The Night Sky.

27 September 2014

So I had to dash out and grab myself a laksa for dinner since I couldn't eat the meal I'd made for the family (it's a long story) and when I was backing out the driveway, I was confronted by the silver sliver of moon. 

The moon.  The sky.  My refuge.  

Since I was the smallest girl I always imagined our planet to be just an atom in a molecule in a button on the jacket of a giant...completely insignificant in the scheme of things.  And space, space was just the space in between.

After Hec died the space up there represented the place where the spirit in some form resided, but where it wasn't accessible (unless one was going to hit the ouija board or some such - which isn't my thing).  It seemed vast and empty, whilst populated with infinitesimal entities.  So confusing. I was all discombobulation.

Still I kept looking up. And at some stage something switched. I don't know when it happened.  

The sky began to represented all the wonders of the universe and then some.  I had a friend I would sms.  "Look up!" I'd write when the moon was full or the stars were out. Or "Sunset!" when the sky was awash with colours. Urgent with love and optimism, it was overwhelming to know the great infinite expanse above had no limits and that anything and everything everywhere was possible. 

I had to share. 

I have to share. The night sky remains our ever present reminder.

So on nights like this, when I have to dash out for a laksa and I trip over the glorious silver sliver... Aaaaah!

What's in a name?

Milo's nearly eight, but he still calls it Penolopy. I know I'll die a little bit when he realises it's not quite right. I really know I will.

The wheel of fortune keeps on spinning...

I was thinking about when things come to an end. And no matter which way you turn the situation, or how nostalgic you might try to be about what has been, the thing that lies ahead is just not tenable.

I'd been trying for a while to bring something I've been working very hard on for a number of years to a close in a way that made me feel like I'd done the right thing for everyone. But the more I tried, the further I came from achieving my aim. Until in the end, the end came, but not how I intended. I suspect the end is peppered with ill-feeling, misunderstanding and exhaustion. And I hate that.

So I have mixed feelings on this day. I'm glad it's done. But sad how it's happened. The whole thing's sad really. I'm reminding myself too that someone incredibly wise remarked that everything happens for a reason...

So to change the subject completely, at least I'm overjoyed and distracted by the fact I finally got my printer working. And I have a new star to follow and a strategy to implement: the

relaunch marketing plan.  

Woo hoo!

And that should keep me busy.

What do we want? (and) When do we want it?

On the news, they said we were 20,000.  Not a bad start, (Mr Abbott, given you're too busy to get to the Climate Change conference in New York later this year).  It was a beautiful day.  A sunny day and it was an honour to hear Professor Tim Flannery.

An interloper jumped on stage and grabbed the mike at the end of the speeches claiming to be a representative of Leonardo di Caprio.  It was an awkward moment.  No-one knew whether to listen or shuffle him off.  In the end he realised he'd gone further than he ever thought he would and he didn't have anything to say.  So he whooped and urged us all to walk.  It was actually very funny.  And very Australian.

The marching party was very committed (obviously) but wasn't particularly rowdy: it certainly wasn't full of the usual complement of anarchists and ferals. We were instead a sea of very composed and concerned Es for the E (Elders for the Environment), families and more anti (or were they pro) cow Vegans than I ever thought there were.

After lunch and Milo's perfunctory ice-cream (for his throat, of course) I discovered a beautiful but recently deceased native bird by the pool - which due to the recent rains has turned into a swamp.  I armed myself with tissues for the tears that always, always flow whenever I am confronted with handling dead creatures (despite my impeccable technique with plastic bags and tongs which mean I never have to touch or feel anything) and I began disposing of the corpse.

Somehow though I managed to complete the job without shedding a drop.  You see, there were triffids.  They'd taken over the garden beds around the pool. 

I don't know how and I don't know when, but there was no pretending they weren't there.  And there was no way they were staying.  

So with even greater reluctance than tackling the bird, but with slightly greater satisfaction, I slashed, pulled, ripped and tore.  Bare hands.

Did you hear that?  I. Got. Dirt. Under. My. Nails.

I have truly done my duty today.  Civic and domestic.  

Tomorrow I relaunch my business.  These are the days on which tomorrows are founded.  I hope tomorrow will be good.

Tonight I plan to sleep well.

Treasure #1

forgotten in my camera until  just now
the Morning Moon, 16 May 2014 @ 0811, from the kitchen looking west

Minecraft. It's hell in there.

It's school holidays.  And Milo's been watching endless videos about the possibilities of Minecraft on the computer as opposed to the limitations of Minecraft on the iPad.  So we did a deal.  If he promised (pinkie swore) to eat his veggies (not bok choy or butternut pumpkin, but everything else) and not to groan when asked to do things and very importantly didn't enter the multiplayer zone (I am eagle eyed) I would download the computer version of the game.

So the deal was done.  I downloaded the game.

But there's a problem with the expletive (and you know by that I mean a short word starting with "f") code.  And I don't know how to fix it.

THIS IS HELL.

So instead of having a relaxing afternoon while Dad has taken Milo to the opening of an envelope, or an exhibition, or some such, I am going to be doing battle with something about which I know more than nothing and I will more than likely be very cross.

Glad there will be no-one around to know that the usually very sunny and lovely me has a very dark and angry side.

Ah...oops!

It's been a while but the place hasn't changed a bit...

I'm reading Milo a marvellous book at the moment about Molly Moon who everyone knows has amazing hypnotic abilities.  BUT, in this instalment, she learns how to time travel.

The cover depicts Petula the Pug and Petula the Pug puppy from the past.
It's an inter-dimensional adventure and we like that sort of thing before we go to sleep.

And strangely, as I clicked on the little, much overlooked bookmark button marked PSH (Porter Street House) at the top of my screen I felt just like Molly clutching her red time travel crystal when I saw that my last entry was 12 September 2012!  WHAT THE FLIPPIN' HECK DO YOU MEAN 12 SEPTEMBER 2012?!?  How can that be?  What have I been doing?  Where has the time gone?  What's going on here? 2012? 2-0-1-2?

Once I smoothed my hair and reinstated my teeth, I realised it's been an oh my heavens non-stop, drama-filled 24 months between then and now.  And as I sit on the not-so-white-as-it-was-in-the-last-post-sofa, due to a whole raft of reasons, many of which are upheavals which aren't the most jolly (so one wouldn't really want to broadcast details right now without the risk of floods ensuing) there are a whole lot of exciting changes afoot.

So thanks to W, who herself has just begun to blog, and was the inspiration for my pressing of the PSH button, I am reminded I can come here and chat and tell.

So now the ice is broken, I promise to be back.  And maybe I'll actually say something next time.  Who knows.... Ooooo!