Enough with the old country

leaves

This guy rang up last week and said that he was sick and tired of people referring to England as “the old country” or “the mother country”.

It’s insulting, he said.  I’m 5th generation.  Australia has been it’s own entity for over 100 years.  

Isn’t it time, he wondered, that we stopped referring to England, that we cut those aged and fraying apron strings?

He has a point.

I imagine England doesn’t feel like a mother to Australia’s Indigenous population.

And the old country could be any number of countries from Europe, Asia, Africa or the Americas.

Sure a few hangovers of England’s colonisation remain.

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We are part of the Commonwealth – although I’m not too sure how common that wealth is.

We play cricket.

We get three months long service leave (well… if you’re a public servant.  The time was to allow you to go home “to the old country” by boat and spend two weeks with your family)

Still…

Do you ever hear citizens of the United States referring to the old country?

No.

I agree.  It’s time to move on peeps.

My Mum’s racy past

mum

This is my mum and my daughter in 2005.  We were in Italy, in Venice in fact.

I thought I wouldn’t like Venice.  I thought it would be too much of a cliche, too geared for tourism.

It was.  I didn’t care.  I loved it.

The other week I caught up with my oldest cousin.  

When she was a teenager, my mum was a young adult.

According to my cousin she was the coolest auntie a girl could ever have.

She fought back to her parents.

She travelled the world.

She slept in the nude.

My cousin tells me she once overheard an argument between mum and my grandparents.

They were upset because she’d cashed in her savings to buy a ticket overseas to follow my Dad to Canada (eventually).

Mum said it was her money and she would do what she wanted with it, cashed up and took off and the rest, as they say is history.

The effect on my cousin was profound.  
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She kept the boarding passes mum gave her and used to look at them and imagine being like my mum.

In later life she travelled far and wide and still does.

Listening to my cousin I felt a kernel of pride that this was my mother she was talking about but interestingly also a sense of wonder.

Who was this woman?

This racy, defiant, inspiring person?

She just seemed like a normal mum to me… a little vehement about me not being a teacher (she didn’t enjoy her chosen profession…) but otherwise…

It is only now as an adult,  I recognise that I grew up with a pretty radical person.

Mum was always experimenting.

From eggplant patties (don’t ask – they were a disaster – even the dog wouldn’t eat them) to Transactional Analysis, she explored her inner and outer worlds and took us along for the ride.

This year she is celebrating a significant birthday.

Dad and I were going to start planning a party but we’ve been informed that there will be several functions.

A festival of Mum.

Bring it on – you deserve it!

Nostalgic for manners

nostalgiaI went to see Nostalgia. A Japanese production which opened last night along with the Perth International Arts Festival.

It was in a space created within the Perth Convention Centre and it is an excellent production.

It is not the easiest of theatre experiences.  It is all in Japanese – apart from the titles to the various sections which are in English.

And it is quite long.

Nostalgia tells the little-known story of the migration of thousands of Japanese workers to Brazil in the early 20th century. Follow the 40-year wanderings of a Japanese family as they search for a better future through the turmoil of revolution in South America.

The company, Inshinha, rarely performs outside of Japan.  More…

There’s a large cast of singers/dancers/actors and the music is beautiful especially supplemented as it is with the rythmic chanting of the cast and their sharp movements.

The sets are extraordinary, and the visual feast is enhanced with a large screen which adds yet another dimension.

Even though I knew only the bare bones of the storyline (tip:  read the program notes), I was drawn along with the story and intrigued to find out more.

Some of the sections could have been a shorter and still made sense – it was a lot of theatre without a break – nearly two and a half hours – but Feline and I loved it.

There was even a giant puppet, which we argued over as to it’s symbolism, so I’d be interested in what you think.

So why am I “nostalgic for manners”?

Well here’s the thing.  About an hour into the production the ushers were still letting people into their seats.

An hour!
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I can understand being 5 minutes late, reprehensible though it is, I live in a glass house on this one, but an hour?!

And it wasn’t as if you could sneak in the back.  You had to clamber up a pitch black metal staircase from the front.

Stomp stomp stomp.

Perth Festival – you need to get tough.

And then there were the early leavers.

It was a long time to go without a pee and maybe they found it too hard, but I was disappointed to see people leaving part way through.

It was really distracting for the rest of us.

I think if you’re going to make a commitment to see a festival production you need to stick with it.  Reading the notes in the guide you would be able to tell it wasn’t going to be a Broadway musical.

So there’s my rant.

After the show we went to the Festival club at Becks Music Box which was lovely – such a great venue.

So far we’ve had three city Festival clubs after the Undercroft at UWA… there was the set up outside the Art Gallery, the Verandah at the Perth Concert Hall and now the Music Box in the front of the city.

Which do you prefer?  And where could it go next??

I don’t want to hear your excuses

A walk on a Rottnest beachl

I realised something today.

I don’t like to hear excuses, and not only that, I don’t think others do either.

It’s always been my pet hate when people give me chapter and verse when they can’t do something – go out, do a task, whatever.

Okay I get it – I fume inside my head – it’s making me feel worse hearing your excuses.  Just say you don’t want to come!

It’s that whole – “I would have done it if” thing.

If I didn’t have to wash my hair, if I wasn’t so tired, if I could have found a babysitter…

The truth is maybe – maybe you just didn’t want to go.

The only things I think I want to hear are that you already have a prior task or appointment OR that you don’t want to, maybe it’s not your cup-of-tea.

Because in the end that’s what it mostly boils down to doesn’t it?

This is what highlighted in yellow texta to me that I don’t like excuses – my Dad rang about some chairs and I gave him my excuses as to why I didn’t go to a concert with him last night.
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Now the truth is I didn’t want to go.

Yes I was tired and underwhelmed with enthusiasm by the rest of the family but if I had really wanted to go, I would have.

He cut me off and I realised that I was doing to him what I hate being done to me.  

A reflection.

Sorry Dad.

I think underneath we know why people say no to invitations.

And it does hurt a little when we get a no.

But it’s like salt in the wound to get a list of excuses on why.

So next time, I’m just going to own my feelings and take responsibility for my life and just say no, politely.

I think it hurts less.

Fire Tweets

kinglakeI’m new to Twitter and so if this sounds a little evangelical, a little newly converted, my apologies.

I’ve been following the fires in Victoria via my twitter feed, getting updates from 774melbourne and CFA.

And I really feel connected. As much from the official tweets as the more informal ones from other twitterers in the area.

I’ve also tuned into 774’s emergency coverage on the stream.

The news is grim. Many lives lost, hundreds of houses, towns have disappeared.
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At the time of writing this, 36 people have been confirmed dead.

And the fires continue.

13 minutes ago:

CFA advises people in the Dederang area to stay in their homes or head to a neighbour’s . Implement your fire plan. It is too late to leave

I hope you are safe.

When the surf is smokey

smokey

It wasn’t that long ago that Perth was surrounded by bushfires – or at least it felt that way. The sky was overcast with smoke.

And yet I still didn’t “get it” when I saw the sign until I was well past it on my morning walk.

Which is why I took this next photo:

lifeguard

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I wanted to see what the lifeguards thought smokey surf looked like.

Turns out they were just being witty.

Yep.

Good luck for those of you in the extreme fire danger zones this weekend.

Ten years younger

not so grey

Okay maybe not ten…

In many ways now that I’ve decided to dye my hair again I feel as if I’ve given up.

But…

I think it’s better to feel it rather than look it!

I had lunch today with a friend who I haven’t seen in about six months.  She has a new man, is going for a new job and looks happier than I’ve seen her in a while.

I love that about female friendships.

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I guess male friendships are the same?

For bloggers out there… I’m writing this on Wordpress 2.7.  I like it.  I like the layout, the groovy new functions like get plugin – oh that makes life easy, and well… all of it.

You might see a few new functions on the site as I’ve got lots of new toys to play with.

Let me know what you think, especially if it gets too cluttered.

If you use WordPress and haven’t upgraded – do it.  It’s worth it

And oh, Twitter.  I am fast realising what a time-waster that is.  I hardly had time to scratch myself between tweets today.  Lucky I had the day off!

Tweet tweet tweet

I have broken through the twitter barrier.

It has taken me some time to jump on the twitter bandwagon and I’m not sure why.

It was work that did it.

We were playing with twitter today, working out how to use it, encouraging our team to have a go and I thought… well maybe I should try it.

So I did.

It’s really quite addictive as twitterers out there will know.

I think maybe because it is SO easy.

I think the important things I’ve learned so far are:

  • Change your background ASAP so you look like a real person
  • Follow people who follow you
  • Reply to others by putting an @ symbol before their username
  • Enjoy the ride because it is one!

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If you want to follow my tweets go to http://twitter.com/cellobella

I’d love to see you and follow you in return!

The questions I have for bloggers though – does Twitter improve your page accesses or not?

And do you find that you have less time for blogging if you are active on Twitter?

A little perspective

I took this photo down on the foreshore of the river a few days ago.

Yes that’s my 14 year old – year 10 boy – sitting on the shoulders of his 11 year old – year 7 sister.

She’s almost as tall as him too.

It works rather well to have the boy first I’ve decided.

Boys tend to lag behind the girls in the development department – or girls mature faster – so they end up much closer in physical age than if the order was reversed.

Of course it means Groover and I have to continually remind ourselves that Dippity is only 11 – which is tough when she behaves like a sulky teenager.

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Lazy sometimes and then you remember that you aren’t always the bundle of energy you’d like to be either. Shhh but don’t tell them that.

This year, Hugamuga has moved into the senior school and Dipp is now in middle school.  Both I think are relishing the change.

I even spied Hugamuga doing homework tonight – without being asked.  Impressive.

I feel blessed.

It was a tough day at work today but coming home to my little family felt good.

And the Singah beer did too. 🙂

So hot and so grey

It’s so hot.

So hot I can’t think, I can’t breathe.

The sweat pools under my breasts, slides over my stomach and drops on my thighs as I type, I’m sticking to the leather chair.

I can’t bear the thought of organising dinner, of even thinking about dinner, which might be a good thing except for the two teenagers who are hungry after their first day back at school.

I’m wearing a gossimer thin sarong tied in a knot above my breasts – it’s too hot even for cloth on my shoulders, for a bra.  And I’m wearing undies.

Frankly I feel over-dressed but my children became unexpectedly prudish about a mother cooking in the nude.

“Is that er… even hygenic?”

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It’s so grey.

Ever since I read Going Grey last year, I’ve been on the road to letting my hair grow out, that’s partly why I got the short hair cut, but you know… I just don’t think I’m ready.

Bad enough that I need to be exercising more, controlling my intake more (note how I didn’t say the d-word), that I need to increase my reading glasses strength… I’m only 42 for crying out loud – I’m not ready.

I was watching Oprah last night – Mum taped the program and saved it for me to watch – and it was all about embracing your age – but none of the stars, guests that she interviewed had grey hair.  Not even any of the “real people” had grey hair – except for one sad grandmother who has suffered from depression ever since her kids left home.

I don’t want to be in the sad camp!

So I’m going to dye my hair again.  Get back on that treadmill of dyeing and roots and throwing money at the problem.

I’ll let you know how I go on Saturday.