stealing my spot as the funny person in the room. I observed myself as carefully as I was observing him in the group. There were opportunities for humour and I felt myself hesitating to use it (would humour at this point allow the whole group to deflect responsibility?). I made the choice to be myself and took the opportunity to make the group really laugh. They did. Then I wondered whether I was actually being competitive with this man. I rationalised my behaviour, deciding that we had fundamentally different roles in the room and that no competition existed. I checked my view of this man with my co-facilitator. He was thinking the same thing.
So, I challenged this man by asking him what was happening for him. He opened right up and essentially debunked the organisation's view of leadership and what they are requiring of their leaders. Ah ha! He was fighting for air as the tide turned and he had to change or (metaphorically) die. If he could create the sense that he's a "good bloke" it would be a useful defence to help him retain his job.
By the end of two days, there was a massive shift. I was facilitating the closing session of the two days and asking participants to share their next steps. This man waited until last. He sat in his chair and put his hands on his head, thrust his chest out and spoke so quietly I had to ask him to repeat himself. He started by saying "if I'm honest, and I suppose I have to be" and then said that he could see that the world had moved on and he had some decisions to make about what he would do.
I was so pleased! Without this realisation and acceptance, this man would not give himself the opportunity to change. He would continue on his path and then wonder why he was being moved on. At least he was now in charge of his decisions.
In a different setting, perhaps I would have found him funny and been happy to laugh along with him. Even though he was very challenging, I'm thankful that he was in a workshop with me. He gave me the opportunity to question something fundamental to my way of working - humour.
As the group dispersed, another participant came to say goodbye to me. He made the point of telling me that he really enjoyed my humour.
What's your relationship with humour?
Thursday, 17 May 2012
Emerging Writers & blogging masterclass.
I'm so excited! I've enrolled in a masterclass being run as part of the Emerging Writer's Festival here in Melbourne. With divacultura approaching its first anniversary and the blog being part of my daily work, I thought the opportunity to learn some professional skills and network with other writers was too good an opportunity to pass up.
The topics covered are wide ranging and relevant. From the website:
The topics covered are wide ranging and relevant. From the website:
It will be interesting to think about some things that I haven't really thought about.
I'm a great believer in thinking and exploring the world, including the things that I do regularly. There's always more to learn. I spend such a lot of time helping other people with their professional development, it's a luxury to be on the "other end", sitting in a room and being the receptacle, rather than the facilitator. I've never participated in the Emerging Writer's Festival before either, so that's another aspect of interest.
I don't know what all of this will mean for my blog, or for me as a writer and a person. We shall see. Maybe you will too. Meanwhile, I'd better start thinking about who should play me in the movie!
What investment have you made in your professional development lately?
Wednesday, 16 May 2012
Mixed up and lost
Today I tweeted: Feel like it's Friday. But it's not. Friday.
Do you ever have that feeling? When you're not quite sure what day it is or what's coming next?
Today is actually Wednesday, so I was travelling forward in time by a couple of days.
It's almost Thursday. Not quite. Almost.
Thursday is not Friday. Wednesday is not Friday. Today, Wednesday wasn't even Wednesday.
I wonder what day it will be tomorrow? What will Thursday masquerade as?
I'd be content with Thursday to be Thursday. I'm not working on Thursday this week. Whenever it occurs.
I would be less happy for Thursday to be Friday this week, as I am working.
Given today felt like Friday, I've thought about whether yesterday felt like Thursday, or just an ordinary Tuesday.
I don't think yesterday felt like anything other than a day. So perhaps it was just being Tuesday.
Thank goodness I didn't do anything rash. My Fridays are often full of rash, end of week behaviour. If I had fully embraced my feeling that today was Friday, there is no telling where the week would have ended.
Well there is. It would have ended on Friday. Just like every other week. Except this time, Friday would be brought to us by Wednesday and we'd all say goodbye to hump day.
It's an elegant solution really. Just cut out the middle man and be done with it.
With Masterchef and The Block on television every night of the week, I'm lacking differentiation. Is it any wonder I'm suffering from a serious case of mid week madness.
Or maybe that's end of week madness.
I just don't know anymore.
Is there a name for this?
When you get your dyas all mixed up.
Goodnight.
Good morning.
Good gracious...
...me.
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
What's needed? Code of conduct or brave leadership?
I am closely following the story unfolding around the former Health Services Union official and now Member for Dobell, Craig Thomson, and the governance of that union. (You can read the latest news story here and the full 1127 page Fair Work Australia report into the HSU East Branch is available here.) At times I am angry about what's happening and at other times, I am just plain sad. Tonight I'm banging my head against the wall wondering when it will all stop.
As a former union official (working for members of a different union, not the HSU), I know what a privilege it is to have the people you worked with elect you to represent their industrial interests. I felt the weight of this responsibility heavily and tried to exercise my advocacy consciously for their benefit. I resent the fact that when I reveal my past to people they get a look in their eye and then want to know how I used my union credit card. By sharing a job title on a CV, hard working and sincere men and women are looked upon as corrupt - or at least corruptible - by others.
I had a credit card and so did members of my team. It was very clear to me and to my team how we were to use this credit card. Rules for usage and accounting were in place and there was no tolerance for anyone who went outside these boundaries.
Discussions about what the findings of the Fair Work Australia report mean for a sitting member of Parliament in recent days has been focussed around developing a code of conduct for parliamentarians and establishing rules spelling out powers Parliament can exercise in relation to someone in Craig Thomson's situation. It amazes me that in most situations where it is suggested that people with stewardship of an organisation may have failed to act in accordance with community standards, rewriting of the policy handbook is one of the first responses.
I have not yet read all 1127 pages of the Fair Work Australia report. I have followed the story closely in the media and also talk with friends who still work in the union movement. Whether Craig Thomson himself is ultimately found to be guilty of fraud or negligence, it seems likely that a culture had developed within the union which allowed loose governance to become the norm. How is a code of conduct going to help in a situation like this? If people think it's okay to use the union (or company credit card) to procure prostitutes and all the checks and balances within the organisation fail to correct this, writing another policy is not going to protect the members of the union or shareholders of the company.
As a member of any organisation, I have a reasonable expectation when I join that the governance structures and processes will be facilitated honestly and conscientiously by the people who happen to be the custodians at the time. If I was worried about something before I signed up, I wouldn't sign up until my worry was demonstrably resolved. If I joined and then had concerns I would ask questions inside the organisation. But what happens when you're a relatively low paid health services worker who feels powerless at work and joined the union because you saw it as a way to secure a better deal at work? The last place you'd be thinking of fighting is your own union. You'd probably have enough on your plate at work and at home. Imagine then that you'd become active in your union and volunteered some of your own time to help organise your workplace. You had a sense of pride and achievement as you grew membership in your workplace and helped resolve issues. Perhaps this had even extended to supporting an official or a staffer in their quest to further represent workers by standing for election as a member of the political arm of organised labour, the Australian Labor Party.
Imagine then, how you must feel each day as you go to work, each week as you pay your union dues and consider whether it's worth it. How would you be able to wear your union's t-shirt, jacket or badge again with anything other than shame? This is what makes me so angry. The trust and comradeship of ordinary workers has been violated. That's just not fair.
A few weeks ago, I saw three member organisers of the HSU interviewed on television. Their hearts were breaking as they talked about their betrayal. My heart broke as I listened to them until their final words made me cheer: "It's our union. We are the members of the union and the union belongs to us. We want it back!"
The rallying cry of these three women is what it's all about. It's not about people exploiting power which has been entrusted to them and it's not about writing a policy or a code of conduct. Anyone who thinks it's okay to use the union credit card for any personal expenditure (whether it's buying prostitutes or buying bread and milk) because there isn't a written rule that says it's not allowed, is not fit for office in any organisation. Any organisation that discovers such a person in their midst should not hesitate to remove them.
Decisive leadership which supports the values of the organisation they lead is the only answer.
What do you think?
As a former union official (working for members of a different union, not the HSU), I know what a privilege it is to have the people you worked with elect you to represent their industrial interests. I felt the weight of this responsibility heavily and tried to exercise my advocacy consciously for their benefit. I resent the fact that when I reveal my past to people they get a look in their eye and then want to know how I used my union credit card. By sharing a job title on a CV, hard working and sincere men and women are looked upon as corrupt - or at least corruptible - by others.
I had a credit card and so did members of my team. It was very clear to me and to my team how we were to use this credit card. Rules for usage and accounting were in place and there was no tolerance for anyone who went outside these boundaries.
Discussions about what the findings of the Fair Work Australia report mean for a sitting member of Parliament in recent days has been focussed around developing a code of conduct for parliamentarians and establishing rules spelling out powers Parliament can exercise in relation to someone in Craig Thomson's situation. It amazes me that in most situations where it is suggested that people with stewardship of an organisation may have failed to act in accordance with community standards, rewriting of the policy handbook is one of the first responses.
I have not yet read all 1127 pages of the Fair Work Australia report. I have followed the story closely in the media and also talk with friends who still work in the union movement. Whether Craig Thomson himself is ultimately found to be guilty of fraud or negligence, it seems likely that a culture had developed within the union which allowed loose governance to become the norm. How is a code of conduct going to help in a situation like this? If people think it's okay to use the union (or company credit card) to procure prostitutes and all the checks and balances within the organisation fail to correct this, writing another policy is not going to protect the members of the union or shareholders of the company.
As a member of any organisation, I have a reasonable expectation when I join that the governance structures and processes will be facilitated honestly and conscientiously by the people who happen to be the custodians at the time. If I was worried about something before I signed up, I wouldn't sign up until my worry was demonstrably resolved. If I joined and then had concerns I would ask questions inside the organisation. But what happens when you're a relatively low paid health services worker who feels powerless at work and joined the union because you saw it as a way to secure a better deal at work? The last place you'd be thinking of fighting is your own union. You'd probably have enough on your plate at work and at home. Imagine then that you'd become active in your union and volunteered some of your own time to help organise your workplace. You had a sense of pride and achievement as you grew membership in your workplace and helped resolve issues. Perhaps this had even extended to supporting an official or a staffer in their quest to further represent workers by standing for election as a member of the political arm of organised labour, the Australian Labor Party.
Imagine then, how you must feel each day as you go to work, each week as you pay your union dues and consider whether it's worth it. How would you be able to wear your union's t-shirt, jacket or badge again with anything other than shame? This is what makes me so angry. The trust and comradeship of ordinary workers has been violated. That's just not fair.
A few weeks ago, I saw three member organisers of the HSU interviewed on television. Their hearts were breaking as they talked about their betrayal. My heart broke as I listened to them until their final words made me cheer: "It's our union. We are the members of the union and the union belongs to us. We want it back!"
The rallying cry of these three women is what it's all about. It's not about people exploiting power which has been entrusted to them and it's not about writing a policy or a code of conduct. Anyone who thinks it's okay to use the union credit card for any personal expenditure (whether it's buying prostitutes or buying bread and milk) because there isn't a written rule that says it's not allowed, is not fit for office in any organisation. Any organisation that discovers such a person in their midst should not hesitate to remove them.
Decisive leadership which supports the values of the organisation they lead is the only answer.
What do you think?
Monday, 14 May 2012
Philosophy day
Yesterday was a very social day. I started the day discussing books over brunch with my book group. We were discussing "Hard Times" by Charles Dickens and I put my credibility on the line early by declaring that I had now read Charles Dickens and that was now done. There will be no more.
Then I met a school friend for coffee in the afternoon. She was in Melbourne for the weekend and we realised that the last time we had seen each other was at the ten year school reunion which was fourteen years ago! When did these numbers get so high?
While we are connected on facebook, she made the observation that we don't really know each other now. This is essentially true. We have very different lives, but there were echoes of similar quandaries and dilemmas in our lives. It was interesting to hear her views about me.
She sincerely congratulated me on having my own business and celebrating its first birthday. I was very happy to receive this acknowledgement.
She is going through a change of perspective about some of the people in her life; the term she used was "culling". I asked why. She told me about the treatment she had received at the hands of some of these people. I shook my head and said she was right to realise that she was better off without these people in her life. She observed that I had always "spring cleaned" as I went along. Her concern that I would be offended was visible. I wasn't offended at all - that is very true. As I've gone along in my life, I have pretty clear lines about what's acceptable and who is worthwhile to have in my world.
We also talked about perceptions that people have and what it means if we live our lives with deep concern for what others think of us. It could translate into a sense of doing what is expected of us. She had been constrained by this feeling and is now finding her power to realise that it doesn't matter and it's okay to act in accordance with what she thinks of herself, rather than what others think.
I offered her my congratulations.
In the evening it was off to dinner with another friend. We talked life, work, world, politics. The discussion turned to the issue of life plans. Neither of us have one, although now that I'm in business for myself, I am thinking more long term.
I've always been an opportunist. I'm quite happy to seize the moment and turn down a path to see what is down there. My friend was quite vocal about how he felt about "those people" at university who had life plans which mapped out their whole lives. I wondered why it mattered. We pondered this question and it led into a discussion about everyone getting on with their own thing and doing what they need to do without worrying about how others were approaching their lives. A theme was emerging.
More and more I find myself feeling very happy about the choices I've made and not worrying about the choices others make. Except when it comes to politics. This is the area where I really care and will work to persuade people. Perhaps because whoever is in power can potentially have a profound impact on my ability to live my life.
I finished the day feeling philosophical and thoughtful. I pondered the meaning and nature of friendship and individuality. I said thank you to the world for where I am and the people I have in my life. I realised that I probably do have a life plan - it's more about how I live than what I achieve and would look like a mind map rather than a lineage of milestones. That suits me just fine!
What's your approach to life? Have you thought about this lately?
Saturday, 12 May 2012
Prayers to the goddess of parking
I had allowed myself just enough time to get where I was going, find a park and be ready to start my job for the day. I was working in one of the big hospitals and I'd never been there before. I had a map, so thought I'd be fine.
It turned out that I had to navigate tram tracks and lanes of roads that would not allow me to turn in the direction that I wished to go. I had to drive further down the road and then find a way to travel towards my destination, rather than away from it. I started to go in circles. The minutes were ticking by and soon I was going to be late.
Abandoning all thought of trying to reach the car park, which seemed unreachable regardless of the direction of my approach, I decided to find a park on the street. I did. There was a three hour limit on ticketed parking. I hoped the machine had credit card payment. It didn't. I plugged in the $1.45 I had in change which was just short of the $1.50 hourly rate. I placed the ticket on the dashboard and hoped that I'd be able to get some change, go back and top up the ticket and be in place to start work all in the space of less than two minutes. It wasn't going to be possible.
All I could manage was to be in place ready to start work. I resorted to quasi religious thought and quietly begged the goddess of parking (I call her Ashphalta) to show me mercy. I reminded her that I am a good person who hasn't had any driving infringements and only one parking ticket in my life and that I was working on a Saturday to help overseas trained doctors practise for their exams. Surely I deserved a break.
I put the prospect of a ticket out of my mind after I rationalised that parking in the hospital car park could be more expensive than paying a parking fine. The real shame was that it wouldn't be tax deductible if I paid it as a fine rather than a fee.
At the end of my day, I dashed off to my car, straining to see whether there was anything flapping about on my windscreen. Ashphalta had heard my pleas. I had been spared.
I drove home feeling smug.
It turned out that I had to navigate tram tracks and lanes of roads that would not allow me to turn in the direction that I wished to go. I had to drive further down the road and then find a way to travel towards my destination, rather than away from it. I started to go in circles. The minutes were ticking by and soon I was going to be late.
Abandoning all thought of trying to reach the car park, which seemed unreachable regardless of the direction of my approach, I decided to find a park on the street. I did. There was a three hour limit on ticketed parking. I hoped the machine had credit card payment. It didn't. I plugged in the $1.45 I had in change which was just short of the $1.50 hourly rate. I placed the ticket on the dashboard and hoped that I'd be able to get some change, go back and top up the ticket and be in place to start work all in the space of less than two minutes. It wasn't going to be possible.
All I could manage was to be in place ready to start work. I resorted to quasi religious thought and quietly begged the goddess of parking (I call her Ashphalta) to show me mercy. I reminded her that I am a good person who hasn't had any driving infringements and only one parking ticket in my life and that I was working on a Saturday to help overseas trained doctors practise for their exams. Surely I deserved a break.
I put the prospect of a ticket out of my mind after I rationalised that parking in the hospital car park could be more expensive than paying a parking fine. The real shame was that it wouldn't be tax deductible if I paid it as a fine rather than a fee.
At the end of my day, I dashed off to my car, straining to see whether there was anything flapping about on my windscreen. Ashphalta had heard my pleas. I had been spared.
I drove home feeling smug.
Friday, 11 May 2012
Tropical sunsets
Sunsets are one of the things that you "do" while you're in Darwin. You can pay to take a sunset cruise on the harbour, or you can head to one of the beaches and watch for free. It's great to combine a bit of sunset watching with a trip to the Mindil Beach markets.
This is what I did last Sunday - along with a lot of other people.
Is it any wonder people go to watch the sunset! It's glorious.
The other great thing to do is have dinner at Stokes Hill Wharf. The night I went there had been a heavy downpour of rain in the afternoon which left everything refreshed and cleared the humidity. The night was clear with a gentle breeze. As we sat on the wharf eating fish and chips, we watched the fish swimming below. The colours of the night were amazing.
This is what I did last Sunday - along with a lot of other people.
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
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| (c) divacultura 2012 |
The other great thing to do is have dinner at Stokes Hill Wharf. The night I went there had been a heavy downpour of rain in the afternoon which left everything refreshed and cleared the humidity. The night was clear with a gentle breeze. As we sat on the wharf eating fish and chips, we watched the fish swimming below. The colours of the night were amazing.
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| These are the colours - no filter has been applied to this photo. (c) divacultura 2012 |
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