Life is a wretched grey Saturday, but it has to be lived through.

Here they are all lined up over a treacherous waterway in the bustling metropolis of Melbourne.

Note to future parents: start thinking up strategies to get children to walk past water features without sticking there hands in...

Comments

ratatouille's archives said…

Hi! Kris...
"Here they are all lined up over a treacherous waterway in the bustling metropolis of Melbourne..."

Your sons have your wife, Jen's characteristics...Especially, Henry, when it comes to their eyes.

Note to future parents: start thinking up strategies to get children to walk past water features without sticking there hands in...
LOL

"Life is a wretched grey Saturday, but it has to be lived through."

Hmmm...I'm not sure about the quote because I like Saturday(s) and sometimes grey Saturday(s) too!

Thanks, for sharing!
DeeDee ;-D

8 June 2011 at 20:27

Roddy said…

Hands are easy to live with. What happens when they have to jump in every puddle they see?
Wet hands, dry feet. I can live with.

8 June 2011 at 20:34

Anonymous said…

Oh come on...that waterfeature is just begging to be paddled in! DOnt you want to even a little bit?

9 June 2011 at 19:58

Kris McCracken said…

DeeDee, Henry for sure. Ezra is a replicate of me at that age.

Roddy, they do that too.

Nicki, there was plenty of paddling. I'm not sure I'd try it in Delhi.

10 June 2011 at 16:57

Rhapsody Phoenix said…

beautiful family, adorable kids....
good luck with the note to passing water without kids putting their hands in, some adults are still working on that one.

peace and blessings...
Rhapsody

12 June 2011 at 23:32

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...

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. ...

This will hurt me...

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