Meanings are not determined by situations, but we determine ourselves by the meanings we give to situations.

When you are heading into work for yet another long day, you tend to cling to any bit of beauty you can find. East Derwent Highway, the Lindisfarne/Geilston Bay border. December 2010.

I’ll call this one Thirty-five Words…

Where is your cell phone? Charging

Relationship? Exultant

Your hair? Brown

Work? Policy

Your sister? None

Your favourite thing? Serenity

Your dream last night? Opportunities

Your favourite drink? Coffee

Your dream car? Feet

The room you’re in? Exposed

Your shoes? Sneakers

Your fears? Rational

What do you want to be in 10 years? Relaxed

Who did you hang out with this weekend? Children

What are you not good at? Apologising

Muffin? Savoury

One of your wish list items? Sleep

Where you grew up? Coast

Last thing you did? E-mail

What are you wearing? Clothes

What aren’t you wearing? Watch

Your pet? Absent

Your computer? Serviceable

Your life? Emerging

Your mood? Tired

Missing? Always

What are you thinking about right now? Thighs

Your car? Huh?

Your kitchen? Open

Your summer? Beach

Your favourite colour? Cobalt

Last time you laughed? Morning

Last time you cried? Birth

School? Over

Love? Absolutely!

Comments

Roddy said…

When you do these surveys can you transcribe "cell" to Mobile. Please!

14 December 2010 at 20:27

Kris McCracken said…

Yes.

16 December 2010 at 14:12

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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