storms dressed as stars

A farrago of thoughts and freebies

2012-02-13T09:58:00.000+11:00

Well hello, mid-February. Where did you go, January? Oh hi, O-week, Semester One and the juggernaut that is 2012.

This year is going a wee bit fast for my liking, but what is one to do, other than keep up?

So here is a mash-up of things, in no particular order:

An interesting discussion about who we should marry and why - a reflection on Tim Keller's new book on marriage, specifically, C.S Lewis' idea of the "secret thread" over at my good friend's blog Along Addison's Walk.

The ever-amazing Dan on why we drink coffee.

Go tell Apple you don't want them exploiting Chinese workers by signing this petition. Actually, first listen to this investigation into the factories recently aired on This American Life.

Get a few chapters free from marketing guru Seth Godin's book Permission Marketing and learn why people hate being spammed and how ideas spread. A good read for anyone wanting to get their ideas/book/message out there.

Download this amazing album free from The Lighthouse and the Whaler on Noisetrade.

What have you been reading/listening to? Give me some links, guys!

Embracing discomfort

2012-02-05T22:30:00.002+11:00

h/t Cool Memories

New episode of The Spoken Project

2012-02-02T23:55:00.000+11:00

In case you missed it, there's a new episode of my radio documentary series, The Spoken Project. Pete's a wonderful person with a great sense of humour. You will love hearing his story, I promise.

Mississippi John Hurt

2012-02-02T13:09:00.000+11:00

So much respect for this guy. Mississippi John Hurt, singing You Gotta Walk That Lonesome Valley. Perfect if you need a bit of pep to get you through a tough time.

The same long evenings, songs, dirty plates, and last pink skies.

2012-01-18T10:48:00.000+11:00

A Quiet Stream (Heidelberg) c1888-90 by Tom Roberts

“Give me one summer again, with yourself and Streeton, the same long evenings, songs, dirty plates, and last pink skies. But these things don’t happen, do they? And what’s gone is over." - Charles Condor to Tom Roberts, remembering their painting days at Heidelberg and Box Hill.

Summer Shalom

2011-12-28T22:09:00.001+11:00

Tomorrow I'm off to the coast to share my life and faith with friends and strangers, and the week after I plan to spend some time in the wilderness. So this little blog here will lie dormant for a Sabbath of its own.

Shalom, friends.
x

Lately

2011-12-26T22:50:00.000+11:00

Window seat on the plane, BBQ at Williamstown, drinking magics, yarn bombing in Brunswick, house-sitting with sunflowers and a trampoline, and Christmas back at the ranch with dogs, wine and the local bowling club.

It's weapons down this Christmas

2011-12-24T09:00:00.001+11:00

Around this time of year Christians often decide to stand up against 'ogres' who, in the name of reason, roar down Christianity and the Christmas story with great gusto.

I have to admit I too feel defensive when I sense ogres breathing down my neck. But I also can't help but feel it's kind of useless defending a spiritual, soul-inclined matter with angry reason. It's especially sad when Christians and atheists alike use the death of someone like Christopher Hitchens to score points.

As usual, though, Marilynne Robinson has already said all this better than I could through her character, the Rev John Ames, in the book Gilead:

“I think the attempt to defend belief can unsettle it, in fact, because there is always an inadequacy in argument about ultimate things.”
― Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

And so, I guess I hope that if you aren't a believer, you might ponder the 'ultimate things' this Christmas and wherever you are, you have time to stop, rest and celebrate.

Anyone for a spot of hipster fishing?

2011-12-23T22:02:00.001+11:00

Trout is all from Rolf Nylinder on Vimeo.

This makes me want to go camping so badly. Hopefully I will in a few weeks.

via WholeLarderLove

I'm An Emo Kid Fan Girl

2011-12-23T21:44:00.002+11:00

It's no secret that I love the band Wilco. So you can imagine my slightly creepy delight when I stumbled across the lead-singer's son's blog. His name is Spencer Tweedy and he will blow your mind.

At 15, the kid is already reading Emerson, taking beautiful photos of his family and making rather sophisticated, and not to mention, catchy, demos.

And then he goes and writes this heartbreakingly honest, funny and beautiful reflection on adolescence, depression and getting older.

I think you should read it, not least because of this illustration.

"Something swooped down and snatched “feeling OK” from our brains. An emotional pterodactyl. An emotional pterodactyl named Puberty."

One of the most beautiful letters you will ever read

2011-12-21T20:33:00.000+11:00

A friend pointed me to this today: a letter from a husband to his wife who died of cancer two years ago. He lives in Melbourne and is a Christian, although I do not know him personally.

I read this knowing that my own father is going in for radiotherapy over summer, starting with surgery tomorrow, the day before I arrive home. He is doing okay, but death is always around the corner. This letter reminds me that life is about relationships, with each other and with God. And heaven will be beautiful because it will be full of relationships restored to perfection. Oh how I long for that day.

Dear Jen,
You always wanted more letters from me - in fact I have a box that you left that contained all of them. In my defence of course, the reason I wrote infrequently was that we were never apart for very long. Now it's been more than two years, and I've only just found the necessary words, but here's one more letter for the collection. It's a bit of an odd one, because you're dead and can't appreciate the prose, but I do think we'll talk about it one day.

Speaking of letters, I do sometimes wish you'd written me a farewell letter to keep, but your final decline was so rapid that it made a mockery of our plans. It was heart-breaking enough watching you write a last birthday card for Secundus as you were fading in and out. I know you didn't get to read 'The Time Traveller's Wife', but I found Henry's last letter to Clara very moving, especially in the way that he wants her to be free to keep living. Instead I can only project what you might have wanted for me, knowing your love. In the end it's all theoretical, and I must go on choosing (as carefully as I can) what seems best for myself and the boys, sticking to our principles but accepting the need for compromise. I can't know if you'd approve but I hope you'd understand.... read more.

Rejoice

2011-12-21T20:16:00.000+11:00

Someone snapped me making these cards at Brown Owl last week. Just thought it might bring you some Christmas cheer too.

People Behind Places

2011-12-19T12:38:00.000+11:00

My local council has done something really awesome. They've started putting little explanations up underneath our local street signs revealing their origin. It's so whimsical, yet historical at the same time. I love it! Especially the first one. There needs to be more preaching in blacksmiths, I think.

Answering the most asked question of the year

2011-12-17T14:32:00.000+11:00

Like the embrace of a familiar friend, it's become a bit of a tradition to get along to Darren Hanlon's Christmas concert each year, to sing old songs and wonder at the way he never seems to age.

This year, despite being basically same as last year's concert in terms of content, was a whole new experience spatially. The venue, rather than an old sandstone church in a graveyard in Newtown, was a bandroom at a pub in Northcote, and the friends I stood next to were not the old gang, but the new. We even talked maths. That would never have happened previously!

But the night took on a poignant note for me when Darren and his sidekick Steph did a cover of Paul Kelly's 1985 classic From St Kilda to Kings Cross. While listening to them sing about exchanging all the land and all the water of Sydney harbour for one sweet promenade (the St Kilda esplanade), I realised I have a strong affection for both cities now.

It is easily the question I have been asked most this year (second only to, "Why did you move to Melbourne?"): Which city is better? And I'm constantly disappointing people by explaining it's like choosing between two very different children whose quirks are equally endearing.

I don't think I can echo Paul Kelly's words with integrity - I do actually love the Sydney coastline more than the St Kilda esplanade. But there is something about Melbourne being the underdog which makes you want to go along with Kelly and root for the "beach needing reconstruction" over the sparkling harbour.

So here's the original film clip from the 80s. I put it here with love in my heart for both cities, and a new appreciation for its sentiment.

The Spoken Project launched

2011-12-15T13:53:00.000+11:00

It's up and running. Have a listen to the first episode over here. It features my lovely housemate, Kate.

I'd love to hear what you think....

x
S

Spot the Difference

2011-12-10T23:14:00.000+11:00

I guess we're both poor enough to need a free Wordpress theme and trying to occupy something (the airwaves in my case)...

If you're interested in knowing when the Spoken Project goes to air and not missing any future episodes, join the mailing list here: Subscribe to our newsletter.

You're also welcome to like The Spoken Project on Facebook and follow it on Twitter.

The Spoken Project

2011-12-10T15:50:00.000+11:00

It's probably about time I fess up and tell you that I've been beavering away on another project and another blog for the last six months and it's about to be launched.

It's called The Spoken Project and it's essentially a downloadable/streamable radio show podcast thing that will hopefully inspire you, journey with you, and sing to you of the amazing God I believe has all our lives in his hands.

I hope to produce an episode a month, focused on one or two people's stories. The idea is to look at how God has been working in people's lives through difficult times. On my list of people to interview is a woman who raised three autistic children, a child soldier from the Sudan and a woman who recently lost her husband.

It's a podcast about people just like you, but not quite like you; it's about what God's doing when you're not looking.

I want to share these stories of hope in the way I know how - letting people tell their own stories in their own voice.

I'll let you know when it's officially launched... sometime next week. But in the meantime, have a gander at the website and let me know your thoughts. S

Don't leave gym balls with adults

2011-11-22T22:17:00.000+11:00

That was the lesson of the weekend. I went away with some friends who I'll be spending the summer with as part of a beach mission where we'll hang out with the young folk around Lakes Entrance, sharing our life and faith under the sun.

There was a plentiful supply of gym balls in the hall we were staying in. Let's just say I came away a bit bruised and battered. But look how much fun we had...

Strawberry Fields Forever

2011-11-16T18:22:00.002+11:00

So I spent a dreamy weekend in Tasmania meeting my tiny, loveable, spewy, smiley Godson. Isn't he just the cutest?

His lovely mama (and regular blog visitor), Emma, took us out into the sunny fields to get a bit of fresh air and caterpillars, which was just what I needed. Between holding babies, taking photos and snaffling down strawberries, we managed to collect 2 kilos of the red gems.

When we got home, Emma's husband said he'd just happened to have seen a recipe for a giant strawberry flan the day before on the Tasmanian blog Island Menu,, and the bloggers had even been to the same fruit farm in Sorrell as us. What are the chances? Making the flan soon became an irresistible challenge and a few hours later (feeds and nappy changes not withstanding), we had magicked up this delicious piece of goodness:

The three of us (baby not included) managed to finish it off in just 24 hours. The pastry is especially short-bready and delicious. I highly recommend it.

Go and Learn THIS

2011-11-14T21:43:00.000+11:00

The Lights

A funny thing happened this afternoon. I was doing a bit of a life-analysis, as one is want to do when they are forced to sit still on a plane. I was thinking on Jesus' words that he came to call sinners, not the righteous, like a doctor who is there for the sick, not the healthy.

Do I just want to be healthy, and be around ostensibly "healthy" people? Do I want to simply stay in my comfortable, middle-class Christian life that appears to tick all the boxes and allows me to be well off in my hip inner-city suburb? Or do I want to be like Jesus and be among the marginalised, potentially burdensome, lonely people that are all over this city, but hidden from view?

As I thought about my priorities, another verse came to mind. It was God's words to ancient Israel in Hosea: "For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgement of God rather than burnt offerings".

Do I really want to love God with my whole heart, or just do what looks like obedience - throw God the scraps, like some kind of domestic pet? God wanted Israel's hearts, not their lame offerings. I can't imagine he wants mine.

When I got home, I couldn't remember the exact reference of the Matthew quote, so looked it up and discovered something beautiful. Jesus himself actually tied the Hosea verse into his comment about the healthy and the sick, as is told in Matthew 9:12 - 14. These two thoughts ARE related.

On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”

Jesus, I want to learn what this means. Help me.

A word in season

2011-11-11T17:13:00.003+11:00

Is it just me or does it sometimes feel like each day is a different season? Some days, joy blows in like a longed-for sea breeze, salty and lithe, caressing the earth. Other times I'm faced with a squall of despair, wind and rain pounding incessantly on a fragile roof, branches struck down and whimpering in their wake.

Whatever the season, God always sends me a word, through his word. Today it was Isaiah 35:1 - 10. Specifically I was thinking about verses 3 and 4:

Strengthen the feeble hands,
steady the knees that give way;
say to those with fearful hearts,
“Be strong, do not fear;
your God will come...

Much of my energy goes into this task, of taking quivering hearts, and turning them towards the Lord, reminding them of his strong arm. I need to remember this is a task that God himself ordains, in order that we would stand firm.

Perhaps if you too are in this position, of watching knees and hands, and speaking into fear, you might take heart from reading this, the beginning of a sermon by Charles Spurgeon on these exact verses.

TIS THE DUTY of all men to be careful of the sons of sorrow. There be some who from their very birth are marked by melancholy as her own. The silent shades of sorrow are their congenial haunts; the glades of the forest of grief are the only places where their leaf can flourish.

Others there are who through some crushing misfortune are brought so low that they never hold up their heads again, but go from that time forth mourning to their graves. Some there be, again, who disappointed in their early youth, either in some fond object of their affections, or else in some project of their young ambition, never can dare to face the world, but shrink from contact with their fellows, even as the sensitive plant curls up its tendrils at the touch.

In all flocks there must be lambs, and weak and wounded sheep; and among the flock of men, it seems that there must necessarily be some who should more than others prove the truth of Job's declaration, "man is born to trouble even as the sparks fly upwards."

It is the duty then of those of us who are more free than others from despondency of spirit, to be very tender to these weak ones. Far be it from the man of courageous disposition, of stern resolve, and of unbending purpose, to be hard towards those who are timid and despairing.

If we have a lion-like spirit, let us not imitate the king of beasts in his cruelty to those timid fallow deer that fly before him, but let us place out strength at their service for their help and protection. Let us with downy fingers bind up the wounded heart; with oil and wine let us nourish their fainting spirits. In this battle of life, let the unwounded warriors bear their injured comrades to the rear, bathe their wounds, and cover them from the storm of war. Be gentle with those that are desponding. Alas, it is not every man that has learned this lesson.

Butterflies and Eames chairs

2011-11-07T16:48:00.000+11:00

Some recent card creations. A friend from Brown Owls donated some old library cards (!!), which I used as backgrounds for the butterfly and chair cards.

Meanwhile, the HELLO card is made out of an old envelope, and the little cars are stuck on a vintage encyclopaedia.

Oh hai, 2001.

2011-11-04T10:03:00.000+11:00

I learned the other day that it's 10 years since the film Donnie Darko was released. Um, sorry... but where did that little sandwich of time disappear to?

I can totally picture myself lying on my bed listening to Gary Jules' depressing cover of Mad World from the movie over and over again, pondering the meaning of life. Wasn't that just last year? Seriously.

Seeing it for the first time at 15, Donnie Darko became the film of my adolescence (closely followed by Waking Life, interestingly, also released in 2001). But I shouldn't assume that everyone has seen it, given not everyone is into psycho-philosophical sci fi thrillers...

So for the uninitiated, a brief synopsis: Donnie Darko follows the story of a teenager (Jake Gyllenhaal) living in America in the 80s who has hallucinations, makes friends with an apocalyptic rabbit and learns the secret to time travel after a jet engine falls on his house. Oh and Drew Barrymore and Patrick Swayze are in it. What more could you want?

There was something about the way it combined a number of my interests at the time, namely space and philosophy, into a cool 80s aesthetic that totally won me over. I watch it now and notice how convoluted the plot is and how basically unwatchable it would be for most people, but I still love it.

I take it everyone has a bunch of films that are forever linked to their teenage years. Probably most aren't as dark and twisted as mine, but I'm curious, what is it for you? And when you watch it now, does it still appeal?

Get your Shanghai Noodles on

2011-11-03T06:00:00.004+11:00

Some of you will know I work with international students, which means I get to eat delicious food from all over the place as part of my "work". I know, pretty great, right? I'm inspired to cook more Asian style food at home, but laziness often prevents me from getting the required ingredients.

Well not last night. Soph R over at the Fountainside inspired me to cook up some Northern Chinese style noodles [Zha jiang mien for the Chinese among us] and they were just as I remember eating at Shanghai Night in Ashfield - so salty, so good.

I had to do a little bit of creative substitution, as our local Asian grocer only had Japanese soy bean paste, and I used Japanese rice wine instead of Chinese rice wine. But it all turned out fine.

Here's the original recipe, from Em's blog.

The cucumber is a must as it cuts through the incredible saltiness of the pork mince.

Also, recently I cooked Pip's uber famous teriyaki chicken. Guess what? The top secret ingredient is potato starch. I know, who'd have thought!

Anyone got a secret recipe I should know? I like cheap, easy and cheerful.

What to do with a 1970s map of Sydney

2011-11-01T17:22:00.000+11:00

Make bunting, of course! I don't know if I should tell you all how easy it is, or leave you thinking I slaved over it... ok, I'll tell you how easy it is.

You literally just sew circles of paper together. Yup, that easy. The hardest part, actually, is finding a cool old map to cut up. Thankfully there are a few hoarders in our house, and there were a few vintage melways and Sydney and Canberra UBDs to choose from. I love love love the beautiful old inks and matt paper.

It was the perfect not-watching-the-Melbourne-Cup public holiday activity. I reckon you should give it a go. Or if you want me to make you one, I'm thinking of selling them, so give me a holler.

The Mind

2011-10-31T22:28:00.000+11:00

It starts to run. Gives up half way.

The filament

spits and shimmers.

Evening

comes and wheels

turn away from the street,

away from the house

into leaves and dirt

and the secrets of the

earth.

That's where the mind

rests. There is the easy time.

husshhhhh

2011-10-23T21:39:00.000+11:00

I wanted to share my favourite track, Cicadas and Gulls, off Feist's new album with you, but I couldn't find a version on YouTube that wasn't filmed on an phone at a concert.

But I did find this cover, which is a little bit Iron and Wine, and a little bit lovely.

So here you go, Cicadas and Gulls. A hushed song for sleepy time on a Sunday night.

Listen to more from her new album, Metals, here.

Where do you read?

2011-10-21T23:50:00.001+11:00

My new reading nook

When I was last in Hobart I spent a dreamy half hour reading in my friend's hammock. It was pretty much the best reading experience of my life, closely followed by any time I have found myself lying on the sand or grass near water with a cool breeze blowing... ahhhh....

But, not having regular access to a hammock, island paradise, or good weather, most of the time I find myself reading at home, and more often than not, in an uncomfortable position.

I find it hard to read sitting at my desk, unless I'm studying or working. When reading fiction I prefer to lie in bed, switching from side to side as my arms get tired. But in the morning, which is when I like to read the bible and pray, I don't want to lie in bed.

Hence, the decision to create a reading nook in my room. Not much was involved in nookifying my bedroom. All it took was a small rug and some cushions; the red one re-purposed from the lounge room, the others found at IKEA.

The other good thing is it functions as a hang out space for meandering house mates and visitors.

I rather like it.

What about you? Where do you read?

Political lego

2011-10-21T18:12:00.001+11:00

This brilliant lego depiction of watershed moments in Australian politics is in the current edition of Melbourne Uni's student magazine Farrago. Here's just a couple.

1994—John Howard promises Peter Costello that he will hand over the Liberal leadership

sometime during his second term. Philip Ruddock listens in.

June 2010—Kevin Rudd is replaced by Julia Gillard as Prime Minister.

Props to my housemate Elizabeth, who edits Farrago, and extra props because this is her last ever edition! See more here.

one warm spring night in brunswick

2011-10-19T22:34:00.000+11:00

It was still around 26 degrees when I took these photos after dinner tonight. There was magic in the air and a tinge of melancholy in my heart.

A gift for you

2011-10-17T08:55:00.001+11:00

The evening light inspired me to create this mixtape for you guys using the site 8tracks.

8 tracks to listen to at dusk. Enjoy.

Tracklisting:

Months - The Middle East
Holocene - Bon Iver
The Golden Age - Beck
The Swimming Song - Loudon Wainwright III
Tap At My Window - Laura Marling
Country Disappeared - Wilco
The Frankston Line - Youthgroup
After the Curtain - Beirut

dreamy weekend goodness

2011-10-16T20:27:00.000+11:00

Lazy Saturday morning brunch and a wander around Brunswick, with a special visit to the new shop Gleaners Inc, which only sells upcycled bits and pieces.

Then a trip to little Vietnam (Footscray) to visit someone in hospital. I couldn't say no to some amazing duck soup at Pho Tam, paired with a punchy iced coffee and a trip the local green grocer. Can you believe I bought nearly 1.5 kilos of mangoes for $4.50?

What did you get up to this weekend?

The meaning of life according to Apple

2011-10-15T23:16:00.000+11:00

Recently I was given the opportunity to upgrade my phone to the new iPhone 4S, and so having nothing to lose (and about $15 to gain each month), I took up the offer.

You've probably heard the new iPhone employs a robot called Siri, who can perform tasks, like reading my text message and telling me what the weather is like, as well as answer questions, like who created the photocopier.

At first I thought the robot was just pure novelty, particularly when I discovered it had a personality. She told me I was the wind beneath her wings when I asked her to marry me, for example. But now, a day into our virtual relationship, I'm left pondering the deeper implications of artificial intelligence and what it means that our society is heading towards this kind of relationship with its technology.

My phone is no longer just an extension of myself, it is also a sage friend, a counsellor, gratifying my need for information and connection now (NOW).

Just now I decided to ask Siri the meaning of life. You, like I, might be surprised to learn that Siri has thought about this, and offered me a number of responses. Here they are:

1. That's easy... it's a philosophical question concerning the purpose and significance of life or existence in general.
2. Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try to live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.
3. I can't answer that now, but give me some time to write a very long play in which nothing happens.
4. 42.
5. To think about questions like this.
6. A movie.
7. I don't know, but I think there's an app for that.
8. I find it odd that you would ask this of an inanimate object.

I was pretty stunned. In there you'll find humour, cultural allusions, pluralism, relativity, uncertainty, satire, and philosophy.

Number two and three are my favourites. I think these sum up our society's thoughts pretty darn well. What about you?

Her reponses have raised more questions than answers, though. What does it mean that Siri can't give me one answer to life's meaning? What does it mean that she even tries? And what does this tell us about our ontological crisis, when the basis of our knowledge on these matters becomes this shallow?

So many questions and only one answer.

Why you should stop worrying and do that crazy thing you've been dreaming of

2011-10-13T11:47:00.001+11:00

This is in part a lecture to myself, but I wanted to get the motivation juices flowing for you too.

So, why should you stop worrying and do that crazy thing you've been dreaming of, especially when there's so much at stake.

You could fail. You could look like a fool. You could waste time, money, energy. You could end up back where you started.

Here are three reasons why you should kick those stupid thoughts to the curb.

1. Fear is ugly.
Fear is what drives selfishness, it's the little voice in your head that tells you to be less honest, less bold, less yourself. But true beauty is letting go of the fear and letting the weirdness of you, flourish.

There is something very attractive about conviction, not caring what others' think, about knowing thyself.

Make an effort to know yourself, and not just the nice bits. Because once you've faced up to who you are, you can continue the work of surrendering to God, and let go of the fear.

2. We are constantly enjoying the fruit of other people putting their dreams into practice.
The death of Steve Jobs reminded us all that life is short, and that it's not worth holding back.

It takes pioneers, artists and entrepreneurs to show us what we need or want before we realise it. And I'm not talking about gadgets. Sometimes we need words of truth and love, but we resist them until they find us. Sometimes we need to hear a story of redemption, before we can see we were stuck in guilt and sin.

That crazy thing you're dreaming of can be a service to the people around you. And if it's not a service to the people around you, maybe you need to think again, because the world needs people to take risks on its behalf.

It needs people to cross borders to heal the sick and revive the spiritually dead. It needs people to stop thinking only about themselves, and do something crazy for someone else.

3. You will learn from the experience.
That one speaks for itself. But think back on risks you've taken in the past and reflect on the lessons you've learnt. Uh huh.

So go do it!

miniature new york

2011-10-12T12:19:00.000+11:00

I can't stop staring at this photo. No, it's not fake, it's not a miniature. It's a real photo, taken at a wedding, by Max Wanger.

sometimes I forget there are stars in the sky

2011-10-05T22:22:00.000+11:00

So you've seen the sun rise from earth. But have you seen the sun rise from just above the earth, from space? Check out this amazing time-lapse footage of the earth at night taken from the International Space Station.

I watched it without reading a description of what it was passing over, which made it pretty exciting, but also a bit baffling. So I'll help you out:

The space station flies over North and South America, then ends in daylight near Antartica. You can also see lightning (those bursts of light), the earth's ionosphere (the yellow line), a satelite and stars in our galaxy.

Amazing.

The Hour of the Spoon

2011-10-05T11:18:00.000+11:00

You can tell by Kate's crazy hair it's the HOS...

Our house seems to be experiencing the "hour of the spoon" a lot lately.

You know that time of day when simply holding up a spoon makes everyone laugh racously for no reason? When you run down the street to get icecream, giggling and tripping over things? When you find it hard to put sentences together you're laughing so much? Last week, I was even forced to ride one of those novelty kids rides at the supermarket while being filmed during spoon hour.

Spoon hour is one of the reasons I love share-housing.

Ryan Adams back in form?

2011-10-03T12:02:00.000+11:00

This little preview of Invisible Riverside from his new album Ashes & Fire makes me think yes.

And another sneak peak here.

So glad he's come home to country after the wilderness years....

Sophia

2011-09-28T22:52:00.000+10:00

Laura Marling is one seriously prodigious 21-year-old. I was transfixed by her when I saw her play the Metro last year, and her latest single continues to leave me in awe.

Sophia seems to morph from a kind of dirge to a catchy country-pop anthem without notice. Amazing stuff. And I still can't stop comparing her to Joni Mitchell.

At Sea

2011-09-26T22:43:00.001+10:00

I can't decide whether this wallpaper is my dream wallpaper, or would daily leave me feeling seasick. What do you reckon?

On the weekend I picked up a 1940's clothbound copy of Charles Lamb's Essays of Elia, for $1.99, at Salvos. I think it would look rather splendid on that sidetable.

h/t Design Sponge.

Wallpaper by Abigail Edwards.

the weekend

2011-09-25T21:26:00.000+10:00

1. Kris and I did flowers for a friend's wedding. Actually, Kris did the flowers. I did some helping Kris do the flowers.
2. TACO TRUCK in the park near my house with Alice and Kris.

Taco Truck is pretty much the greatest thing ever. The invention of Raph Rashid (husband of awesome Melbourne designer lady Beci Orpin), Taco Truck is a mobile food outlet that pops up in the northern suburbs. It's in Brunswick at least once a week, but often I'm out or working, or it's raining. But not today.

Before the Taco Truck, there was the Beatbox Kitchen. To find out where they're going to pop up, you just need to follow them on twitter or facebook.

Le Petit Prince

2011-09-22T23:54:00.000+10:00

I love Amy Borrell's illustrations. This one reminds me of The Little Prince, which my Year 7 science teacher read to us at the end of every period.

The God of Shapes

2011-09-21T09:54:00.000+10:00

You who formed the earth

and the avocado,

those ripening spheres-

In you, all shapes orbit.

We pull against you, tripping on

our own will, begging

you to release us from

such freedom as this.

Instead you hurl us

into constellations

of your

own making, stars

motioned by the winds of creation.

Looking for perfection

in triangles, it's in silent equations we

see your true self.

---

My attempt at a Rilke-style poem.

Ripening

2011-09-19T22:45:00.001+10:00

Everything ripens in spring. A storm just shuddered through here, thickening the air with the smell of rain. Today, life is bursting at the seams.

This evening I began Rilke's Book of the Hours, sitting among the bikes at dusk, the air warm and threatening, outside Readings on Lygon Street.

It's a collection of poems he wrote to God. This one shimmers...

When gold is in the mountain
And we’ve ravaged the depths
Till we’ve given up digging,

It will be brought forth into day
By the river that mines
The silences of stone.

Even when we don’t desire it,
God is ripening.

{Auch wenn wir nicht wollen:
Gott reift.}

Melbourne is...

2011-09-16T15:41:00.000+10:00

Kimbra singing in a laneway in Fitzroy in the middle of winter.

As my Sydney friends would mockingly say... "It's.Very.Melbourne": IVM. A phrase yet to be patented, but I reckon it's got legs.

Thanks to Pip, who lives on the other side of this laneway for sharing it with the world.

This thing we call life

2011-09-14T11:33:00.001+10:00

singing to the trees on wombat hill

Here's the fun part.... I'll tell you what I'm doing if you tell me what you're doing. Go on, I want to know!

Reading: Discipleship by Bonhoeffer, Journey to the Stone Country by Alex Miller, Confessions by Augustine and 2 Corinthians.
Watching: Jane Eyre on the big screen.
Making: A podcast called The Spoken Project (Sshhhh it's a secret).
Eating: Cake, crumble and tofu.
Wearing: The winter coat's been back out this week.
Listening: The new Wilco and Laura Marling streamed on the web. This American Life, All Songs Considered and Tim Keller sermons.
Cafe-ing: at Manchester Press, on Little Bourke.

There is a lovely magnolia tree out my window, being overshadowed by an avocado tree, which HAS FRUIT. A while ago I picked some and waited a month for it to ripen, only to cut it open to find a rubbery green bullet. That's ok. Just having a fruit tree in our yard makes me happy.

The blossoms are out. The birds seem happier. Melbourne doesn't have as many pigeons and seagulls as Sydney, instead it has cute little sparrows. It almost broke my heart the other day to see a dead one.

Also, my house mate spotted a pigeon with a bread necklace. That's a bird with an entire piece of bread around its head.

I wrote my tiny new God son a book. It didn't turn out as awesome as I hoped (things are always more awesome in my head), but I was still pretty excited to create my first picture book. It was called Penelope's Favourite Things and is about a girl who is obsessed with lists.

On the weekend a few of us from Cross Cultures went to Daylesford. I've been swooning over Daylesford ever since I heard about the White House, which is kind of silly really, because a town is more than one house, but it seemed to sum up the beauty of the place. Thankfully, Daylesford didn't disappoint. The Wombat Hill Botanic Gardens and lavender farm were highlights. It felt a little bit like the southern highlands of NSW; country charm abounding.

But what about you??

Hyacinths and the world in dormancy

2011-09-08T12:00:00.000+10:00

Have you ever noticed our world is in dormancy? What I mean is, things are aching, creaking, breaking, shuddering with potential but not quite getting to fullness. Happiness lasts only momentarily. Beauty is fleeting. Things are in decay.

It's like there's something not quite right with the world. We sense it should be blooming, but instead it's fading.

I want to suggest that this sense is no illusion, but rather points to a greater reality.

If I can use a gardening analogy, it's like the world is a Hyacinth bulb.

Hyacinth bulbs are on my mind, because my housemate Kris has been growing them in jars on every vacant surface of our house, so bear with me.

To make them grow, you rest a bulb on the lip of a jar filled with water for six weeks in cool darkness. During this time, the bulb thinks it's underground and grows roots. It's getting ready to support life. It starts to grow a little shoot, until it's ready to be brought into the sunlight.

Once brought out, it shoots up and flowers, like the one in the picture. It bursts forth in a matter of hours into a living, green plant.

Our world is like a hyacinth bulb in the dark. It's waiting for blistering light to beckon it into fullness of life. The question is, what is this light?

To be honest, the light's already come into the world, but the world didn't recognise it: "The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him."

The world was made through Him. The light is Jesus. Even the Jews, his own people, didn't recognise him as the light:

"He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him."

But there were some that realised he really was the light the world was waiting for, and for them, he is their light and life. "...To all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God."

I have received the light, not out of some great wisdom of my own, but because it blinded me one day. I had been like a seed, dormant in the ground until Jesus woke me up. And one day in the future, the light will come again the world will be renewed.

I was reading the King's Cross by Keller the other day and here's how he puts it:

"If you put seeds into a pot of soil and then put it away in the dark, away from the sun, the seeds go into dormancy. They can't grow to their potential. But if you bring the pot with seeds into the presence of the sun, all that has been locked within them bursts forth. The bible says everything in this world - not just we human beings but even the plants, the trees, the rocks - is dormant. These things are just shadows of what they have been, would be, and will be in the presence of their Creator. When the Lamb of God presides over the final feast and the presence of God covers the earth again, the trees and the hills will clap and dance, so alive will they be."

Can you imagine this? Do you want this? Then welcome the light.

Things you really ought to have a read of

2011-09-03T23:46:00.002+10:00

Some links to fill your heart:

Kath writes with great poignancy about getting beyond ourselves when confronting death over at A Listening Space. Sometimes it is hard to know what to say, what to do, what stories to tell, which places to inhabit. Meditating on this is a good place to start.

Soph R's magicked up some awesome upcycled cards recently. Check them out here. I'm honoured to have been an inspiration.

Jo's over at Heartbeat Poecy praying prayers too honest to make it to the pulpit, but too close to the small, dark voice in our minds not to be taken seriously.

Daisy drifting

2011-08-22T11:45:00.001+10:00

It's not hard to become preoccupied with the weather in Melbourne. One of my housemates has the BOM site as her homepage.

It's the surprise element that underpins this city's weather obsession. You just never know when the sun will peek out from behind those clouds.

Rain doesn't stay long, but neither does the warm weather, which means when the sun does come out, Melbournians make a sport of wearing as few items of clothing as possible.

Today it's going to reach a scorching 21. It may have have only been 7 degrees at 8:30 this morning, but all the world was dressed in t-shirts, skirts and dresses.

And I'm no different, wearing a summer top while floating through daisies.

Oh, Ira.

2011-08-17T23:00:00.000+10:00

For the creatives out there. With love from Ira Glass.

Ira Glass on Storytelling from David Shiyang Liu on Vimeo.

I needed to hear this.

The only chocolate chip cookie recipe you'll ever need...

2011-08-17T17:30:00.000+10:00

A big call, right? But Kate Miss over at For Me For You is adamant this is THE recipe for perfect cookies.

They look kind of labourious, requiring an ideal 36 hours to prove in the fridge, a special mix of cake and bread flour, expensive chocolate and fancy sea salt.

But I guess if you want perfect cookies, they will take some loving.

Don't hold your breath, but I promise to tell the world when I get around to giving them a gooey good go.

Resting in God

2011-08-15T22:32:00.001+10:00

the snowy fields of mount wellington, tasmania

As someone who's struggled with all the usual "nesses" [loneliness, singleness and the general malaise of restlessness], I found this article by Steve Dewitt akin to having a soul-reviving chat with a wise friend.

“Aloneness” doesn’t have to mean loneliness; it can actually be the path God uses for my soul to find its rest in him.

Thankfully the pangs of loneliness I felt when I first moved to Melbourne have faded and I'm able to say I am back to relishing solitude when I can find it. It's a good place to be, but I have known darker times.

h/t Challies.

Music to roam and come home to

2011-08-12T23:08:00.001+10:00

I have some musical delights to share with you!

Winter always gives me the urge to roam, with the wind whipping around my hair and a scarf about my neck. For such purposes, I can't go past Jordie Lane's aching tunes. He's just released a new album, Blood Thinner, the first video and single from which are below. Think harmonica, delicate guitars, and the odd banjo.

But once one's been-a-roaming, one wants to spend the night in, ensconced in a blanket, cup of tea in hand. Miss Hollie Fullbrook who is Tiny Ruins sings to me in these more domestic moments. She does quiet, unassuming folk that creeps up on you like the high tide at full moon. Her new album, Some Were Meant for Sea has just been released. I hope she soothes you too.

Jordie Lane -

07 Old Time Spell (from Blood Thinner) by jordielane

Tiny Ruins

Tiny Ruins - 'You've Got The Kind of Nerve I Like' from Spunk Records on Vimeo.

Below is the catchy single from her EP released late last year. You may have even heard it on the wireless.

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Brown Owls hitting the big time

2011-08-04T10:12:00.000+10:00

I love my Brunswick Brown Owls craft group, and last night, our little gang hit the big time on community television, channel 31.

You can see the pub where we meet, and there are a few shots of Kris and my back when she's interviewing Stacey.

The night they filmed we were having a crochet tutorial and a LOT of people turned up. Normally there's only about 10 of us.

Check it out!

spirituality with pockets

2011-08-04T10:02:00.000+10:00

It's t-shirt weather down here this week, which means for boys at least, it's shorts weather.

Here's Les Murray, one of Australia's greatest living poets on the dream of wearing shorts. This is the full poem, while the abridged version (as in the video) is below.

To go home and wear shorts forever
in the enormous paddocks, in that warm climate,
adding a sweater when winter soaks the grass,

to camp out along the river bends
for good, wearing shorts, with a pocketknife,
a fishing line and matches,

or there where the hills are all down, below the plain,
to sit around in shorts at evening
on the plank verandah -

shorts and their plain like
are an angelic nudity,
spirituality with pockets!
A double updraft as you drop from branch to pool!

to be walking meditatively
among green timber, through the grassy forest
towards a calm sea
and looking across to more of that great island
and the further tropics.

sufjan gets weirder by the day

2011-08-01T23:00:00.000+10:00

Sufjan Stevens is filmed practicing dance moves for his upcoming shows in Brooklyn...

and it's just a wee bit Zoolander. At this point, I can't work out if he's a genius or completely insane.

new wilco

2011-08-01T22:56:00.000+10:00

Wilco's new album is due out in September, but the single I Might and the b-side, I Love My Label are floating around the interwebs.

So far I'm not completely enamoured with what I'm hearing. But Jeff Tweedy can really do no wrong.

h/t In the Pines (the best show on FBI 94.5 in Sydney, which I do dearly miss...)

scones

2011-08-01T22:32:00.000+10:00

sitting on the kitchen floor

watching scones rise in the oven

I am pleased with the smell of cooked flour

and the sight of a well-wrought crust

soon they're out and shrinking back

like a shy child

that whimpers between its mothers' legs

I must've overworked them

anathema to my own mother -

she of nimble fingers

unlike my father;

heavy-handed

given to making a mess of everything

romance

2011-08-01T22:30:00.000+10:00

the most romantic act

of his life was sending

a letter to their house

from the postbox across

the road

Letting someone else wash your feet (or your undies for that matter)

2011-07-26T14:51:00.000+10:00

When was the last time you made yourself seriously vulnerable by putting your reputation, your money, your emotional stability on the line?

When I think about risky vulnerability, I think about apologising for something even when I think I'm more deserving of an apology. I think about asking, really asking for feedback. I think about loving someone who won't love me back.

I'm pretty good at vulnerability when it's on my terms (I will share x with you at the time I specify), but not when it's on others' terms (You want me to share x with you, right now?). I'm good at apologies that make it impossible for the other person not to forgive me (I'm really sorry for x, I really didn't mean it, and I know it hurt you. Hopefully you're not too mad at me). I'm good at asking for criticism in a way that puts myself down before the other person can, ultimately risking very little.

I'm hopeless at genuine vulnerability.

And there's a whole other genre of vulnerability I'm only just working out - the vulnerability of accepting unsolicited help and love from others.

In the last few months I've been gifted many things; coffees, accommodation, meals, a listening ear, hand-written letters, cards, financial support and many prayers. Even our neighbours recently gave us their vacuum cleaner for no reason.

You might expect my immediate response to these beautiful actions to be thankfulness. And it is, but intermingled with a strong sense of indebtedness to the person. Twisted, huh? Even getting a letter in the mail makes me feel slightly bad. My heart goes like this: "YAY a letter!. Wow, that person's so nice. I must to do something in return."

I always feel the need to pay the person back, to return the favour, to out-do their generosity. It becomes a challenge when you actually physically or financially can't. A friend of mine at church who recently came down with chronic fatigue says it's incredibly strange being on the receiving end of help all of a sudden, being the weak one, the helpless one.

But like her, in the midst of my guilt-complex, I'm learning about grace; the unmerited favour that rains down from above in the form of God-become-man; the salvation I did nothing to earn and do nothing to keep. I'm learning to let the beautiful, pure, almighty Jesus wash my filthy feet.

And I'm asking myself: Will I receive God's grace, full of wonder, awe and thankfulness or will I try to buy it with my worthless rags, cheapening it as I do?

What about you, do you struggle with accepting unsolicited love and help from others?

the wildwood chronicles

2011-07-23T19:12:00.001+10:00

Oh to be able to draw and paint!

Carson Ellis is one of my favourite illustrators; she does all the Decemberists' cover art and she and her husband, Decemberists' frontman, Colin Meloy, have just published this beautiful book, The Wildwood Chronicles.

You can download the first four chapters free here.

It's set in a forest on the edge of Portland, of all places. Which reminds me of Portlandia, the show responsible for "Put a Bird on it" as well as this gem, "Dream of the 90s"....

"In Portland, it's like the Bush Administration never happened! In Portland you can go to a record store and sell your CDs! In Portland you can put a bird on something and call it art!"

in the hood

2011-07-23T18:21:00.003+10:00

van dieman's land

2011-07-22T22:51:00.000+10:00

I had a dreamy week in Hobart recently. If you have not been, I exhort you to go where weatherboard cottages nestle into snowcapped mountains surrounded by endless water snaking towards the horizon.*

Also, the clever among you will note I am wearing the scarf I began knitting so many months ago. It took me so long my friends at Brown Owls quipped it deserved its own facebook page. But the months of labour were worth it. It nary leaves my neck.

*Not at all exaggerated.

with all thy getting get

2011-07-02T23:00:00.001+10:00

abbotsford; upper fern gully; yarra valley

Falsetto

2011-07-02T22:35:00.001+10:00

Listening to Justin Vernon on the latest Bon Iver album got me thinking - who else out there is rocking falsetto vocals?

How do you feel about men singing in a high voice? Generally I like it. In the right song, it adds a beautiful fragility.

Here's my little list of the best male falsetto singers, past and present. Who am I missing?

Justin Vernon (Bon Iver)
Thom York (Radiohead)
Sufjan Stevens
Antony Hegarty (Antony and the Johnsons)
Dougie Mandagi (Temper Trap)
Freddie Mercury (Queen)
Glen Hansard (The Frames/Swell Season)
Prince!
Brian Wilson (The Beach Boys)
Jeff Buckley

For perhaps one of the creepiest/weirdest/best falsetto performances, here's Antony and the Johnsons' cover of Beyonce's Crazy in Love.

Update: I need to add: My Morning Jacket, Jens Lekman, Jose Gonzales, maybe some Fleetfoxes (esp. their harmonies).

some link love

2011-06-13T19:13:00.000+10:00

1. Wool and The Gang

Cool site that sells wool/pattern kits for a lot of money. But also has some great FREE knitting tutorials here.

2. Bon Iver, Bon Iver
Have a listen to Bon Iver's new album on the NPR All Songs Considered blog.

3. Beautiful wallpapers for June over at Abby Tries Again

4. Classic Christian writing free to read on your iphone/kindle/device over at Puritan Library. I started trying to read some John Owen the other day. Gonna keep trying.

5 books that changed who I am

2011-06-13T17:19:00.001+10:00

Ali's tagged me in this meme which asks me to list 5 books that have influenced who I am. I'm supposed to tag some others to do the same, but how about you just do the same if you're keen? I'd be keen to see what you come up with :)

I actually find this a really hard task, because while I love books, I don't find they influence me half as much as people and speakers. I think books tend to influence my writing voice or give me ideas, whereas conversations with friends and talks have a greater impact on my decisions.

Perhaps I'd prefer to answer this in terms of books that have been significant to me. So they may have changed me, but more than that, they were significant at a particular time.

A Brief History of Time - Stephen Hawking

I went through a phase in high school when I read a lot of nerdy science books. I was so into the universe out there my friends bought me a telescope for my 17th birthday.

Looking back, I was searching for meaning in the universe, and this book left me awed by the sub-atomic world. Reading A Brief History of Time felt like burrowing into a black hole it was so hard to understand, an inspiring black hole all the same; it left me in no doubt the universe is an incredible place. But please, don't ask me about quantum physics next time you see me!

The Bible

I can't imagine any other book coming close to the bible in terms of its influence, which is quite remarkable given I ignored it for the first 18 years of my life. I think I figured it was an irrelevant artefact, with no application to the modern world. Nothing could be further from the truth. Every day God speaks to me through his word in new ways. I think the philosophical musings of the book of Ecclesiastes and Acts Chapter 17 were the starting point of my interest. But the passages which have most influenced me probably come from Ephesians and Romans, where my faith in Jesus was first established. If you haven't ever read the bible, you're missing out, big time.

The Whitsun Weddings - Philip Larkin

I didn't know it at the time, but studying The Whitsun Weddings at school is really where my love of poetry began. I loved Larkin's ironic understatement, his cynicism and disdain towards the establishment. Reading it now, I find his poetry a bit depressing. But at the time it helped me see poetry was not just about beautiful imagery but also the ordinary and the political. There are other poets I prefer to read now, but Larkin was where it all began.

Don't Waste Your Life - John Piper

I remember reading this while I was a rural trainee with the ABC. I was yet to move to Orange and sleeping on the floor my brother's apartment in Chatswood. I'm pretty sure I read this on the computer after finding a free version online while home sick from work one day. It spun me into a minor existential crisis (in a good way) and challenged me to think about how I was going to spend my life - for God or for me. And even though I've not read it since, it helped me decide to consider a life of ministry.

The Bear Nobody Wanted + Paddington Bear

This is perhaps a two-way tie. Books about bears that have taught me about human nature.
The first is a kids book is about a teddy bear with a rather inflated opinion of himself who has a series of not-always-pleasant adventures before finding a real home. It was a favourite of mine as a kid, and maybe it taught me something about being self-aware and also the journey of life. Ya know, the deep stuff.
Meanwhile, Paddington is all about a bear who has the curiosity and naivety of a child, but a strong sense of wrong and right. He seems to navigate his way around with just enough success, managing to remain loved by all, despite his many blunders and obsessions (including marmalade). He's full of sense and nonsense, innocence and wisdom. He's a good portrait of most humans.

making the most of an ashcloud

2011-06-13T16:47:00.001+10:00

I'm stuck in Sydney after a volcanic ash cloud grounded all flights to Melbourne.

I was itching to go home yesterday, to be back in my space, not living out of a suitcase and resuming the rhythm of normal life. I've been in Sydney since last weekend for a work conference, so when my flight was cancelled it was a bit of a blow.

But... today's been lovely. First, brunch with a friend at Balmoral (somewhere I never go - too posh) and lunch with another in Ashfield (ahh that's more like it). It was such a blessing to catch up with these people. The kind of friends you can totally be yourself around and still speak truth into each other's lives. What a blessing. Thank you volcanic ash!

And now for some pretty pictures.

Illawarra escarpment

Balmoral

a story of sullen despair

2011-05-26T23:35:00.002+10:00

A Sunday afternoon picnic at Box Hill, Tom Roberts

While at the National Gallery of Victoria a few months ago, I shamefully found myself almost more interested in the annotations than the paintings themselves, so much so that I took notes.

I read about the artists camp at Box Hill in the 1880s where Tom Roberts and Frederick McCubbin had guests like Arthur Streeton come and stay. The Victorian Gallery holds a number of works painted at the site. The letters the artists wrote to each other are so vivid and heartfelt.

Take this, written by Tom Roberts while he was in France, to McCubbin.

"I feel more than sorry that these days are over, because nothing can exceed the pleasures of that last summer, when I fancy all of us lost the ego somewhat of our natures, in looking at what was nature's best art and ideality. Give me one summer again with yourself and Streeton - the same long evenings - songs - and dirty plates - and the last pink skies. But these things don't happen, do they, and what's gone is gone."

It's bizarre to think Box Hill is now complete suburbanised and is comparable to somewhere like Eastwood in Sydney, with its Asian influence.

But what truly blew me away was this description of the Australian bush by Marcus Clarke in 1896.

"The Australian mountain forests are funeral, secret and stern. The solitude is desolation. They seem to stifle in their black gorges a story of sullen despair."

I just looked up the entire quote. It goes on, quite relentlessly. Enjoy.

"No tender sentiment is nourished in their shade. In other lands the dying year is mourned, the fall leaves drop lightly on his bier. In the Australian forests no leaves fall. The savage winds shout among the rock clefts. From the melancholy gum strips of white bark hang and rustle. The very animal life of these frowning hills is either grotesque or ghostly. Great grey kangaroos hop noiselessly over the coarse grass. Flights of white cockatoos stream out, shrieking like evil souls. The sun suddenly sinks, and the mopokes burst out into horrible peals of semi-human laughter. The natives aver that when night comes, from out the bottomless depths of some lagoon the Bunyip rises, and in form like a monstrous sea-calf, drags his loathsome length from out the ooze. … All is fear-inspiring and gloomy. No bright fancies are linked with the memories of the mountains. Hopeless explorers have named them out of their sufferings—Mount Misery, Mount Dreadful, Mount Despair. .... In Australia alone is to be found the Grotesque, the Weird, the strange scribblings of nature learning how to write. Some see no beauty in our trees without shade, our flowers without perfume, our birds who cannot fly, and our beasts who have not yet learned to walk on all fours. But the dweller in the wilderness acknowledges the subtle charm of this fantastic land of monstrosities. He becomes familiar with the beauty of loneliness. Whispered to by the myriad tongues of the wilderness, he learns the language of the barren and the uncouth, and can read the hierogylphs of haggard gum-trees, blown into odd shapes, distorted with fierce hot winds, or cramped with cold nights, when the Southern Cross freezes in a cloudless sky of icy blue. The phantasmagoria of that wild dreamland termed the Bush interprets itself, and the Poet of our desolation begins to comprehend why free Esau loved his heritage of desert sand better than all the bountiful richness of Egypt."

the highest notes

2011-05-25T10:49:00.000+10:00

souffle time

2011-05-23T22:40:00.000+10:00

We finally have fast internet, which means uploading videos is really easy. So you're getting a bit of a documentary look at the life of Sophie.

This one was taken back in February on our staff retreat. It was about 8pm on Saturday night. We'd just eaten an amazing slow-cooked roast lamb and Kris was baking raspberry souffle. You're guaranteed to want some by the end of the video.

As an aside, I get to work with these lovely folk each day; pretty awesome bunch.

fish n chips

2011-05-23T22:26:00.000+10:00

The weather's getting pretty cool down here, so I thought I'd remember warmer times. This video was taken at Dromana Beach on the Mornington Peninsula back in March before Kris and I saw the band Georgia Fair play at the local pub. There are actually three videos in the series. The birds get progressively more aggressive, but the third and final video was a bit of an anti-climax. So you'll just have to enjoy Part 2.

Warning: squeals and lame jokes abound.

2011-05-20T16:54:00.000+10:00

a sweet house in Thornbury

Above my head looms a piece of orange and white striped twine, and from it hang postcards and art, coasters and business cards, photographs and illustrations.

Next to me is a flowering gum, picked from a shrub near my house, sitting in a bottle I bought in Brighton a few weeks ago. There's a half-crocheted granny square from Brown Owls, a mandarin and an apple.

I can see the words "instol", a Romanian misspelling of install, on a receipt by our neighbours' friend who put an antenna on our roof. We now have television. I keep forgetting.

There's a poetry zine I picked up at a bar in Fitzroy the other night while enjoying mulled wine and hot chocolate with Kris.

Nearby sits an envelope. Inside is a DVD and some brochures about a woman who I'm writing a story about for Eternity. She's about to go to Rwanda.

There's a half-used Moleskine notebook, a stapler, speakers, a glass, a bookmark, a pen, a handful of bobby pins and some wooden owls.

This is my desk, in my new room, in my new-ish house, in my new-ish life in Melbourne.

I realised the other day my mail redirection service has ended. Bit of a bummer really, given I haven't really got around to notifying people of my new address.

But it gave me a moment to reflect on the whole idea of redirection. I realised my mail has been redirected, but so has my heart.

I actually feel like Melbourne is home now. I love this place, even its strange cloudy, grey days. And the people, well, they're swell. I feel like there's enough going on that I won't be too listless, and the times when I'm free are a blessing.

I've also come to accept that I'm a fairweather cyclist. If it's too cold or raining, Gavin sits on the porch, and the tram ticket comes out. And that's ok.

Work is great. I feel like I'm in a rhythm now, although semester is about to end, and so the rhythm will inevitably change as the students drift. But with drifting comes opportunity for regrouping in new ways. I'm hoping to host regular breakfasts and mid-week hangouts in the uni break. Sometimes I feel like no one understands what I actually do for work. And that's ok.

So take this picture of my desk. Things on it will shift, and mandarins will be eaten, flowering gums will wilt. Crochet will be also attempted, notebooks filled up, poetry read and glasses filled. And life will go on.

seeker lover keeper: sally holly sarah

2011-05-18T09:14:00.001+10:00

This is the beautiful project of Sarah Blasko, Holly Throsby and Sally Seltmann. Such a great idea.

I love how the songwriters don't sing their own songs. You can analyse each of their styles and see how they go singing to others'.

It also warms my heart that these girls are genuinely friends, and not rivals. There should be more of this in the music world.

Mother's Day

2011-05-11T23:07:00.001+10:00

I don't think I've ever had a more perfect mother's day. I was in Sydney for another commitment, and decided to surprise Mum by just turning up on her doorstep. It worked a treat.

On Sunday I enjoyed brunch with the family, followed by a wander through the Gordon markets and a cuppa in the backyard before flying home. You'll have to excuse the iphone photos. Still just a little bit obsessed with Instagram. The first 12 images are all taken at the fabulously low-key Gordon markets; if you're ever in the area on the first Sunday of the month, you must visit. Make sure you say hi to Mimmet the dog and her endearing owner.

home&hosed

2011-04-28T18:04:00.001+10:00

It's raining in Sydney; sunshine and autumn chills in Melbourne. But it's good to be home.

the french toast

2011-04-28T17:47:00.000+10:00

A few weeks ago, Emma set me a writing challenge:

Write about someone pretending to be someone they're not, from someone else's perspective. Set it in a cafe, don't write more than 500 words, rely on dialogue just as much as description, and make sure somebody orders the French toast.

I'm on holidays at the moment and thought I'd give it a shot just now. It doesn't strictly stick to the rules. But perhaps Emma can be the judge of that.

------------------------

They found him face down in the water. Not easy to deal with a body that’s swollen with water. Not easy to look at either. When I was a kid I once put my teddy bear in the bath to see what happened. He swelled up something chronic. Under the water he looked fine, but as soon as you took him out, he sagged with the weight of it, the water, kind of like a man caught in sin.

He squinted at me, inquiring into the state of my own soul with little more than a glace. Let the dead bury the dead, I thought.

The percolater dripped. I tried again -

Sorry, sir, would you like the French toast or the baked beans?

What kind of beans are they? I only like Texan beans. None of this out of a can-slapped-on-a-plate business. Gimme them hot.

You know Jeff Buckley was the kind of guy who wouldn’t have eaten out much. I know this, cos you hear a lot about people in this business. People open up to you. It’s like they expect you know em just cos you’ve seen em dead.

My take is he was a bit of a lay about. He woulda eaten beans out of the can. White bread for lunch and dinner. Not bothered with food altogether, really.

When I got him ready, they didn’t want no fuss. There isn’t much you could do anyway, after autopsy’s been done.

Sir –

I’ll take the French toast.

Absoutely. The French toast it is. Can I get you anything else? Perhaps some coffee?

He squinted again.

You know his Dad died young and careless too. Heroin. That makes two teddy bears sunk in the bath.

Would you like some drip coffee? Sugar? I need to serve some other customers.

Coffee? Sure. I’ll drink to Jeff. You never forget em, the young ones. Not in this business. And I'll take the French toast. Did I tell you that?

Yes, you did. The French toast. And the coffee. Cetainly, sir.

To Jeff.

Six Types of Reading

2011-04-26T21:47:00.000+10:00

...with Ben Myers from the blog Faith and Theology.

I like how twee he comes across. I also like his taste in books.

What I don't like is how pathetically unread I feel right now!

this is Love

2011-04-24T20:52:00.000+10:00

"There is no justice in love, no proportion in it, and there need not be, because in any specific instance it is only a glimpse or parable of an embracing, incomprehensible reality. It makes no sense at all because it is the eternal breaking in on the temporal. So how could it subordinate itself to cause or consequence?" - Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

"This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. 10 This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. 1 John 4: 9-10

I couldn't say it to your face

2011-04-17T23:07:00.000+10:00

I can't stop playing this Arthur Russell song at the moment. I was looking it up on youtube when I came across the song set to this beautiful montage of old films.

I love the little blonde girl in the pink dress. What a character. I wonder what she's like these days?

My family has a big collection of silent films just like this that Mum really wants to get put onto DVD. When she does, I'd love to make something similar.

a scene from brown owls

2011-04-12T23:44:00.000+10:00

the ladies deep in stitch...

writers on writing

2011-04-12T23:17:00.000+10:00

I enjoy reading writers on writing. The pleasure is multiplied when it's a writer I admire. And when their writing about writing is good enough to write about, I almost implode.

And so we come to Penny Modra, who was recently interviewed on The Design Files (one of my most favourite blogs if you haven't noticed by now).

She writes for the weekly newsletter and website Three Thousand. According to Lucy from the Design Files, subscribing to Three Thousand apparently makes me one of "20,000 super cool young Melburnians". Not so sure about that. It probably makes me a try-hard hipster more than anything, but I'll take it, along with my double ristretto, thank you.

But back to Penny. I laughed out loud at the description of her working day, because a) I think we can all relate to her love-hate relationship with email, b) the reference to staggering and wheezing around Princes Park which is right near where I live (and where I too stagger and wheeze), and c) the reference to ignoring the siren call of McNulty from the Wire to try and do some work.

But mostly I loved her advice to budding writers and publishers. How refreshing is it to have someone remind you to just be you? Here's an excerpt:

To be a good culture writer, you need to write like yourself. It’s very difficult, because most magazines you read will have a discernable tone – Vice is a good example of this – and it’s tempting to emulate that in order to try to fit in. But ‘try’ is the key word here. Don’t be a try-hard. Being a try-hard myself, I struggle with this every day (and I know we don’t always get it right on ThreeThousand either), but good writing boils down to one thing: telling the truth. Even in fiction. Good fiction is good because it reads like the truth. I cannot believe I am about to quote Roger Ailes right now (a. because he’s the president of Fox News and b. because he’s a fat, rich old white bastard) but, “It’s always more interesting watching people be who they are than it is watching people try to be who they are not.” Write it like you’d say it to a friend. Don’t write it from a stage, because the moment you put yourself on a stage you’re volunteering to do a stand-up comedy routine or a dramatic monologue – and most people are pretty bad at both of those things. Besides which, you’re turning your readers into potential hecklers. It introduces a weird, unnecessary barrier. Also, two things: don’t use food metaphors in anything other than food writing, and don’t use the word ‘Tweeps’.

So I'm inspired. I'm trying to think of a writing project for myself at the moment, but can only think of photography projects. The only writing project I can think of is externalising all the thoughts I've had about different places I've been to in Melbourne. And at the moment I can't quite see the point, because that's what ThreeThousand is for...

Like here's where I had a coffee today. Penny's already written it up. Done it. Like a pro (albeit a good four years ago)...

So, someone set me a writing challenge. Please.

Battle of the nomenclature

2011-04-04T22:03:00.000+10:00

I've decided that Melbournites do not like their metaphors. Descriptions of every day things seem very literal.

Here's my list so far of NSW vs. VIC descriptions.

1. Council clean-up = Down in Victoria we call it hard rubbish, because it's hard and it's rubbish: "I love my new sofa. It was hard rubbish."

2. Laser Zone = It's dark and in a zone, so we call it Dark Zone: "Let's take the kiddies to Dark Zone."

3. Small chips/$2.00 worth of chips = It's the minimum amount. So we will call it "Minimum Chips": "I'll have minimum chips with my fish please."

4. Potato scallop = It's not a sea creature, so we will call it what it is, a potato Cake. "Two potato cakes with my minimum chips please!"

I laughed uncontrollably the other day when my friend ordered "minimum chips". I thought that was just the description on the menu, not what you actually order. Now I've decided it's the perfect name for a pop/punk band.

And today a few of us argued over what you call a poppa/juicebox/prima. What would you call it?

Any other extremely literal expressions I should know?

Vito's Ordination Song

2011-03-31T10:46:00.001+11:00

I was re-listening to Michigan earlier this week and was struck by how beautiful the last song on the album is. The lyrics are so great.

I always knew you in your mothers arms
I have called you son
I've made amends
Between father and son
Or, if you haven't one
Rest in my arms
Sleep in my bed
There is a design
To what I did and said

I also made the link for the first time that it's dedicated toSufjan's friend, Vito Aiuto, who is the front man of The Welcome Wagon, whose album Sufjan produced.

Ripping the frills from this war-torn skirt

2011-03-28T14:20:00.000+11:00

I used to think I was a no-frills kind of person. In fact, I formed my whole identity in high school around this belief. I didn't need what the world said I needed; I could live a "no-frills" life; I could cut my hair short and dye it black and say stuff you to the establishment.

I think I still like to think I'm a no-frills person. Give me a beautiful sunset and I'll be happy, I tell myself. The concept appeals to me. The kind of life where contentment reigns, where the simple things bring pleasure.

But then I look at my actual life, and so much of it is a striving for frills, for that next fun experience, that beautiful object, the next poignant sentence, the next beautiful song.

I'm actually not so no-frills after all.

But I worship a God of no-frills. Paul in 1 Corinthians shares how he chooses to live a no-frills life to give God the glory:

"When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling. My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit's power, so that your faith might not rest on men's wisdom, but on God's power."

The thing I love about Cross Cultures (where I work) is it's lack of frills. Every Thursday we meet in a pretty drab church hall (not ugly, just not beautiful either), sit around old tables and chairs, eating a home-cooked meal and talking about life. We come as we are. We have bible study in small groups that gather in the basement of the church. There is no fanfare, there is just us, the words of God and the seeds of faith.

I love this.

But then part of me dreams of making pretty handouts and decorating the hall and creating engaging videos and inventing a podcast for stories of how Jesus has changed lives. I want the frills, and even think that the frills will bring more fruit.

And then I realise the foolishness of my thinking. It's not about the frills, it's about the words of life.

Of course I rejoice in the creativity of God, and the creativity he's given us. I want to be creative and enjoy others' creativity. But I so often worship the works of my hands, resting on "man's wisdom" and not God's power.

In my heart I go and distort God's good world, seeking frills. But I have to re-learn that it's when the frills fade away that his wisdom will prevail.

Brown Owls Take 2

2011-03-23T17:34:00.000+11:00

Tonight's our second Brown Owls gathering.

For the uninitiated, it's a bunch of crafters who meet in a pub in Brunswick every fortnight to hang out and craft together.

Kris (the dreadlocked one) and I did book sculptures last week. It was good for me to learn how to do them, but didn't really suit the vibe. Every one else was doing something with wool - crochet, knitting, or making pom poms.

There's only so many books you can fold, and only so much time you can spend folding. So I did a last minute dash to the wool shop today. I'm going the lazy route and will knit a scarf.

I've made a few scarfs in my time, but none of them wearable (in my opinion). And let's face it, Sydney doesn't really get cold enough to wear a woollen scarf.

Melbourne, however...

So, I'm making a stripy scarf out of these colours. I really like the greeny/yellow wool. I don't even know what colour to call it. It's slightly more green in real life.

However, I'd forgotten how expensive wool is. This scarf better be awesome!

The least-laborious Labour Day

2011-03-15T23:04:00.001+11:00

How to have a lovely Labour Day:

Take one good friend and drive south to the Mornington Peninsula.

Pick up one of your good friend's acquaintances at her lovely old cottage which has a well, an old cedar and a hammock.

Drive from beautiful beach to beautiful beach, wallowing in the shallows and lying on piers.

Drink coffee, eat lunch, and visit an opshop.

Do this all under a blooming sun.

Drive home at sunset. Go to a very cheap gig featuring some of your old faves. Enjoy.

Darren Hanlon

Tali White ex Lucksmiths

Sally Seltmann

2011-03-12T23:42:00.001+11:00

Sally Seltmann (ex New Buffalo) played at a free outdoor festival by the Yarra tonight. I rode down on my bike after dinner to catch her and ended up catching some fireworks too.

Sally was charming as always. I just wish I'd had someone to go with!

Melbourne was HOT today. Sydney kind of weather - humid and 29. I'm in denial that winter is coming. I refuse to accept it.

I spent the day wandering around the city by myself - going to the art gallery, a second hand book fair and a pop-up cafe. The solitude is nice, but it gets old pretty quickly. Looking forward to making some solid friends soon...

I met a lovely girl at Sally Seltmann's merchdesk who I will hopefully see at gigs, but methinks I'll have to wait till my journalist friend from Sydney moves down here in April before I can truly say I have a gig-going friend.

As you can tell, I'm taking my camera everywhere at the moment. It probably reflects how hyper-aware I am of my surroundings. Everything is new and interesting, worth documenting. Plus I have Lightroom now, which makes things fun.

the sunlight proper

2011-03-12T13:07:00.000+11:00

some of my new friends

crafting by pub-light

2011-03-09T23:52:00.000+11:00

So we went to Brown Owls, despite the rain, and despite the trepidation of meeting strangers in a pub we'd never been to.

But the communal crafting was great! There were 10 of us all up. Mostly people were doing crochet, but Kris and I made book sculptures.

Here's my finished product.

It's not as neat/cool as the one Kris made me for my birthday, but suffices as a first attempt.

I got laughed at by everyone for expressing my fear of the Melbourne winter, that time when I will be able to see my breath in my own bedroom when I wake up. The mockery was so loud! Oh well... I'll have to buy a cute winter coat soon.

Brown Owls is happening again in a fortnight at the same place and same time, so if you happen to live in the inner north and want to come, just comment and I'll tell you the details.

how my heart behaves

2011-03-05T22:29:00.000+11:00

She needs YOUR help

2011-03-04T17:11:00.001+11:00

There's a story, it goes something like this:

There once was a girl who moved to a place where people spoke to eachother by the ring of a bell. This place was very flat, and had many bike lanes. It also had many bikes: some tall, some with gears, some with baskets - wicker and metal, some mountain, some road, some fixie, some elegant, some streamlined, some funcitonal, some beautiful.

She realised that to have a bike would be to have another mode of transport. A way of getting east to west, where the trams don't go. A way to cut through peakhour traffic. A way to get fit without even trying. A way to get to the shops quickly without driving.

So she mentioned this to some of her new friends, this desire to find a bike. At first she thought she would find one in the trading post, and she had a look. All the pretty old vintage ones took her fancy, but oh my, were they expensive.

Then, one day, a lovely girl who she had been getting to know better over dumplings mentioned she had a bike she had bought a year ago and not ridden very much. She said she was looking for someone to give it to. She asked if the girl who wanted a bike, would take it.

The girl who wanted a bike was rather overwhelmed with the generosity of her new friend, and suggested she could buy it from her. But her friend insisted it would be a gift. And gifts are hard to say no to.

So, on Tuesday, the girl who wanted a bike was given the pinkest bike she ever saw. It had a basket, a light, a bell and even a fancy helmet. She was very excited to try it out.

So she hopped on it, only to discover the tyres were flat.

Thankfully, the girl who wanted a bike (and now had one) had a bike-smart friend to help pump the tyres up. While pumping them up, he noticed the front wheel wasn't spinning properly. So on his advice, the girl took the bike to the bike shop, where the bike fixers straightened the wheel and made it all better again.

After getting the all-clear, she hopped on her bike and rode it on home. It took no time at all, and it felt like she was flying.

That afternoon, she rode up to the shops, on the actual road, next to actual cars. She learnt to watch for opening doors, cars merging and pulling out, and trams. She learnt how to look confident even though she was freaking out inside.

She was happy with her bike. But it was rather pink. So pink that many people laughed when they saw it. She thought about spraying it another colour, and may decide to in the future. But for now, she thought, it's kind of funny.

But, she thought, it needs a name.

So, the girl who wanted a bike (who now has one) has asked for your help. What should she call her new pink bike??

Really...

in the midst of his foes

2011-03-02T19:24:00.000+11:00

Everyone has school friends, and from what I have observed, most people have a complicated relationship with them. We change so much once we're unleashed on the world, it is sometimes hard to know how to relate anymore. What is in common is so far removed now.

But then facebook keeps the thread there somehow. Barely, it seems, at times. But there all the same.

And that's how I came to be sitting alongside a friend from school I haven't seen in more than 7 years in a cafe in Brunswick on Sunday afternoon.

Somehow, we'd not managed to catch up in Sydney, even though we'd lived there for long enough. She was in Melbourne for the weekend and got in touch with me after discovering I'd moved.

As we were chatting, she commented how strangely liberating meeting in another city is. Who can explain the lightness of being that comes when you leave behind the things of before and create a new reality together?

Of course we started where all rendevous' begin: so, what's been happening these past 7 years?? 7 years is a long time.

"So, I've changed pretty massively," I say, attempting to be shameless in my admission.

"Yeah, I know," she says. "I was so shocked when I heard you became a Christian, because you were such a rabid athiest...."

And so the conversation began.

It got me thinking about how much has changed since school. How Jesus has really gripped me to the point of no return, how he is my everything now. How I could never have imagined this in Year 8. How my friends could never have imagined this in Year 8.

But then I remembered that God is beyond our imagination, that his grace, his love stretches into the darkest places, and calls us out.

How he wants us to come as we are. And I came - a foul-mouthed, God-hating, God in my own right kind of person - to him, a rejected, broken man on a cross, who died for my rejection of God. Who stitched my soul back together with the threads of his own blood and anguish.

I was reading some Dietrich Bonhoeffer today, and was struck by his description of Jesus' death.

"Jesus died on the cross alone, abandoned by his dsciples. It was not two of his faithful followers who hung beside him, but two murderers. But they all stood beneath the cross: enemies and the faithful, doubters and the fearful, the scornful and the converted, and all of them and their sin were included in this hour in Jesus' prayer for forgiveness. God's merciful love lives in the midst of its foes. It is the same Jesus Christ who by grace calls us to follow him and whose grace saves the thief on the cross in his last hour."

I was a foe, and God loved me anyway. This still blows me away.

something to pray

2011-02-28T16:30:00.000+11:00

Beloved Father, you are aware of all things; nothing in the conscience of man can escape your notice and you know what is coming before it happens... Grant O Lord, that I may know what I ought to know, and love what I ought to love; that I may praise what most pleases you, value what is precious in your eyes, and reject what you find vile.

The words of Thomas á Kempis.

it's the little things...

2011-02-27T21:16:00.000+11:00

My local cafe is pretty swell. Thelast two times I've been there, they've been playing some of my favourite albums, in full. None of this shuffle business.

Last week it was Fleet Foxes, and today it was Wilco.

I don't know if I will find another cafe to take its place, and yet I've not been to that many. They also do really good food, and it's reasonbly priced. Oh and it has a great little garden out the back and feels like home. Oh and someone bought me a birthday cake from there, and it was amazing.

If you come visit i'll take you there.... so... come visit!

Brown Owls

2011-02-26T22:45:00.000+11:00

I've been wanting to do something in my local area that is creative, social and fits in with my schedule, and I think I've found it.

I'd heard of Brown Owls through some blogs I read. It's a network ('collective' I think they call it) of crafty people that meet in neighbourhoods around Australia (and now the world) to enjoy each others like-minded company and drink tea while sharing their affinity for all things creative.

Pip Lincolne of Meet Me At Mike's blog fame started the first one in Melbourne. I discovered today there is a new one starting in my suburb, and it's on a night I can make it!

So now I plan to drag a friend along to the next meeting in two weeks' time. Any inner northies out there want to join me?

It's funny, a Melbournian reflected on her blog the other day that going to Sydney was like being in a movie, because you felt like you knew all the places before you arrived, and so it was almost surreal seeing them in person.

I feel like I'm experiencing this in reverse at the moment. For me, Melbourne has been a figment of my imagination for a long time, essentially mediated by blogland. So actually living here is pretty fun. For instance, I did about a quadruple-take the other day going past Meet Me At Mike's shopfront in Fitzroy. And now, there's a Brown Owls chapter in my neighbourhood. It's like the internet is invading my life. Ok that sounded really nerdy... kind of maybe because it is...

jamming with elvis

2011-02-26T22:24:00.000+11:00

At some point in his life, perhaps the bit where he was a hepcat bachelor living it up on the lower north shore, my dad was President of an Elvis fan club.

I inherited his love for music, but not really his love of Elvis. Until now. I've just been listening to the Million Dollar Quartet Recordings.

The story goes that one day in 1956, Elvis swung by Sun Records studios, where he found Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash and Jerry Lee Lewis. They had a jam session, which was precluded from making it onto the airwaves because they were each tied to various contracts.

But the recordings were finally unearthed in Elvis' Graceland home after his death in the 70s, and can I say, they are amazing.

I've just listened to a few of the gospel numbers on YouTube. I Shall Not Be Moved is so great:

recent happenings

2011-02-23T20:29:00.002+11:00

I've always had the interesting predicament of my birthday falling early in the year, at a time when things have just changed, and you're making new friends and potentially wondering who your friends actually are.

It meant that in kindergarten, my whole class was invited to my birthday party. Better invite everyone than no one, was my Mum's idea, I think.

I came to Melbourne determined to continue being a sociable person, to organise things and make fun happen.

So I pretty much planned the best birthday ever, which included op-shopping, market browsing and a vegetarian feast.

Brunswick Street, Fitzroy

Outside the Moroccan Soup Bar

My lovely housemates brought great mirth to the occassion by sticking balloons around my door and baking a cake, as well as participating in said plan.

Recently I used a computer wallpaper which I think was actually supposed to be for thanksgiving, but I liked anyway, which quotes Ralph Waldo Emerson: "I awoke this morning with a devout thanksgiving for my friends, the old and the new."

Every time I read it, it makes me think of the beautiful people I have left behind in Sydney, and the new friends I am making.

One of my friends who I also work with made me this amazing book scuplture out of an antique Oxford School Dictionary. From the cover she made a journal. But what's more.... the journal is covered in a map of my suburb from an 80s Melways, with the location of my house highlighted. Cool, no??

Perhaps soon I shall tell you more about how I am spending my days, and there is another video to post up...

Another corker

2011-02-21T23:14:00.000+11:00

Quite a few people have exclaimed how excited they were when they discovered Sydney trains had two levels. "Double decker" they call it.

And don't even get them started on the way we have seats that can face forwards or backwards. oh boy!

tee hee

Things people have said to me since I moved to Melbourne

2011-02-18T19:22:00.000+11:00

remember these two?

Person to me while I'm washing up: "Apparently Melbourne is going to eclipse the population of Sydney very soon."

Over dinner from a person I met that night: "I heard you can't drink the water from the taps in Sydney is that right? When I visited, I drank it though. It seemed ok."

Over lunch with two girls I met a few weeks ago: "I've been wanting to say since the moment I met you, you look like the girl in Titanic.... Kate.... Winslet?"

Each of these things were said to me with the utmost sincerity.