I called my blog The Best Audience Award because, as well as feeling "not good enough" as a maker (writer, photographer, whatever I might otherwise post) I do actually believe that being an audience, understanding and appreciating (or disliking, or being puzzled by) natural wonders, the peculiarities of societies, and the amazing things that people make, is actually a virtuous thing to do.
The act and process of creation have meaning in themselves, but surely there's much more point to creating art if other people get to see and respond to it. Certainly it can be very valuable to learn another language, write essays, and study various subjects, but what about just taking the time to have a chat, listen to the radio, or read a book?
And sitting quietly and gazing into space is fine too. Restfulness (not just sleep, but being at ease and stopping for a while) is also necessary for our physical and mental health, as well as work, and play, and learning, and creativity, and interacting. I strongly believe this.
Since my last post on this blog in early December, I've:
done lots of baking (in December) for the first time in about six years - might post some pics of the biskits, Ninjabreadmen, and banana chocolate cashew loaf that I made;
my sister was seriously ill and I spent time taking her to a local hospital for intravenous antibiotics twice a day, often waiting for an hour or two, then the IV could take a while, as well as doctors being intrigued by the unusual tropical fungal infection with secondary bacterial infection that she had (in January);
then going op shopping (looking at clothes, books & knick-knacks in thrift/charity shops) with my sister when she was well enough (in February), and observing a Mental Health Connect course, preparatory to being a co-trainer of the course (also Feb, and I want to post about that in more detail); and now it's March.
For many of us, we have been taught to think that only making and doing are good, that appreciating something, whether natural or created (watching telly, listening to the radio, watching snow) is bad. And putting off doing things we need to do is very bad.
So I was very interested to read this blog post about why people procrastinate, by David Cain.
Cain argues that procrastination isn't caused by laziness or apathy, but is a protective strategy unconsciously used by people who are anxious about doing "well enough". See what you think...
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
02 March 2013
17 May 2012
Lost & Found, Seen & Heard
let's see if I can write a blog post after a full, eventful day and actually post it tonight, not run out of steam, or flaff around adding pictures, or looking up references instead of just saying what I think (and maybe adding references later).
I got to the two talks I'd planned to attend today at Sydney Writers' Festival, and afterwards went to Kinokuniya to comb through the sale tables. Everything took a little longer than I expected - except for walking from home to Ashfield station. I was worried about running late, so walked very briskly, and got there in plenty of time to creak slowly up the stairs from street to concourse, buy my ticket, and descend carefully down the stairs from concourse to platform. (I was having a good knee day, but still need to be careful, cos of cartilage damage from many previous knee injuries, and weak muscles/loose ligaments that could let my kneecap/s dislocate again. exercise is good! particularly if it strengthens my medial quadriceps)
The playground in the park down the hill from Fort Street and up the hill from Hickson Road
On my way from Circular Quay to Hickson Road I saw a woman peering uncertainly at the lanes and streets of The Rocks and at her phone, so I asked if she was looking for the writers' festival - turned out she was, so I showed her the steep cobbled laneway down to the park across the road (and up another steep road) from the venue.
Being in the vicinity of Sydney Theatre and Sydney Dance performance spaces and rehearsal studios meant there were lots of actors and dancers around, so I enjoyed a bit of star-spotting, as well as looking for friends and acquaintances. Saw actress Sacha Horler striding past, talking on her mobile; said a "hello" in passing to friend (and former landlord) writer & editor Jonathan Shaw, who was dashing off to a talk; saw actor Dan Wyllie strolling by, chatting to friend; and stopped and said a brief hello to composer & musician Charlie Chan.
The queues for most of the talks at the SWF were massive - a wonderful turnout - and the first talk I went to, Dr Anita Heiss talking about her memoir Am I Black Enough For You?, was at capacity before I even joined the queue outside Wharf 4/5 (admittedly that was only 15 minutes before the start time). so I posted on Facebook about it being 'sold out' (it was free, no bookings) and toddled over to the Viewing Lounge in Wharf 2/3, a big barn of a place with deck chairs set out facing a large screen on which one sold out talk in each timeslot could be shown. the deck chairs were all full too by the time I got there, but I made myself comfy on the floor in a vantage point from where I could see the screen, and the audio was nice and clear, and the conversation between Anne Summers and Anita - about identity, Australian culture, Aboriginality and family - was so lovely, interesting, funny, and moving that I felt just as present as if I'd been in the room with them (but somewhere up the back - the video feed showed us a wide shot with Anne and Anita as small figures seen over the audience).
I did some tweeting and FB posting during the talk, and realised that my train/bus ticket wasn't in my jeans pocket any more - it must've fallen out when I first pulled my phone out to post about the talk being full, the other side of Wharf 4/5. I didn't want to spend the time then going back to look for it, cos there wasn't much time before the next talk, and that might well be full by the time I reached that queue if I didn't get a wriggle on.
but I wanted to see Anita, have her autograph my copy of Am I Black Enough For You? (which I was halfway through, and greatly enjoying & learning lots from) so I scooted over to where the wonderful indie bookshop Gleebooks had set up for the duration, with books by all the writers appearing at the Festival. While in the autographs queue I got chatting with the woman in front of me, who hadn't read any of Anita's books, and was a bit doubtful about reading chick lit, so I enthused to this woman about the Mr Right books and the Dreaming books, and the way Anita combines social/political awareness with humour, relationships, and aspects of life that most women could relate to, and she ended up buying Manhattan Dreaming and Paris Dreaming - yay!
and I did get to give Anita a hug - two hugs, in fact - one for her, and one for Kerry Reed-Gilbert, who was one of the deadly writers who Anita would be joining at a Sydney Writers' Festival event in Wollongong tonight.
somewhere in there I bought Thai-riffic by Oliver Phommavan, who will be part of On Western Sydney, which I'm going to on (checks calendar) Saturday, and Flyaway by Lucy Christopher, who will be talking about Her Dark Materials on Sunday. Doubt that I'll manage to read all of both of them, but you never know...
Then I nipped back to Wharf 4/5 to join the queue for Not Funny, Strange, with authors Chris Flynn (A Tiger in Eden), P.A. O’Reilly (The Fine Colour of Rust) and Charlotte Wood (Animal People) talking to Angela Meyer about using wry humour. Guess what? It was already full. So back to the Viewing Lounge, where this time I scored a deck chair. the panel conversation, and the extracts read by the authors, were funny, and did make us laugh.
Then I left the Festival to catch a bus to another marvellous bookshop, Kinokuniya, which had a sale - not store-wide, but including wide range of non-fiction, and fiction from various genres, in formats including prose novels, graphic novels and picture books. On the way out of the Festival I retraced my steps and lo & behold, there was my train/bus ticket, lying where it had fallen from my pocket, unnoticed by the hundreds of people who'd walked past. Yay!
I'd been so restrained at the Festival (but then again, I am going back a few more times and will most likely visit the Gleebooks shop again); not so restrained at Kinokuniya - but such bargains! Fifteen books for about $85. W00T!
I've long had the habit of gloating over my purchases, whether books, clothes, DVDs, or other nifty finds, by spreading them out over furniture or on the floor so I can revel in their wonderfulness. in recent years, I've also taken a photo to post on Facebook, twitter, and/or my blog.
Before going to Kinokuniya I'd fortified myself with a meal of hot chips, and it was as I was leaving the cafe where I'd eaten that I realised I didn't have my jacket with me. Even though it is a lovely jacket, and one that I've had since the late 1970s (it doesn't do up across my middle now, but I'd reached my adult height by the age of 10, so it still fits in other ways), I didn't go back to the cafe to look for it, as I wasn't sure when I'd last had it - on the bus? at the Festival? So tomorrow I'll be checking with Lost Property at the Festival and at the cafe, and ringing the bus depot to see if anyone has handed it in. Dear jacket, I hope to see you again soon.
So that was Day One of the Festival for me (it actually started several days ago, with events in the Blue Mountains that I'd thought about going to, but hearing it had snowed in the mountains on the weekend put a damper on my enthusiasm for that idea).
Lost two things, recovered one (so far); heard some great talks; hugged some lovely friends; bought some books...
Tomorrow I hope to meet up with a few more friends, hear some more talks, maybe buy another book or two (only from Gleebooks, though - no more extra bookshops!), and hopefully retrieve my jacket.
I got to the two talks I'd planned to attend today at Sydney Writers' Festival, and afterwards went to Kinokuniya to comb through the sale tables. Everything took a little longer than I expected - except for walking from home to Ashfield station. I was worried about running late, so walked very briskly, and got there in plenty of time to creak slowly up the stairs from street to concourse, buy my ticket, and descend carefully down the stairs from concourse to platform. (I was having a good knee day, but still need to be careful, cos of cartilage damage from many previous knee injuries, and weak muscles/loose ligaments that could let my kneecap/s dislocate again. exercise is good! particularly if it strengthens my medial quadriceps)
On my way from Circular Quay to Hickson Road I saw a woman peering uncertainly at the lanes and streets of The Rocks and at her phone, so I asked if she was looking for the writers' festival - turned out she was, so I showed her the steep cobbled laneway down to the park across the road (and up another steep road) from the venue.
Being in the vicinity of Sydney Theatre and Sydney Dance performance spaces and rehearsal studios meant there were lots of actors and dancers around, so I enjoyed a bit of star-spotting, as well as looking for friends and acquaintances. Saw actress Sacha Horler striding past, talking on her mobile; said a "hello" in passing to friend (and former landlord) writer & editor Jonathan Shaw, who was dashing off to a talk; saw actor Dan Wyllie strolling by, chatting to friend; and stopped and said a brief hello to composer & musician Charlie Chan.
The queues for most of the talks at the SWF were massive - a wonderful turnout - and the first talk I went to, Dr Anita Heiss talking about her memoir Am I Black Enough For You?, was at capacity before I even joined the queue outside Wharf 4/5 (admittedly that was only 15 minutes before the start time). so I posted on Facebook about it being 'sold out' (it was free, no bookings) and toddled over to the Viewing Lounge in Wharf 2/3, a big barn of a place with deck chairs set out facing a large screen on which one sold out talk in each timeslot could be shown. the deck chairs were all full too by the time I got there, but I made myself comfy on the floor in a vantage point from where I could see the screen, and the audio was nice and clear, and the conversation between Anne Summers and Anita - about identity, Australian culture, Aboriginality and family - was so lovely, interesting, funny, and moving that I felt just as present as if I'd been in the room with them (but somewhere up the back - the video feed showed us a wide shot with Anne and Anita as small figures seen over the audience).
I did some tweeting and FB posting during the talk, and realised that my train/bus ticket wasn't in my jeans pocket any more - it must've fallen out when I first pulled my phone out to post about the talk being full, the other side of Wharf 4/5. I didn't want to spend the time then going back to look for it, cos there wasn't much time before the next talk, and that might well be full by the time I reached that queue if I didn't get a wriggle on.
but I wanted to see Anita, have her autograph my copy of Am I Black Enough For You? (which I was halfway through, and greatly enjoying & learning lots from) so I scooted over to where the wonderful indie bookshop Gleebooks had set up for the duration, with books by all the writers appearing at the Festival. While in the autographs queue I got chatting with the woman in front of me, who hadn't read any of Anita's books, and was a bit doubtful about reading chick lit, so I enthused to this woman about the Mr Right books and the Dreaming books, and the way Anita combines social/political awareness with humour, relationships, and aspects of life that most women could relate to, and she ended up buying Manhattan Dreaming and Paris Dreaming - yay!
and I did get to give Anita a hug - two hugs, in fact - one for her, and one for Kerry Reed-Gilbert, who was one of the deadly writers who Anita would be joining at a Sydney Writers' Festival event in Wollongong tonight.
somewhere in there I bought Thai-riffic by Oliver Phommavan, who will be part of On Western Sydney, which I'm going to on (checks calendar) Saturday, and Flyaway by Lucy Christopher, who will be talking about Her Dark Materials on Sunday. Doubt that I'll manage to read all of both of them, but you never know...
Then I nipped back to Wharf 4/5 to join the queue for Not Funny, Strange, with authors Chris Flynn (A Tiger in Eden), P.A. O’Reilly (The Fine Colour of Rust) and Charlotte Wood (Animal People) talking to Angela Meyer about using wry humour. Guess what? It was already full. So back to the Viewing Lounge, where this time I scored a deck chair. the panel conversation, and the extracts read by the authors, were funny, and did make us laugh.
Then I left the Festival to catch a bus to another marvellous bookshop, Kinokuniya, which had a sale - not store-wide, but including wide range of non-fiction, and fiction from various genres, in formats including prose novels, graphic novels and picture books. On the way out of the Festival I retraced my steps and lo & behold, there was my train/bus ticket, lying where it had fallen from my pocket, unnoticed by the hundreds of people who'd walked past. Yay!
I'd been so restrained at the Festival (but then again, I am going back a few more times and will most likely visit the Gleebooks shop again); not so restrained at Kinokuniya - but such bargains! Fifteen books for about $85. W00T!
I've long had the habit of gloating over my purchases, whether books, clothes, DVDs, or other nifty finds, by spreading them out over furniture or on the floor so I can revel in their wonderfulness. in recent years, I've also taken a photo to post on Facebook, twitter, and/or my blog.
Before going to Kinokuniya I'd fortified myself with a meal of hot chips, and it was as I was leaving the cafe where I'd eaten that I realised I didn't have my jacket with me. Even though it is a lovely jacket, and one that I've had since the late 1970s (it doesn't do up across my middle now, but I'd reached my adult height by the age of 10, so it still fits in other ways), I didn't go back to the cafe to look for it, as I wasn't sure when I'd last had it - on the bus? at the Festival? So tomorrow I'll be checking with Lost Property at the Festival and at the cafe, and ringing the bus depot to see if anyone has handed it in. Dear jacket, I hope to see you again soon.
So that was Day One of the Festival for me (it actually started several days ago, with events in the Blue Mountains that I'd thought about going to, but hearing it had snowed in the mountains on the weekend put a damper on my enthusiasm for that idea).
Lost two things, recovered one (so far); heard some great talks; hugged some lovely friends; bought some books...
Tomorrow I hope to meet up with a few more friends, hear some more talks, maybe buy another book or two (only from Gleebooks, though - no more extra bookshops!), and hopefully retrieve my jacket.
21 December 2010
Street Cat Diaries
hello blog! sorry I haven't spoken with you in ages (and that I keep drafting posts and then leaving them unpublished because I am Filled with Doubt).
tonight as I drove home along the City West link I was amazed and delighted to see what looked like a huge rising crescent moon, but was actually the full moon in almost total eclipse, golden against the lilac sky, and perfectly poised, from my perspective, centred above the arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
it was a gorgeous sight, but no less thrilling to me than seeing the street cats in Marlowe Street a little earlier this evening.
'Street Cat Diaries' was the name suggested by Facebook friend Tim Roberts for a blog about Sandy and the other street cats of Marlowe Street Campsie, who I got to know in September 2009. I didn't actually blog about the kittehs, only posted about them on Facebook a lot, which I now regret, cos it'll be hard to retrieve all the status updates and comments to put the story back together.
wow, it's just struck me that Sandy befriended me more than 15 months ago now. and I first glimpsed her and her five sisters in February/March 2009, when they were probably two or three months old.
in the interim, I began feeding them occasionally; gradually got to know them; gave them names (who knows what their real names are? but I named them for my convenience, and so my friends would know who I meant more easily than if I said "the other short-haired blonde one, not the really friendly one"); bought more and more cat food so I could feed the six sisters and various toms every night; was banned from feeding them on the property (I was renting a flat in a small block where the 90-year-old woman who'd had the flats built 40 years ago still resided, and the property manager, her daughter, visited once or twice a week); realised the catlings were going to be reproducing soon; started to trap, desex & release them; and became firmly attached to one of the second generation kittens, who befriended me despite his mother being so frightened of and hostile towards humans that the neighbours across the road called her Hissy, and I called her Dragon.
friendly, brave Treasure and his at-first frightened sister Rosy now live with me, in a pet-friendly flat that I moved to after the younger landlady gave me notice, as does their cousin, Sandy's daughter Fern.
... (intervening chapters to be compiled/written later) ...
anyway, today was an amazing, intense day in many ways. I hadn't seen Tabby or her daughter Shadow for ages, and was really worried that something bad had happened to Shadow (e.g. dog attack or hit by a car), because she'd seemed in good health, and usually came running to greet me and ask for food whenever I visited Marlowe Street. So when I pulled up by the park in Marlowe Street and saw first Sandy, then Tabby, then Shadow, I was thrilled!
the three cats gulped down a 400g tin of Whiskas between them, and had some dry food too. Sandy was happy to play & smooch with me, Shadow let me stroke her (as long as I stroked her when she had her back to me - seeing a hand come towards her scares her too much), and Tabby even let me stroke her once (but I desisted after that, cos it obviously upset her).
while I was feeding those three, a woman stopped to admire the cats, and asked me about them. I told her that the cats had been born in 'that backyard over there', and the people living there had sort of fed them, but then left them behind when they moved out. the woman was impressed that I had fed them every night for six months or so while living nearby, and that I came to Campsie every week or two to feed them since I'd moved away (personally I feel privileged to know the kittehs, and I miss Sandy a lot).
we had a great discussion about how animals have feelings too, cats being related to lions and leopards (who can run very fast) and that cats aren't obedient like dogs, but they can still be very loving. the kittehs meanwhile were eating, washing, looking at me for more food, playing (in Sandy's case), and taking cover in the nearby 'jungle garden' when other people walked by, specially if there were several people at once, or a dog being walked.
Shadow eating - pic taken in early November, when she still had her winter coat, so wasn't quite so obviously thin.
the woman was so moved by seeing the skinny, scared cats eating and letting me stroke them, that she gave me a packet of frozen coconut juice, which she explained to me was frozen fresh in Thailand, shipped to Australia, and only available in Chinese food stores. I was very touched, and thanked her - not sure if coconut would agree with me (does anyone know what the salicylate level of coconut is?) but can give it to someone - and it was handy to use as a cold pack, given that I was about to go shopping for things including perishables. we bowed to each other, and she continued on, while I stayed and played with Sandy some more, then went looking for Smoky, who had had the flu the last couple of times I saw her.
there's now only one house out of the three that the cats used to live around that still welcomes them (and me when I come to feed them), so I went to their backyard and called Smoky. Sandy of course came too, so when Smoky appeared, I gave her as much of the sachet of wet food as I could, while giving Sandy little bits, and stroking her to distract her. I know Sandy could've done with more too, but Smoky hadn't had any, and my darling Sandy is a bit of a mean girl even when she's not starving, and all her sisters are wary of her smacking them, even Smoky, who is the next toughest of the litter. one of the guys came out of the house just as Smoky was finishing the last remnants of fishyness, and she and Sandy both bolted - I guess not all the current human residents are on good terms with the kittehs.
After that I went to the post office and picked up lots of lovely goodies from my PO box:
a CD of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy from a friend (thank you, Andrew!); two books from Twelfth Planet Press that I'd bought online in their 12 Days of Christmas Sale - two novellas in one volume, Siren Beat by Tansy Rayner Robers and Roadkill by Robert Shearman, and a collection of short stories by Deborah Biancotti, A Book of Endings; a tiny wee teddy bear figurine that my sister bought for my aunt & had posted to Campsie to make sure she could get it before Xmas; sundry newsletters, catalogues & appeals from charities; and a Christmas card from a friend in Wales.
my favourite chicken shop is in Campsie too, Lefkas Chicken on Beamish Street, where I bought the last half chicken (phew! my kittehs at home would not have been pleased if I'd come home from Campsie without chicken!), and the lovely proprietor Joanne wished me a merry Christmas "and your mum and your sister too", and said if we wanted a chook for Xmas, we'd need to order it (note to self: check with Becca; probably order chicken).
Rebecca has planned a yummy menu of things that will be pretty and easy for our mum to eat (Mama only likes soft food now), so I went to World of Fruit in search of white sweet potato, then wandered around Woollies for ages getting lots of groceries, and finding other ingredients for a red, white & green salad for Xmas lunch - Becca is very creative with food. actually, Becca is very creative generally. have a look at her dolls' house blog http://rebeccascollections.blogspot.com/
I'd already spent much longer in Campsie than I'd planned, but Shadow, Smoky and Tabby were waiting by my car when I got back from shopping, so I gave them some more dry food, and one of the wet food sachets I'd just bought on special at Woollies, and spoke with a teenage boy who was fascinated by the cats. I wondered if perhaps he was autistic, as he was mostly not speaking or making eye contact, and focussed a lot on picking up twigs from the ground and breaking them into same-sized pieces. He watched the cats, and listened when I told him how the cats were related, and agreed when I said that they were very hungry, and quite scared of people, but that one (Shadow) might let him stroke her while she was eating. he stroked her very gently, and let Smoky and Tabby eat in peace. he was still crouching by the cats and breaking twigs when I drove off.
when I got home I thought about going out again to watch the full moon and the eclipse some more, but was tired and wanted to get the cats indoors, feed them, feed me, ring Mum & Rebecca, and ring my potential flatmate about the house we've applied to rent. Treasure and Fern were very happy to come inside (Trezh especially once he smelled the chicken) but Rosy was flitting about in the garden and had no intention of being shut indoors. so Trezh and Fern and I had chicken, I rang Mum and Becca, then my friend who I've been flat-hunting with rang me.
She is feeling very unsure about the place that we've been offered. I am still half-disbelieving that I've finally found somewhere to move to when my lease is up in a few weeks. after two months of looking, hundreds of listings viewed online, scores of details read and photos examined (did you know that 'neat and tidy' means small, and 'original condition' means needing repairs?), about a dozen properties visited, and four applied for, I'm in! except that my friend is blind, and therefore moving is a Very Big Deal for her; anywhere she lives has to be close to public transport; and she doesn't have to move right now, as I do, just wants to be closer to lively cafes and interesting shops than where she is now. As the cute, semi-detached house we've applied for is not particularly close to the station or the local shops and cafes (of which there are a good number), she's not sure if she wants to move at all. But she kindly agreed to co-sign the lease this week, without which I'd have no hope of getting the place, and continue to think about the move over the next week or so. if she decides to move, great; if not, she'll let me know so I can start looking for another flatmate, and hopefully not have to pay the whole rent for too long.
After that, I just wanted to go to bed, but went outside to look for Rosy, who was still having fun romping around in the garden. at least this time she rolled on the ground to invite a tummy rub, rather than running of somewhere I couldn't catch her. I obliged with a tummy rub (she has gorgeous soft fur), and just as I picked her up to bring her in, my landlord let his collie out for her night-time wee, and she rushed barking at me and Rosy. Rosy struggled to get free and run, I hung on and ran for the door to my flat, Rosy scratched me but I managed to get her inside and slam the door shut, and turn to say "no!" firmly to Nessie the lovely collie. Nessie was very disappointed not be able to play with (read: chase and possibly bite) Rosy, but happy to have a scratch around the ears from me. Rosy was relieved to get away from the Big Barking Dog, resigned to being inside, and very happy to have some chicken.
if you're still reading this, well done! you have great stamina :-)
I enjoy blogging, but am not much given to short, frequent posts (as you can probably tell) - despite being tired and planning to go to bed early, I'm still up at one in the morning. That's the trouble with blogging - it's writing, which I love, and which has a similar effect on me to reading a good book - everything else recedes into the distance, bodily sensations such as hunger or fatigue become unimportant, and the words and the world they conjure are everything.
tonight as I drove home along the City West link I was amazed and delighted to see what looked like a huge rising crescent moon, but was actually the full moon in almost total eclipse, golden against the lilac sky, and perfectly poised, from my perspective, centred above the arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
it was a gorgeous sight, but no less thrilling to me than seeing the street cats in Marlowe Street a little earlier this evening.
'Street Cat Diaries' was the name suggested by Facebook friend Tim Roberts for a blog about Sandy and the other street cats of Marlowe Street Campsie, who I got to know in September 2009. I didn't actually blog about the kittehs, only posted about them on Facebook a lot, which I now regret, cos it'll be hard to retrieve all the status updates and comments to put the story back together.
wow, it's just struck me that Sandy befriended me more than 15 months ago now. and I first glimpsed her and her five sisters in February/March 2009, when they were probably two or three months old.
in the interim, I began feeding them occasionally; gradually got to know them; gave them names (who knows what their real names are? but I named them for my convenience, and so my friends would know who I meant more easily than if I said "the other short-haired blonde one, not the really friendly one"); bought more and more cat food so I could feed the six sisters and various toms every night; was banned from feeding them on the property (I was renting a flat in a small block where the 90-year-old woman who'd had the flats built 40 years ago still resided, and the property manager, her daughter, visited once or twice a week); realised the catlings were going to be reproducing soon; started to trap, desex & release them; and became firmly attached to one of the second generation kittens, who befriended me despite his mother being so frightened of and hostile towards humans that the neighbours across the road called her Hissy, and I called her Dragon.
friendly, brave Treasure and his at-first frightened sister Rosy now live with me, in a pet-friendly flat that I moved to after the younger landlady gave me notice, as does their cousin, Sandy's daughter Fern.
... (intervening chapters to be compiled/written later) ...
anyway, today was an amazing, intense day in many ways. I hadn't seen Tabby or her daughter Shadow for ages, and was really worried that something bad had happened to Shadow (e.g. dog attack or hit by a car), because she'd seemed in good health, and usually came running to greet me and ask for food whenever I visited Marlowe Street. So when I pulled up by the park in Marlowe Street and saw first Sandy, then Tabby, then Shadow, I was thrilled!
the three cats gulped down a 400g tin of Whiskas between them, and had some dry food too. Sandy was happy to play & smooch with me, Shadow let me stroke her (as long as I stroked her when she had her back to me - seeing a hand come towards her scares her too much), and Tabby even let me stroke her once (but I desisted after that, cos it obviously upset her).
while I was feeding those three, a woman stopped to admire the cats, and asked me about them. I told her that the cats had been born in 'that backyard over there', and the people living there had sort of fed them, but then left them behind when they moved out. the woman was impressed that I had fed them every night for six months or so while living nearby, and that I came to Campsie every week or two to feed them since I'd moved away (personally I feel privileged to know the kittehs, and I miss Sandy a lot).
we had a great discussion about how animals have feelings too, cats being related to lions and leopards (who can run very fast) and that cats aren't obedient like dogs, but they can still be very loving. the kittehs meanwhile were eating, washing, looking at me for more food, playing (in Sandy's case), and taking cover in the nearby 'jungle garden' when other people walked by, specially if there were several people at once, or a dog being walked.
Shadow eating - pic taken in early November, when she still had her winter coat, so wasn't quite so obviously thin.
the woman was so moved by seeing the skinny, scared cats eating and letting me stroke them, that she gave me a packet of frozen coconut juice, which she explained to me was frozen fresh in Thailand, shipped to Australia, and only available in Chinese food stores. I was very touched, and thanked her - not sure if coconut would agree with me (does anyone know what the salicylate level of coconut is?) but can give it to someone - and it was handy to use as a cold pack, given that I was about to go shopping for things including perishables. we bowed to each other, and she continued on, while I stayed and played with Sandy some more, then went looking for Smoky, who had had the flu the last couple of times I saw her.
there's now only one house out of the three that the cats used to live around that still welcomes them (and me when I come to feed them), so I went to their backyard and called Smoky. Sandy of course came too, so when Smoky appeared, I gave her as much of the sachet of wet food as I could, while giving Sandy little bits, and stroking her to distract her. I know Sandy could've done with more too, but Smoky hadn't had any, and my darling Sandy is a bit of a mean girl even when she's not starving, and all her sisters are wary of her smacking them, even Smoky, who is the next toughest of the litter. one of the guys came out of the house just as Smoky was finishing the last remnants of fishyness, and she and Sandy both bolted - I guess not all the current human residents are on good terms with the kittehs.
After that I went to the post office and picked up lots of lovely goodies from my PO box:
a CD of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy from a friend (thank you, Andrew!); two books from Twelfth Planet Press that I'd bought online in their 12 Days of Christmas Sale - two novellas in one volume, Siren Beat by Tansy Rayner Robers and Roadkill by Robert Shearman, and a collection of short stories by Deborah Biancotti, A Book of Endings; a tiny wee teddy bear figurine that my sister bought for my aunt & had posted to Campsie to make sure she could get it before Xmas; sundry newsletters, catalogues & appeals from charities; and a Christmas card from a friend in Wales.
my favourite chicken shop is in Campsie too, Lefkas Chicken on Beamish Street, where I bought the last half chicken (phew! my kittehs at home would not have been pleased if I'd come home from Campsie without chicken!), and the lovely proprietor Joanne wished me a merry Christmas "and your mum and your sister too", and said if we wanted a chook for Xmas, we'd need to order it (note to self: check with Becca; probably order chicken).
Rebecca has planned a yummy menu of things that will be pretty and easy for our mum to eat (Mama only likes soft food now), so I went to World of Fruit in search of white sweet potato, then wandered around Woollies for ages getting lots of groceries, and finding other ingredients for a red, white & green salad for Xmas lunch - Becca is very creative with food. actually, Becca is very creative generally. have a look at her dolls' house blog http://rebeccascollections.blogspot.com/
I'd already spent much longer in Campsie than I'd planned, but Shadow, Smoky and Tabby were waiting by my car when I got back from shopping, so I gave them some more dry food, and one of the wet food sachets I'd just bought on special at Woollies, and spoke with a teenage boy who was fascinated by the cats. I wondered if perhaps he was autistic, as he was mostly not speaking or making eye contact, and focussed a lot on picking up twigs from the ground and breaking them into same-sized pieces. He watched the cats, and listened when I told him how the cats were related, and agreed when I said that they were very hungry, and quite scared of people, but that one (Shadow) might let him stroke her while she was eating. he stroked her very gently, and let Smoky and Tabby eat in peace. he was still crouching by the cats and breaking twigs when I drove off.
when I got home I thought about going out again to watch the full moon and the eclipse some more, but was tired and wanted to get the cats indoors, feed them, feed me, ring Mum & Rebecca, and ring my potential flatmate about the house we've applied to rent. Treasure and Fern were very happy to come inside (Trezh especially once he smelled the chicken) but Rosy was flitting about in the garden and had no intention of being shut indoors. so Trezh and Fern and I had chicken, I rang Mum and Becca, then my friend who I've been flat-hunting with rang me.
She is feeling very unsure about the place that we've been offered. I am still half-disbelieving that I've finally found somewhere to move to when my lease is up in a few weeks. after two months of looking, hundreds of listings viewed online, scores of details read and photos examined (did you know that 'neat and tidy' means small, and 'original condition' means needing repairs?), about a dozen properties visited, and four applied for, I'm in! except that my friend is blind, and therefore moving is a Very Big Deal for her; anywhere she lives has to be close to public transport; and she doesn't have to move right now, as I do, just wants to be closer to lively cafes and interesting shops than where she is now. As the cute, semi-detached house we've applied for is not particularly close to the station or the local shops and cafes (of which there are a good number), she's not sure if she wants to move at all. But she kindly agreed to co-sign the lease this week, without which I'd have no hope of getting the place, and continue to think about the move over the next week or so. if she decides to move, great; if not, she'll let me know so I can start looking for another flatmate, and hopefully not have to pay the whole rent for too long.
After that, I just wanted to go to bed, but went outside to look for Rosy, who was still having fun romping around in the garden. at least this time she rolled on the ground to invite a tummy rub, rather than running of somewhere I couldn't catch her. I obliged with a tummy rub (she has gorgeous soft fur), and just as I picked her up to bring her in, my landlord let his collie out for her night-time wee, and she rushed barking at me and Rosy. Rosy struggled to get free and run, I hung on and ran for the door to my flat, Rosy scratched me but I managed to get her inside and slam the door shut, and turn to say "no!" firmly to Nessie the lovely collie. Nessie was very disappointed not be able to play with (read: chase and possibly bite) Rosy, but happy to have a scratch around the ears from me. Rosy was relieved to get away from the Big Barking Dog, resigned to being inside, and very happy to have some chicken.
if you're still reading this, well done! you have great stamina :-)
I enjoy blogging, but am not much given to short, frequent posts (as you can probably tell) - despite being tired and planning to go to bed early, I'm still up at one in the morning. That's the trouble with blogging - it's writing, which I love, and which has a similar effect on me to reading a good book - everything else recedes into the distance, bodily sensations such as hunger or fatigue become unimportant, and the words and the world they conjure are everything.
24 October 2009
Pitfalls for young readers
"Look at that view!"
"Yes, it's very picture-skew, isn't it?"
"What?!"
I don't know if this conversation ever happened when I was a child, but it could easily have. As with many kids who learn a lot of words through reading them rather than hearing them, I had a great vocabulary at a young age, but was often a bit off with the pronunciation.
I knew that "queue" was pronounced 'kyoo' (now how's that for unlikely pronunciation?), and was familiar with the word 'picture', so when I encountered the word 'picturesque' I heard it in my head as 'pikshaskyoo', and worked out that it meant 'pretty as a picture'.
And a tall, impressive, good-looking woman was 'statyooskyoo', meaning 'impressive like a statue'. If ever I want to write the word, I have to look 'statuesque' up in the dictionary to be sure of how to spell it - knowing that it's supposed to be pronounced 'statyooesk' doesn't tell me whether there are two 'e's in the middle (one for 'statue' and one for 'esque') or one, or none.
I don't have a clear memory of when I could first read words, but I do have a vivid memory (as well as remembering it as a story told in the family) of sitting in the drawing room with my mother (who was reading), my father (who was reading), and my older sister (who was reading), and being very frustrated because at not quite four I couldn't read yet. Fortunately I did learn to read soon after, first in English (Ant and Bee and Kind Dog) and then some French (Pierre Lapin - which is as far as I ever got).
I also remember being so absorbed in reading that I didn't hear Mum calling me. She thought I was deliberately ignoring her, but I really was deaf to the world - something that still happens now when I'm absorbed in reading, which is apparent to me when I come out of a book and hear that my iTunes has moved on through more than half an hour of a playlist without my hearing a thing.
These thoughts were inspired by reading this post, http://stilllifewithcat.blogspot.com/2009/07/help.html, which for some reason I can't link to.
29 June 2009
living and blogging
being fairly new to blogging, and also going through a health crisis, I'm not sure whether it's possible to do stuff and still have time & energy to blog about it. (half-joking here)
one possible solution would be to not do anything, and simply blog about what's going on in my mind, but that could get a bit stale, so I'll probably just do occasional posts, and in between the more detailed posts, give a summary of the interesting things I could've blogged about, if I hadn't been so busy doing them.
in the last week I've:
* read a fascinating YA novel called Beast, by Ally Kennen
* weeded some of my pot plants on the balcony
* shared thoughts with friends on FB - a great solace, joy and inspiration
* wondered what I'd be doing now if I'd had more self-confidence in my 20s and 30s
* and played I Spy with a couple of preschoolers while we (and many others of various ages and ethnic backgrounds) were all waiting for an hour or so to see a doctor at the medical centre
more about Beast later, and about the tantalising "what if"s that may even now be fulfilled by alternate versions of me in parallel universes...
one possible solution would be to not do anything, and simply blog about what's going on in my mind, but that could get a bit stale, so I'll probably just do occasional posts, and in between the more detailed posts, give a summary of the interesting things I could've blogged about, if I hadn't been so busy doing them.
in the last week I've:
* read a fascinating YA novel called Beast, by Ally Kennen
* weeded some of my pot plants on the balcony
* shared thoughts with friends on FB - a great solace, joy and inspiration
* wondered what I'd be doing now if I'd had more self-confidence in my 20s and 30s
* and played I Spy with a couple of preschoolers while we (and many others of various ages and ethnic backgrounds) were all waiting for an hour or so to see a doctor at the medical centre
more about Beast later, and about the tantalising "what if"s that may even now be fulfilled by alternate versions of me in parallel universes...
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