Skip to main content

The wisdom of the wise and the experience of the ages are perpetuated by quotations.


Just out the front. East Derwent Highway, Geilston Bay. March 2011.

The photo shows late afternoon in Geilston as the sun makes a last hurrah before the shift back from Daylight Saving kicks us all in the guts.

I enjoy Daylight Saving. There is something about arriving home from work with a little bit of sunshine that puts a spring in your step. Conversely, leaving home for work in the dark, and arriving home from work in the dark, can be a little demoralising. What’s been the point of the day if all you have to show for it are the fruits of wage slavery?

Comments

Sue said…
I dislike it most when I emerge from the innards of the office... blinking and covering my eyes from the strange glowing orb in the sky with the cool/warm breeze caressing my dry, parched skin!
I am luckier than you I think though, as I arrive home maybe one or two minutes later! Just in time to spend the remaining minutes of the dying daylight cooking dinner and putting the washing on! Oh the joy!
Roddy said…
I too will miss the extra daylight when I get home.
I am in wet and storm battered Queensland at present and don't have the advantage of daylight saving.
I am presently sitting waiting to arrive in Brisbane somewhere around 3 am. What joy it would be to actually tie this ship up in daylight.
My day should end somewhere around 5 am.
That was yesterday! Today starts again at 8 am.
I hope you can figure that out!
Kris McCracken said…
Sue, it's cruel. It generally takes me at least 45 minutes to get home though (depending on the buses).

Roddy, poor old Queensland.
Roddy said…
No. I actually think it is the peoples fault. Somehow I don't think we should have tampered with nature.

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