Skip to main content

The past and future are veiled; but the past wears the widow's veil; the future, the virgin's.


It's Monday, and I have taken the day off. That can only mean one thing: the Messiah is coming! I even have a sign on top of a van to prove it.

That said, not even the Messiah can prevent the tardy motorist getting a parking ticket down here in Salamanca. Word on the street has it that Joseph and Mary's donkey - Nigel, I do believe was his name - was ticketed as they browsed through the ridiculous tat innovative arts and craft that you can find in the tourist district.

Comments

yamini said…
Hi Kris/Jen/Henry/Ez,

Sorry for not visiting in a long time, was busy with my brother's marriage, which took place on November 29, 2009.

However, with the first post itself, I stand assured that you haven't lost your touch. The post was amusing and yes, wishing all of you a very, very, very joyous festive season ahead (Rest of the greetings will follow soon...).

Take care
Roddy said…
You my son work in the tourist district. Aren't you fortunate that you don't drive a motor vehicle and or donkey.
If the messiah arrives at your place of work tell him I have a thing or two to ask. Don't however give him my mobile number.
Nigel, eh? How do you say that in Hebrew?
Dina said…
It first I though the van would be of Chabad.
Kris McCracken said…
It's an odd place, Salamanca.

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

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

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