Skip to main content

Only one man ever understood me, and he didn't understand me.


This evening I present to you a nice juxtaposition of my sons, with a bit of distance to mix things up a bit in a composition sense.

Here you can see Henry and Ezra on the lookout for secret treasure. Every time we cross this patch of ground we are alert (but not alarmed) to the prospect of finding a rich booty of this very special substance.

Now, I put it to you dear World, what are we looking for?

Comments

Roddy said…
Gumnuts! Nanna says golf balls.
tony said…
I Know!
But Its A Secret & I Am Sworn To Silence.:)
Unknown said…
I agree with gumnuts. But I have no idea what you want them for. No good for knitting, or trips to Antarctica, or even cooking ....
Kris McCracken said…
Roddy, Nanna is correct.

Tony, smart move.

Linda, I don't know why he always wants the either. I suspect that he is manufacturing methamphetamine. This time, however, it was golf balls this time.
Roddy said…
I reckon Eucalyptus oil would be a better guess than methamphetamines. Not enough pseudoethadrine in gum nuts.

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