To love is not to look at one another, but to look together in the same direction

We all made the trip to the Tulip Festival (at the Hobart Royal Botanical Gardens) today, and came back armed with numerous photographs. Aware and fearful of the mob demanding photos of Henry and company, I shall go on a bit of a splurge and post a heap over the next few hour. That should save my skin for another week or so.

Here he can see the star of the show himself, appropriately equipped with an ollibollin in one hand, and a chocolate coated strawberry in the other. Never deterred from a challenge, he made short work of both!

Comments

Isadora said…

:) He is a chip off the old block, ey! Just wait in a couple of years Ezra will be helping him along and you look on in amazement. :)

5 October 2008 at 16:20

Priyanka Khot said…

Yipeeeeeee!!!

finally a Henry photo... don't keep him absent from blogsphere for so long!!!

5 October 2008 at 19:21

Anonymous said…

How tall does he look?
What happened to our babies?

6 October 2008 at 02:16

freefalling said…

What's an ollibollin?

6 October 2008 at 09:01

freefalling said…

Oh hang on - I found it -
"oil balls".
M-mmmm??!!

6 October 2008 at 09:02

Kris McCracken said…

Isadora, Ezra is well on his way to catching up, I’m already amazed!

Priyanka, I shall try not to.

Tania, they’re monsters...

FF, Ollibollin = delicious!

8 October 2008 at 13:00

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

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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