A superior man is modest in his speech, but exceeds in his actions.

As ever, Henry leads the way with bold and purposeful strides. Here he re-enacts Mussolini’s ‘March on Rome’. Henry has broken ranks with historical reality and pretends that Benito actually marched himself (rather than took a car), with Jen cast in the role of General De Bono, and Ezra the vicious little Balbo.

Of course, I assumed the role of Victor Emmanuel III.

By the end of things we got a little closer to reality. Indeed, it ended in tears.

Comments

Roddy said…

As in Russia, I thought you were looking for a concrete wall to sun yourselves, as on one of their balmy sub-zero sunny days.
The family look well. If a little chilled.

19 September 2010 at 20:12

lettuce said…

nice bird's eye view

19 September 2010 at 20:18

Priyanka Khot said…

Spent close to half an hour going through the posts I missed reading over the last 2 weeks.

Your boys have grown so much. Love to both of them.

This pic is really nice. Henry looks old enough and ready to climb the Everest. On his way to the top of the world, ask him to stop in Delhi to meet me :-)

20 September 2010 at 00:45

Carola said…

Everything - and the beach. Wonderful photo. Perfect timing!

20 September 2010 at 06:17

ratatouille's archives said…

Hi! Kris...
I agree with the previous commenter(s) nice photograph!
(Of Jen, Henry and Ezra...)
What a nice angle (the photograph)and quote too!
The WWII reenactment story...lol!!!!
Thanks, for sharing!
DeeDee ;-D

20 September 2010 at 07:29

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, it was rather windy, and the wind was at my back.

Lettuce, I call it the 'penguin-eye view'.

Priyanka, Henry is exceptionally tall now. Ez is talking like a champ.

Carola, I have to take a lot of photographs before I demonstrate 'good timing'.

DeeDee, don't forget, the March on Rome was in ’22!

20 September 2010 at 09:49

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

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...

This will hurt me...

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