Personally I'm always ready to learn, although I do not always like being taught.

The view going onto the bridge. Tasman Bridge, Rose Bay. August 2011.

Ezra and I decided to tackle the Tasman Bridge climb - and you'll be able to see photos of the little bloke atop tonight - and here are some photos to give you an idea of the experience (albeit without the noise of the cars zipping by).

As ever though, it's time for books!

(After this picture.)

The view from the middle of the bridge. Tasman Bridge, the Derwent Estuary. August 2011.

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather is a slow moving account of – wait for it – the efforts of a French Catholic bishop (and his mate) to establish a diocese in New Mexico Territory of North America.

Told through a succession of vignettes, the priests travel throughout the America west and meeting a wide variety of characters along the way. Their adventures often take on mythical and religious significance, which deepens their faith despite their differing personalities.

This is a slow-moving book that I am sure would drive some mad. The cool, descriptive narrative is superbly measured, and although she eschews judgement on the actions of those within, she paints her picture to show the many-faceted realities of life on the prairie. For example, through the character of Kit Carson she highlights both his bravery, gentleness and compassion as well as his vile cruelty to the Navajo. Indeed, she makes no bones about the magnitude of the loss suffered by the native peoples.

It’s a beautiful book, and one in which faith (Catholic or otherwise) is not required to recognise. Not for everybody, but I’d heartily recommend it.

The view coming off the bridge. Tasman Bridge, the Derwent Estuary. August 2011.

Comments

Roddy said…

So, who was on the exercise regime? You or Ezra?

26 August 2011 at 18:59

Kris McCracken said…

Me.

28 August 2011 at 12:45

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...

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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