Begin to be now what you will be hereafter.

Don't mind me, I'm just taking a trip down memory's lane...

Twenty-seven seconds after birth. July 2008.

The first week home. July 2008.

You handsome devil. February 2009.

Front yard hunk. Winter 2009.

Thousand yard stare. May 2010.

Refugee. Home, Spring 2010.

A late summer icy pole. Seven Mile Beach, March 2011.

Hoorah! Geilston Bay, June 2011.

Mr Moody. February 2012.

Hey true blue. March 2012.

Ezra does a mean Betty Boop impression. April 2012.

Comments

Dina said…

Four years! I remember the thrill of seeing these photos of Ezra right after they were taken. Handsome devil is right.
How strange and wonderful to follow the progress of the boy's entire life solely via your blog.
Looking forward to the continuing growth.

20 July 2012 at 00:11

Sue said…

Did you ever in your wildest imagination think that you would help create such a magnificent work of art such as Ezra?

21 July 2012 at 22:27

Roddy said…

Four years!! And to think that I have managed to be there for most of it.
And best of all I have also managed to be a large part of Henry's life too.

24 July 2012 at 19:13

Kris McCracken said…

It's a scary thought!

25 July 2012 at 16:27

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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