Death is not the worst that can happen to people.

Ezra walks tall. Cremorne Beach, Cremorne. June 2011.

Like sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our Sunday Top Five. Honestly, days are seemingly shorter, time increasingly constricted and I find myself hurtling towards oblivion at a rate of increasing knots. Alas, one cannot avoid one’s self-imposed commitments so let me turn yet again to an inimitable and meaningful top five...

In a revolutionary reflexive result, I’m giving you My All Time Top Five Top Fives (Up To This Point)!

Five Reasons That It Might Take You Five Minutes To Walk From The Corner Of Davey Street To The GPO in Hobart!

McCracken's Tasmanian Tigers All-Time Squad!

My Top Five Reasons Why Melbourne Is Better Than Sydney!

Top Five Things That Australia Leads the World In (beginning with the letter ‘S’’!

My Top Five Ever Karaoke Performances!

Ez, Jen and Hen hunt for crabs. Cremorne Beach, Cremorne. June 2011.

Comments

Roddy said…

Beware! Lest the hunter becomes the hunted.

3 July 2011 at 12:54

ratatouille's archives said…

Hi! Kris...
Nice panoramic shot Of your family...When it comes to the quote...[Oh! really?...just kidding! I guess that is true too!]

What an interesting comment and it took me five minutes to visit your top five...However, it was well worth the look-back [Nice photographs too]...Thanks, for sharing!

deedee ;-D

4 July 2011 at 00:57

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, too late!

DeeDee, I'm running out of ideas.

5 July 2011 at 09:15

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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