The deluged heart of the idle cosmopolite is a hut for no one

By golly, you know there must be a degree of emotional termult when you delve in Johann Gottfried Herder for your title! I have previously expressed an interest in the whole Sturm und Drang movement. But enough inner turmoil, I have a photograph to explain!

And isn't it action packed?

But why was I outside of a wine bar when I was supposed to be at work? Well, you would be forgiven for thinking that.

After work yesterday, I had to nip back into the maternity ward of the hospital to get a stamp on a form. This stamp would once and for all establish Ezra's existence in the eyes of the omnipotent bureaucratic apparatus that sits over all of us here in Australia. I am relived to now know that the little bloke is now real because I was starting to think that the shrieking little thing keeping me up all night was some sort of malevolent apparition.

But he has been just a dear little baby boy all along!

If that wasn't overwhelming enough, my journey to the hospital was made even more eventful for the appearance of not more apparitions, rather big trucks, screeching sirens and flashing coloured lights.

[In the fog of my tired head I hear Stanley Kowalski bellowing “STELLA! STELLA!!!” at the thought of those coloured lights.]

Where was I?

Oh, the photo. Christ I am tired.

Yeah, there must have been some alarm somewhere, and all of a sudden there were two fire engines and a whole mess of firemen (AND firewomen, I might add) back from rescuing cats up trees ready to respond to the threat of inferno.

So I took this photo.

And now I have posted it.

Comments

Debbie Courson Smith said…

You should have stopped in for a glass of wine Kris!

7 August 2008 at 23:27

Kris McCracken said…

I think that one glass of wine would have finished me off for the day, and I still had four hours until Henry goes to bed!

9 August 2008 at 08:34

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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