tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88754294361346684352024-02-20T01:50:38.142+11:00Dodo Au Go-GoRee Writes (about writing, creativity and the little things that mean the most)ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-45962862849463373432023-02-11T17:42:00.002+11:002023-02-14T13:06:27.537+11:00The Flower in a Bag I don't remember how the bag came into my possession. Suffice to say it got well played with over the Christmas season, and is now cumpled, tatty and generally, quite the worse for wear.<div><br></div><div>I was trying to decide whether to throw it in the recycling or do something crafty with it before chucking it out.</div><div><br></div><div>So I decided to try drawing a flower on its crumpled but blank innards.</div><div><br></div><div>As you do.</div><div><br></div><div>There was a logic to my madness - which was that I'm not very good at drawing flowers, and doing a doodle inside a hidden and soon-to-be-thrown-out bag is as good a place to practice as any.</div><div><br></div><div>I grabbed one of my LittleOne's colouring-in pens. Again, it reduces any expectations and pressure. (I think I've previously mentioned that I have a pretty savage inner critic?)</div><div><br></div><div>Anyway, I came up with this.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>Photo taken in the kitchen with as much fluorescent light as I could get into the gift bag with one hand, while holding my phone with the other.</div><div><br></div><div>Actually, you know what? I thought to myself in tones of doubtful surprise, that's kinda not bad.</div><div><br></div><div>So I played with it in my Photoshop Express app. </div><div><br></div><div>First, I went through interesting permutations trying to blend that streak of light.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>The black and white filter helped.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>I couldn't reduce the texture, so I expanded it.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>LittleOne had a couple of awesome goes.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br>Then, a couple of final flippy and colour variations to finish off.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div> And there you go. Not a bad result for a flower in a bag. Even if I do say so myself!</div><div><br></div><div>PS. I haven't thrown the bag out yet.</div><div><br></div><div>PPS. If you have a favourite, let me know!</div>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-83746522431449505002022-10-27T08:07:00.003+11:002022-10-28T08:11:37.565+11:00Welcome to PonderBananeMangoSweet Street<p> The whole household has been down with a bad bug (not the pandemic pest) for these past two October weeks. There were sniffles, sore throats, coughs and fevers aplenty. </p><p>It's all pretty exhausting, so on the weekend, LittleOne and I did some drawing to cheer ourselves up.</p><p>I pulled out a roll of brown packing paper (greater novelty factor than your ordinary sheet of A3 white paper) and suggested we could draw a streetscape with some shops for LittleOne's toys and cars to drive and walk past and go shopping.</p><p>Welcome to PonderBananeMangoSweet Street.</p><p>(I contributed the Sweet. LittleOne authorised it to join the original.)</p><p>Let's take a stroll.</p><p><br /></p><p>Here is, IMHO, one of best shops I have ever seen:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p>The Fashion Explosion Rocket Shop. </p><p>This is perhaps the greatest name for a shop ever, in the entirety of human existence in the universe. Ever.</p><p>100% LittleOne's concept. I love it.</p><p>It's for - and I quote - "fashions you wear when you go into space."</p><p>There is a rocket behind the explosion too. This concept has been thoroughly thought through.</p><p>Pure. Genius.</p><p><br /></p><p>This one was mine.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p>The Giraffe Scarf Shop.</p><p>Does what it says on the tin. </p><p>Quite popular with the local giraffes.</p><p>And it benefits quite a bit from the spillover traffic from Fashion Explosion next door.</p><p>I quite like the giraffe's boots, by the way. Très chic.</p><p><br /></p><p>Next, a delicious collaboration.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>The Giant Chocolate Rainbow Candy Shop<br /><p></p><p>LittleOne's name, my swirls. </p><p>Very rainbowy and candy-like, dripped in with dreams of chocolate.</p><p>It was a lot of swirling, but I think we did justice to the name in the end.</p><p><br /></p><p>And then, we get to:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div>The Secret True Love Shop</div><div>(Where Princesses come to the true love shop to get their hands kissed)</div><div><br /></div>(This photo isn't doing justice to the range of bright warm colours that are actually in The Secret True Love Shop. But I promise - they're there!)<p></p><p>This is a very important shop much frequented by all the Princesses and True Loves everywhere.</p><p>Note the large commercial shop front and the quintessentially magical (no-door) entrance. It presumably filters out the charlatans and the baddies.</p><p><br /></p><p>The Secret True Love Shop is next door to a park.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>A park with pretty trees.<br /><p></p><p>I've just realised I only drew one peacock. I hope it's not lonely.</p><p>And I was about to worry that it has no water to drink, but then realised that LittleOne has started a lake-tent next door to the park. You can just see it next to the pink-leaf tree.</p><p>The lake-tent is incomplete, but I'm pretty sure it means the street is doing just fine for water.</p><p><br /></p><p>And there you go.</p><p>PonderBananeMangoSweet Street.</p><p>For whenever you need an adventure in expanding the limits of what's possible 💗</p><p>Thanks for dropping by, and if you have a favourite shop on the street, I'd love to hear about it!</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-57027210876799690522022-09-19T07:09:00.002+10:002022-09-19T07:15:12.588+10:00Bugs and Bee BumsIt's a springtime and the weekend post! Featuring bugs.<div><br /></div><div>Saturday was muggy after the rains during the week. But it dried up marvellously by the late afternoon. Sunday was bewilderingly cool even in the early morning sun, but it warmed up beautifully in the afternoon.<div><br /></div><div>We saw this flower blooming in our hedge. It doesn't belong to the hedge but to a rival vine snaking through. If it's a weed or invasive species, it's got the most insolently beautiful flowers!</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Springtime also means the return of bugs. Brisbane has lots of them. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's the tiny, almost invisible ones you need to watch out for. A quarter of the size of fruit flies or smaller. Midges, I think they're called. They've very wily, fast, and their bites itch mercilessly for days. They're the one bug I'm unapologetically nasty to 😳</div><div><br /></div><div>A baby dragonfly with a blip of bright blue greeted LittleOne by hovering overhead as we went down the stairs! This was our awesome bug experience of the weekend.</div><div><br /></div><div>Less awesome was the horse-fly. We had said horse-fly (like a regular fly but 3 times the size) in the house over the weekend. Either we had six flies taking turns and entering one at a time, or it was the same one returning half a dozen times. Either way, I caught and released a horse-fly six-odd times this weekend! </div><div><br /></div><div>We had some lovely outdoor and garden time. Here's my Indi-Girl 💙 The midgey critturs seem to hover around her mercilessly, but they don't seem to bother her too much (I hope).</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div>Sorry I didn't include your full pretty ears, my lil pup. (In my defence, you hate keeping still when there's a phone camera in your face.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Our prolific lemony-lime tree is buzzing with bees. I tried to get photos and ended up with lots of photos of bee bums 👀</div><div><br /></div><div>Here you go. Because bee bums make the world a better place 💛🖤💛🖤</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div>With lots of bee bum blessings to you all.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Du fond du coeur x</div></div>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-70431258504052129922022-09-12T07:29:00.001+10:002022-09-12T07:51:19.682+10:00An Extra-Ordinary Spring Saturday<p>Saturday the 10th of September was one of those magic spring days. </p><p>It started like this:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>It was the kind of day where the sun is beautifully warm and the breeze is playful and joyous. </p><p>The kind of day where, when LittleOne and I went out onto the deck in the morning and the breeze ran up to say hello, we each instinctively, impulsively inhaled and exclaimed about how lovely the day was! </p><p>The kind of day that LittleOne said felt just like the beach. </p><p>The kind of day where the air is watermelon-scented, and you just want to both bottle it and let it soak in your very cells forever. </p><p><i>That </i>kind of spring day.</p><p>We saw the first hibiscus flower in our garden in a lovely shade of pink-red that was just slightly more deep pink than red. We saw bees merrily visiting the white-and-pink-edged blossoms all over our prolific lemony-lime tree.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw-ODlLig0pIsrkbpngbp7E9hr8dXh96oISWVQyG2mIUKw-NvBN8GpfplPHDIq8ds0GAUzbyCAL81p6wBUR1g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We saw a kookaburra bird come and perch on the arbor in the garden. It gave a couple of its deep-throated chuckles, but didn't break out into its full song. The chuckles got an answer from another nearby kookaburra, and also attracted a bossy magpie which came and hovered brazenly right next to the kookaburra. The kookaburra flew to next door's washing line, followed by the bossy magpie - with reinforcements. They hopped at the edges of the mango tree close to the washing line, a constantly shifting bossy presence.</p><p> (I swear, it seems that all the other birds seem to gang up on the kookaburras. They hold their own pretty well, though, thank goodness!)</p><p>Standing on the deck, I saw a blue-faced honeyeater bird fly the length of the garden at my eye level, a movement of a long, smooth swoop, its golden-olive back and wing feathers glorious in dappled light.</p><p>We played with water on the warmth of the deck and gave several toys a bath. </p><p>We played bubbles, sending them flying into the warm air and watching them being carried far away by the breeze.</p><p>The winds made for beautiful cloud patterns the whole day.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>We realised the path of the sun is changing again, and the garden which remains mostly in shade through the winter, is becoming bathed in pools and pockets of sunshine again.</p><p>We popped out to the whole fruit-and-vegetable markets, which I call the bazaar markets in a nod to my Mauritius childhood where all the open air fruit and vegie markets are called bazaars. (The plural 's' is silent in Mauritius Creole and French.) We went to our preferred market gardener stall, who often gives us a free something extra. On Saturday, it was an extra bunch of bok choy. We got bananas, strawberries, blueberries and raspberries and talked about fruit salad and smoothies on the way home. </p><p>We got a bag of salted caramel popcorn and ate some on the way home.</p><p>We bought a pot plant. LittleOne chose this lovely daisy. I'm not a gardening person, so will see if I can help it thrive.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>When we got home, we greeted a happy Indi and threw open all the (screened) doors and windows. While unpacking our treasure trove of fruit, the TV's chill music channel moved from a song with a medium fast offbeat tempo to one which felt as if it was an underwater song. Next door in the kitchen, LittleOne and I moved from grooving to the medium-fast song, to spontaneously doing slow-motion dancing to the underwater song. LittleOne won the dancing with a slow wriggle into a crouch and then back up again without any bending forward.</p><p>We polished off one of the punnets of raspberries in one go. We added plain Greek yoghurt to some of them and did that thing where you painstakingly fill the raspberry with yoghurt, then eat. <i>Yum!</i></p><p>LittleOne got focused on a hangnail on a forefinger and demanded a plaster. Knowing that plasters get applied and discarded with too much frequency, and trying to delay the fate of yet another plaster, I got an unopened plaster and drew a smiley face at one end and a grumpy face at the other end. It worked as a distraction, but not for very long. LittleOne got the plaster - again, not for very long. I also got lots of ink smears on my fingers from the leaking pen.</p><p>Having woken up too early, LittleOne took a late afternoon nap, and I took Indi for a longer-than-usual walk. At one point, on a path that ran east to west, I looked right to see this in the west:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>Without moving, I looked left to see this in the east:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>And this became the night:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>It was one of those days where you feel the gods and goddesses of the sun and moon and stars all decided to throw their common cares away for a day, and to just soak in joy. </p><p>We on our little blue earth feel this joy, and savour it like blessings. Making many little moments of perfection all around us.</p><p>Here's to many more beautiful, extra-ordinary days.</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p><p> </p><p><br /></p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-44733879082320018112022-09-05T08:08:00.007+10:002022-10-05T14:07:35.461+11:00A soft spot for Blue Smarties<p>LittleOne has reached the age of treats now. Which means we have a lot more treats in the house.</p><p>The treats have, for various reasons, focused on chocalatey delights. But not any old chocolate.</p><p>Plain Cadbury chocolates have been given the thumbs up. Terry's Chocolate Orange has been deemed too strong (we're working on this), and Caramello Koalas, with their liquid caramel centres, have not been a hit (I get this, LittleOne - it took me ages to like them too).</p><p>Smarties have been a ...moderate hit. They're often on the "please, can we?" list at the supermarket, but LittleOne's intake at home can be quite low. Even when I suggest them with rattling, dancing packets.</p><p>Which means there are often Smarties in the cupboards looking at me, Which is such a pity. </p><p>You see, I have a funny old soft spot for Smarties.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><b><div><b><br></b></div></b><p>You see, when I was growing up in Mauritius in the 1980s, we had Smarties, of course. And they were your standard chocolatey treat.</p><p>But, when we moved to Perth, Australia, we didn't know anything about the world we'd just landed in. The geography, the architecture, the names of suburbs, shop names, strange TV shows and strangers reading the news... all the things which are the backdrop of strangeness, when you're a stranger in a land that's strange to you.</p><p>I still have a memory of the first time we went to a shopping centre (even the experience of a shopping centre was novel to me). We'd made the mistake of walking to the shopping centre. It was a very, very long walk. That was our first physical introduction to how spread out Perth was, and how you couldn't realistically travel Perth on foot, unlike Mauritius, where all the things are within walking distance. </p><p>We went straight to a café to recover. It was called <a href="https://www.missmaud.com.au/" target="_blank">Miss Maud</a>.</p><p>It had - what I would vaguely guess at being - a Swiss/Scandanavian vibe. Wikipedia has just provided me with the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miss_Maud#:~:text=1%20History-,History,of%20Pier%20and%20Murray%20Streets." target="_blank">back story</a>, which confirms its origin story as being Swedish. It was based on the founder's preferred bakery in Stockholm.</p><p>What I remember as a kid new to Perth, was ordering something (I can't remember what), and receiving a dish of cut-glass crystal heaped high with a mound of whipped cream and scattered with Smarties. Including <b><i>blue </i></b>Smarties.</p><p>Imagine a kid who hasn't learnt yet to act like a too-cool-for-school tween, and you can imagine the intake of breath and wide-eyed delight with which I looked at this treat. </p><p>What was this amazing world we had just moved to?? </p><p>Perth - and Australia - was indeed a developed, economically-advanced, confectionerily-superior, first-world place! </p><p><b><i>Blue</i></b> Smarties!</p><p>I'd never had whipped cream before, so that was another new experience. I quickly realised I didn't really like whipped cream, so I focused all my attention on the awesomeness of the blue Smarties. </p><p>I relished every blue Smartie (even though they don't taste like anything in particular, but that's not the point. They were <b><i>blue</i></b>!)</p><p>Bits and bobs of the experience are coming back to me as I type, and I now remember that the server who looked after us was extraordinarily kind. She chatted with my parents, tried to talk to me (I was shy), and was altogether very lovely. </p><p>So much so, that I think we went back another time soon after. We were delight to find "our" server on duty again. Even though the depth of the kindness connection wasn't the same. I think I also tried to order something different and was disappointed when I got towers of whipped cream again, but without the blue Smarties.</p><p>I think that was our second and last trip to Miss Maud. We settled into our chosen suburb, got to know our local shopping centre, fell into routines, got used to the names of places, got to know the roads between places, made friends and networks and connections, the particular Australian landscape faded into the everyday backdrop, and we breathed in the smell of gum trees, dry summer days and the petrichor of rain on summer days as every day scents. </p><p>In other words, Perth became home. </p><p>Even as I tried to keep Mauritius present too - but that's another story.</p><p>But I will forever associate Miss Maud with those early experiences of arriving in Australia and encountering the <b><i>blue </i></b>Smarties. Tiny, real, little memories.</p><p>Bounced off, built on, overtaken and left inconsequential among myriad others.</p><p>Until now. </p><p>When I nibble my LittleOne's stash of Smarties and the memories of the blue Smarties come back to make me smile.</p><p><br></p><p><b><i>Postscript</i></b>: Since writing and sharing this post, I was shocked and amazed to discover that what I think of as standard Smarties mean a very different kind of confectionary in the US. This <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smarties" target="_blank">Wikipedia entry</a> explains the discrepancy.</p><p>This certainly explains why M&Ms, which I've always thought of as a copycat and not-as-good-as-Smarties treat, have gained such prominence. Ah, the quirks of trademark registrations strike again.</p><p>I was then amazed and amused to discover <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smarties#Colours" target="_blank">this little snippet</a> also on the Wikipedia page, about the history of the blue Smarties - it was part of a blue Smartie protest at the Nestle take over of Smarties in 1988. Although, my blue Smartie experience took place in 1987, so I'll just leave the intricacies of timing in the mists.</p><p><br></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-59595190632751730452022-08-21T16:17:00.001+10:002022-08-21T16:23:26.036+10:00Painting petit-à-petit <p>I've never done much painting.</p><p>Between being too daunted to try it - despite being an enthusiastic drawing doodler, and having a cripplingly fierce inner editor/ inner critic, I never really explored the painting side of art. </p><p>Until LittleOne came along - at which point, paint supplies, painting and arty-ing became staples of our playing and learning time. Then I figured I really should <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2022/02/creativity-on-quick.html" target="_blank">take advantage and learn to paint and play</a>.</p><p>I tried to play with this piece, and ended up jumping between physical and digital media to reach a final painting pic which I think is pretty cool.</p><p>I started off here:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihLC7GOhsjZJ9bX8hFQADbfIrCt4_vtUrU7av8StZ8YYb6L6_EuwyoG_dlYeI1sviWR2j-k61xvQqNnJSL1qnqu1ybvfiSrcze5kq7GnkSfhDEnjfvohny7hWD8xXnJYqeqGcvWvT5-WE/s1600/1661062623957384-0.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihLC7GOhsjZJ9bX8hFQADbfIrCt4_vtUrU7av8StZ8YYb6L6_EuwyoG_dlYeI1sviWR2j-k61xvQqNnJSL1qnqu1ybvfiSrcze5kq7GnkSfhDEnjfvohny7hWD8xXnJYqeqGcvWvT5-WE/s1600/1661062623957384-0.png" width="400" />
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</div><p></p><p>I started off here because LittleOne wanted to be the one to pour out the paints. Which meant we had quite a bit of leftover paint. Which also meant it was my job to use up the rest of the paint when paint-play was deemed over.</p><p>I quite liked the effect of the original painted image.</p><p>It initially didn't have a sky. But I liked it enough I thought it deserved one. Now I actually didn't have any leftover blue paint, so I ummm, stole some blue from one of LittleOne's generously-splotched paintings (I told myself I was helping it dry faster).</p><p>As a side note, I've discovered that I quite like the square brushes. I find the paint effects much more fun to play with.</p><p>Once the sky was in, I still liked it. </p><p>So I took the photo of the painting and opened it up in Photoshop Express app (free in the app store). I had fun playing with<span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"> the colours and effects.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCVElBSI_yyr4_3ty7_6dj_8Jc5bY7ON65OQsKK3E3wmXzpEf7DENQnh8IvJBTvL7qkbVTH1DEpXcbNwiJObNN6uCxRN_ORAZSmVIPXluZdROCtUYCM1T85VbM9Dt9pzjZ1E8SMHEpGXk/s1600/1661062618568403-1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCVElBSI_yyr4_3ty7_6dj_8Jc5bY7ON65OQsKK3E3wmXzpEf7DENQnh8IvJBTvL7qkbVTH1DEpXcbNwiJObNN6uCxRN_ORAZSmVIPXluZdROCtUYCM1T85VbM9Dt9pzjZ1E8SMHEpGXk/s1600/1661062618568403-1.png" width="400" />
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</div><br /><p></p><p>I still liked it.</p><p>Then I realised there was no light and shade in the image. This is the point at which not having any kind of painting skills becomes very obvious 😁 </p><p>I briefly lamented the lack of an app to add light and shade to a photo, and then remembered *cue flourishing trumpets* my Autodesk Sketchbook app (also free from the app store). </p><p>It allows me to import photos into the app and draw on them. I've not done too much of this, but decided to try it. All on the phone version.</p><p>I realised the app has a colour-chooser 'pipette'-type tool which helped me zero in fairly accurately on matching shades of colour. Very cool.</p><p>Then I found the approximately-correct-sized digital brushes and sizes and used my inexpert fingers to experimentally paint on the screen. I made the sun rounder, added in some light on the field in front of the sun, and added in some colour at the edges of the image. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAv0Xzs8ZQVpyt4gLanjazYjDULNyK2T38hzGoPn7LlOxoonh-aRV5NZwIX_9jQSWtg8BCHwwgxYJsuDif6a8Jrmrg7fgA9nb3u0o6n2dBcWXwwaMJVT7q0uBOdlxPe3NszwphfZY_Llw/s1600/1661062613658024-2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAv0Xzs8ZQVpyt4gLanjazYjDULNyK2T38hzGoPn7LlOxoonh-aRV5NZwIX_9jQSWtg8BCHwwgxYJsuDif6a8Jrmrg7fgA9nb3u0o6n2dBcWXwwaMJVT7q0uBOdlxPe3NszwphfZY_Llw/s1600/1661062613658024-2.png" width="400" />
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</div><p></p><p><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Oooh, it worked!</span></p><p><br /></p><p>Then, a final unnecessary glossing and filtering back in the Photoshop Express app, and voila.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>I'm still undecided about whether the second last or last image looks best (what do you think?) </p><p><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Regardless, a definite contrast between the beginning image and the end one.</span></p><p>And definitely a fun exercise for taking painting baby steps. Score a win for creativity. I think I'll be trying this again soon!</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-69454061217503015592022-08-14T07:56:00.017+10:002022-08-28T06:52:56.297+10:00I got locked out of Twitter<p>So.</p><p>On Sunday morning, I was up at my usual pre-dawn hour. After a Saturday of clouds and rain, when Sunday started with golden pre-dawn light, the birds got very excited and had a glorious symphony of chirruping-chitter-chatter and clear calls to each other.</p><p>I put down my teacup and slipped into the cold outside to record a soothing 13-odd seconds of it. </p><p>Social media might appreciate this lovely clip of peace and zen, I thought, and shared it to Twitter and Instagram. </p><p>Well.</p><p>Within 30 seconds, Twitter got its knickers in a supreme knot about the video, declared I'd violated their rules, and locked me out of my account for 12 hours. </p><p>For the record, here's the offending vid:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzvR09fS6BxQBB9W2MyvjYpq78eEiGaQ7HcOLkY0bRMhzwb3SSYcG2NprNMKns9hR8GzTD_Dh043l2uPWfVFw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Now, I'm the mildest of the mild social media users, focusing exclusively on things that interest me like writing, creativity, nature and animals. In other words, I don't go near the creepy edges of content that might violate Twitter ToS. Being locked out was absolutely a new experience for me.</p><p>It's funny to realise the different stages of reactions I went through:</p><p>1. Dumbfounded: What? Me? Really? Why? The birdsong video? </p><p>2. Disbelief: Are you serious? Birdsong??</p><p>3. Indignation: Tell everyone. Demand sympathy and commiserations and external validations for the unfair ridiculousness of it all. (I told Instagram aaaaall about it!) </p><p>4. Doubt: Or was I actually at fault? Did I post the right thing? Did I post it wrong somehow? The video played through twice when I was trying to post it - does that mean it uploaded twice and was too big? Would that break their rules? Wouldn't they just say the vid was too big?</p><p>5. More indignation: It was birdsong, Twitter, BIRDSONG! </p><p>6. Pseudo-revenge: Write it down in a blogpost for posterity. Consider including puns about walking on eggshells, whether this crackdown is a real feather in their cap, that it's all beyond a yolk, and frankly that Twitter are bird-brains and are flocking crazy etc etc...</p><p>7. Meh: Go have a nice, Twitter-free Sunday.</p><p>8. Imp of the perverse: When I get my account back, fantasise about re-loading the vid and see what happens.</p><p><br /></p><p>After the 12 hours, Twitter finally told me what my offence was: I'd violated their "rules against posting or sharing privately produced/distributed intimate media of someone without their consent".</p><p>There was pindrop silence while I checked my vid again, and wondered how a bot could mistake a dawn sky and silhouetted trees for anything x-rated. Twitter, I think your bot needs a rest.</p><p>For the record, I have posted many similar photos (plus at least one other vid) of dawn skies with trees drawing an uneven silhouette on the horizon. None of those got the Twitter reporting bot so hot to trot.</p><p>Maybe it was the words in my tweet: "Anyone feel like some Sunday morning birdsong? 🧡"?? Is there some unintended innuendo in my words that I'm missing? Has 'birdsong' become the new 'netflix and chill'?? </p><p>Then.</p><p>Then, Twitter told me:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I had to delete the offending tweet before I could get my account back. </li><li>if I delete my tweet, that means I acknowledge I violated their Terms of Service. </li><li>if I really want to, I can try and appeal. But that'll take much loooonger and I won't get my account back until I appeal.</li></ul><p></p><p>I appealed. </p><p>*Shrug*</p><p>That whole 'deleting = acknowledging I violated your ToS' bit got my back up. </p><p>I think my chances of getting Twitter to acknowledge they got this very wrong are non-existent, but I'm still curious to see what they're going to come back with. Or, maybe I should be curious about <i>when </i>they come back. (I can imagine they have a mandatory no-action period of 2 weeks/1 month/ 6 months, and instead just count on people's impatience/addiction for capitulating and cancelling their appeals just to get their accounts back..) </p><p>I'll see how this waiting stage game goes. </p><p>In the meantime, Twitter has taunted me with notifications I can't access - nice touch, Twitter!</p><p><br /></p><p>I'll admit that I did think about starting another Twitter account. But it looks like you can't sign up for Twitter these days without giving them a mobile number. Which is a whole other level of not-cool 🤨</p><p>And so, for now, we wait...</p><p><br /></p><p><b><i>Edited on 21Aug22 to add</i></b>: I waited a week, googled 'Twitter appeals' and learnt the appeals can be actioned in anywhere from 24 hours to never.</p><p>Hmph.</p><p>So I grumpily deleted the tweet and in so doing, "acknowledged" I'd violated their ToS, got my account back, and promptly reposted my dawn-and-birdsong vid. </p><p>...And how about that? No Twitter jail this time 🙄</p><p><br /></p><p><b><i>Edited again on 28Aug22 to also add</i></b>: Turns out that, even when you delete the tweet, it doesn't always cancel the appeal. Just under two weeks since they banned me, Twitter emailed to say that "[o]ur support team has reviewed your account and it appears we have made an error. We've determined there was no violation...". They also said "[w]e sincerely apologize for any inconvenience...". </p><p>So. A two-week timeframe to reply to appeals. And an apology. Perfunctory or otherwise. </p><p>Time to sleeping birds lie.</p><p><br /></p><p>But to return to my original intention and starting point, I do hope - if nothing else - you enjoyed the dawn light and birdsong in the vid! (Also, did you see the bat just above the tree-line, flying home to sleep?? So very awesome!)</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-35892688358801797532022-08-08T07:17:00.002+10:002022-08-08T07:22:00.905+10:00Twitter, deep breaths and kintsugi hearts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9VUNtLm_mt22zFWmPMsuB3BsrIjReRLTa_Sv2ODCD8qYiDPamzV1ywKpEfKCi-ndU1aAvBX_p21iU_arIEACABEF7CCD2GG0liT4v5GeYNXzq29NqM9n3pYm3cDlOOo3BJeCUexe4MW7Q_WnVqtXAThtBBi2DFmMHiF2UgMy0qzUoptdgAsHaeDC/s3351/PSX_20220728_212842.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3351" data-original-width="2274" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9VUNtLm_mt22zFWmPMsuB3BsrIjReRLTa_Sv2ODCD8qYiDPamzV1ywKpEfKCi-ndU1aAvBX_p21iU_arIEACABEF7CCD2GG0liT4v5GeYNXzq29NqM9n3pYm3cDlOOo3BJeCUexe4MW7Q_WnVqtXAThtBBi2DFmMHiF2UgMy0qzUoptdgAsHaeDC/s320/PSX_20220728_212842.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><p>I realised recently that I've been needing to brace myself before I open my Twitter account.</p><p>Deep breath. Do I really want to go in there? </p><p>Deep breath. Get-ready-to-skim-scroll-really-really-fast-to-find-friends'-tweets.</p><p>For me, this has become a necessary, if over the top, approach to entering twitter, simply because of the relentless politics and social issues commentaries that seem to be clogging my feed lately. </p><p>The thing is: I'm not trying to follow these issues on Twitter. I want to use Twitter to be inspired and to develop connections with writing and creativity communities.</p><p>Yes. <i>I know</i> it's hard to have focus on something like writing without social issues. They are, in many ways, intrinsically interconnected. I have a higher degree in sociology/cultural studies, for goodness sake! I know writing - and who we are - is connected to the world and to issues we care about.</p><p>But.</p><p>Yes. I know Twitter has always had politicking and sharing of personal experiences and opinions since its inception.</p><p>But. </p><p>But, lately, entering Twitter has like going for a walk down the street, except that, at every single house you pass, someone is waiting in their garden, on their soapbox, ready with commentary on either their preferred issue or the issue du jour.</p><p>Often it's persuasive, relevant, insightful commentary.</p><p>Some viewpoints and thoughts sucker you in, and you detour into the garden's rabbit hole to find out more because you have to. </p><p>Because you care. You do genuinely care. The issues are real, they're causing real-life hurts, for real-life genuine people who don't deserve it. It's heart-breaking, it's not right and it's downright unforgivable. </p><p>Some stories lodge in your brain and haunt you. Sometimes for years afterwards. In many (most?) cases, it's not like you can do a single thing to make a difference. Even if you had the means to. </p><p>By the time you get to the top of the street, you've had to absorb double-digit commentaries on double-digit issues. </p><p>You feel helpless. Heart-sore and heart-sick. </p><p>Exit and repeat for every visit. </p><p>Deep breath.</p><p>When I saw this <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2022/07/08/how-to-fix-news-media/" target="_blank">article about a journalist who had actively avoided the news for years</a>, I related. Very much. With a sense of huge relief that it wasn't just me.</p><p>I'm not a journalist, but these days, I don't think you have to be. Going into Twitter means not even looking for issues you care about - they're already mid-air, hurtling towards you like emotion bombs. Whether you're ready for them or not. </p><p>Of course these issues are important. Most issues need strong reactions and debates and steady engagement to help drive change and ultimately improve people's lives. </p><p>I suppose what I'm trying to say is that, I can't absorb every issue. And even that I shouldn't have to. Up to a point, I should be able to engage with issues on my terms. Not have it all flooding, uninvited, through my mental space.</p><p>I've tried to do things to minimise the commentary on my Twitter. On Twitter, I automatically turn off retweets of anyone I follow. I mute anyone who veers towards too much social commentary of issues du jour. I mute key words. I try and keep curated lists of people who focus primarily on inspiring writing and nature topics.</p><p>These tactics don't really work, though. Twitter's structure makes sure of that. Muting key words is ineffective. The 'quote tweet' function sidesteps the 'turning off retweets'. And on my phone, Twitter's search button frequently hides its search bar (you have to scroll unintuitively up to access it) so that, when you go to 'search', all you see first are Twitter's 'curated', clickbaity headlines for you (frequently involving muted words). </p><p>More issues. More emotions bombs. More deep breaths.</p><p>I suppose clicks and advertising dollars are at stake, so if bad news (or controversy or misery) drives more of everything, then more bad news means more clicks. Except that I'm randomly reminded of <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/661/mostly-harmless-by-douglas-adams/9780739332146/excerpt" target="_blank">Douglas Adams' airship powered by bad news</a> because bad news travelled faster than anything else. Except that, when the airships arrived, they were terribly unpopular, because no-one wants bad news all the time. </p><p>Which pretty much sums it up.</p><p>So. </p><p>Is there an answer? I dunno.</p><p>Yes. When this happens, I use Twitter a lot less. But I still take another deep breath and go back in.</p><p>Because this is the other side of the equation for me: if I can catch glimpses of why I'm there - writing/ creativity/ nature and other good things - it's almost worth the heart-sickness. </p><p>This is why I included my <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kintsugi" target="_blank">kintsugi</a> heart drawing as the illustration for this post - in reference to the artistic philosophy of repairing cracks with gold, and in so doing, making the broken beautiful.</p><p>It's a reminder that there are beautiful, amazing things in the world too. And that these matter too. Fulfilling a creative soul and a creative well matters.</p><p>These things are important too.</p><p>Just as important as anything else in the world, if not more so. </p><p>Because they can be heart-healing. </p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond de coeur x</p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-71985388124111214972022-07-24T23:16:00.005+10:002022-07-25T07:07:26.944+10:00I deleted 300+ titles out of my Kindle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCDffRo_PXlAEcE_AT5oy2Wcfl4FXiNf-1BLEYh2JN4PzSxGzYbmfpTAp_tIC0SRbiN46k7yKMJKHXteRKRRsjVIfOBhwymy996CixmcrNI_RyhThuDb0-OLjYxwg197jNTI4EMy9xLCo2Ty4eNCyoPbdrLeqtXKi7hpOIWsVLpGD5rcMIzzOwHfN/s3643/PSX_20220725_070204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3643" data-original-width="3282" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoCDffRo_PXlAEcE_AT5oy2Wcfl4FXiNf-1BLEYh2JN4PzSxGzYbmfpTAp_tIC0SRbiN46k7yKMJKHXteRKRRsjVIfOBhwymy996CixmcrNI_RyhThuDb0-OLjYxwg197jNTI4EMy9xLCo2Ty4eNCyoPbdrLeqtXKi7hpOIWsVLpGD5rcMIzzOwHfN/w288-h320/PSX_20220725_070204.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I purged some 300+ titles out of my kindle recently.</div><p>And I don't mean just deleting them out my kindle app library. </p><p>I mean, I actually went into my amazon account and went to the 'manage my content and devices' link and jettisoned them permanently.</p><p>When you do the permanent delete, you get asked 'are you sure?' for every single title. So that's 300+ 'yes, I'm sures'.</p><p>I'm not sure if this would be considered a drastic move or standard housekeeping.</p><p>Regardless, it was a well overdue step for me. You see, back when I set up and downloaded my first kindle app (circa 2012-ish), I was thrilled by the number of free ebooks available. I downloaded tons of stuff with carefree abandon. All of it. Fantasy-chosen-ones, bodice-rippers, classics, thrillers, chick-lits, dystopian sci-fi, kids books, recipe books... and everything in between. </p><p>It was probably the least picky (discerning?) I've ever been with my reading choices. I mean, they were all free, I love reading and space wasn't an issue! How could I go wrong?! </p><p>I found some unexpected treasures and savoured them. I can still remember where I was when I read some of them. Others I jumped into cheerfully, only to lift my head a disconcerted 5 minutes later going 'really?' </p><p>I realised that I didn't really enjoy reading on a screen. So, where I might normally finish a physical book even if I was struggling to connect to the story, the ebook/screen format meant that I gave up on it. </p><p>My kindle had became choked with unfinished books. If it had been a physical library, it would have been a dense mausoleum, full of stale air, and books splayed and sprayed everywhere in dusty, dissatisfying, overwhelming chaos.</p><p>One of the things I wanted to do for myself this year is read more. A graveyard of ebooks isn't a good place for me to enjoy reading. </p><p>Of the 300+ now-deleted titles, it's interesting to see how many I downloaded in 2012 or 2013, and in that whole time since, I either never opened, or didn't want to finish. </p><p>I've now got a minuscule 99 titles on my kindle. </p><p>They're a mix of fiction/novels in genres I'm actually interested in, self-published books - many of which are written by the online Twitter writing community I'm patched in to (ie., my Twitter friends), and writing craft books. </p><p>My kindle library is now more curated to my interests. Which is how it should be. </p><p>I've kept a few wild cards left over from the free-for-all downloads a decade ago. Just a wee smattering of random to keep me on my toes.</p><p>It's now much more of a space I can look forward to heading into. Where I can again feel the frisson of excitement and anticipation of an unread book. Where I can tolerate the ebook format to reach all the way to end of the story.</p><p>I'm now heading to the kindle app before my social media apps these days. Which is saying something!</p><p>I've even read two novels recently, both on my phone kindle app. Something I've never managed before.</p><p>They were both amazingly imagined stories. Inspiring and intimidating. To the point that I'm now half-feeling that my imagination is falling well short of the standards needed in my creative writing! 😂</p><p>But that's another worry, for another blog post, for another day.</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p><p><br /></p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-78768122481435365042022-07-18T07:20:00.007+10:002022-07-20T06:35:48.551+10:00Bird Stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZXzSMy2pnGJv-P6seBA12HHoF1TrnMXQSRxpp6lwpCRMnaeJQwDxD-QzpYJG4Xo7C0m2IgdzpgYI5stenEKrSO3-WcS-GVr6KhvU_GNaCRzZMXdqdzhu0YNWlQMXuhdj4Jgl-bt8jRb_HHMmybEdBGSFb9uHKqkcpJwU3rAlH0rcm0w8tbByQxiW/s1085/Bird%20love%20v3%20mirror.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="999" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZXzSMy2pnGJv-P6seBA12HHoF1TrnMXQSRxpp6lwpCRMnaeJQwDxD-QzpYJG4Xo7C0m2IgdzpgYI5stenEKrSO3-WcS-GVr6KhvU_GNaCRzZMXdqdzhu0YNWlQMXuhdj4Jgl-bt8jRb_HHMmybEdBGSFb9uHKqkcpJwU3rAlH0rcm0w8tbByQxiW/s320/Bird%20love%20v3%20mirror.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>It seems that bird season starts around mid-winter here in Brisbane, Australia.</p><p>I have a couple of <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2021/09/birds-of-many-feathers.html">2021 posts</a> which detailed my bird adventures, and I'm pretty sure those posts started around June/July last year too.</p><p>And so begin the 2022 <strike>encounters worries </strike>stories. </p><p>I should add that I hummed and hawed about whether to record these or not here at Dodo-land. On the one hand, they're tiny moments in time and place which are usually forgotten by the following day or week. And sometimes they're worth remembering. On the other hand, it feels - I dunno - a bit... morbidly focused on nature-things I can't change? But I think I'd rather remember than not.</p><p><b><i><br /></i></b></p><p><b><i>The Plovers</i></b></p><p>The first moment is about a pair of nesting plover birds (not the same as <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2021/09/adventures-with-plovers.html">the pair I blogged about last year</a>; we live in a different suburb of Brisbane now). This new local pair had successfully raised 4 chicks last year. I know, because I saw them all thriving and grooving in all their mature-feathered glory shortly after we arrived at the new place. </p><p>Plovers can fly, but for reasons I know nothing about, they nest on open ground. This leaves them vulnerable to all the predators you can think of... with people, cats and dogs at the top of the list. This means they have pretty understandable reasons to be aggressive towards anyone who comes too close, especially during nesting season. </p><p>(Although I have to say, I'm constantly surprised by the number of locals who get aggravated when swooped/cackled/attacked by plovers. Dude, it's not rocket science; they came at you because you blundered too close to their nest. That's it. Everyone knows in Australia to watch out for swooping magpies - there's even a <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt15550984/" target="_blank">Bluey episode</a> about it. But it seems there's a lack of similar awareness about giving plovers respectful distance). </p><p>This local plover pair had set themselves up in the fenced-in grounds of a local community hall. The hall people had put a series of cones and flags in their grounds. I presume this was to give the plovers and their nest some 2 metres' space. Which, from what little I know about plovers, seems like a pitifully inadequate distance. I mean, I can sometimes hear the plovers' warning cackles when I'm walking Indi down the street some 50 metres away.</p><p>At the time of writing, some 3-4 weeks later, the plovers are still there and still acting territorial. But unfortunately, I don't think that first nesting attempt has survived. </p><p>The community hall gets regular people use. There's a scout group with hoards of kids who use the place regularly. And recently it got hired out to people for their Saturday evening gathering. This group parked right up to and around the cone-and-flag markers. I think some of the people also brought their dog with them that night. Close proximity of kids, people, cars and dogs. I think that's pretty much as high as it gets on the plover stress scale. </p><p>If these are similar circumstances to which the plovers had their babies last year, this is mind-boggling to me.</p><p>I'll keep my fingers crossed, but I'm going to try not to worry.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><i>The ducks</i></b></p><p>Recently, I've also seen a pair of ducks who've arrived to take up residence by the nearby creek. (The one which floods if there's half a day of steady rain or more.) The ducks are pretty shy, so I've only seen them once or twice. They're very quick to start moving away when they see my Indi-Girl, so I always try and give them as wide a berth as I can. </p><p>I'm guessing the ducks are also exploring nesting spots. Although the people and dog traffic near the creek is pretty high. Again though, I'm trying to go with a keeping-fingers-crossed-but-not-worry approach.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><i>The pigeons</i></b></p><p>The pigeons (pidgies) other bird moments are closer to home. </p><p>A few Sunday afternoons ago, we were startled when there was a flurry of bird swoops outside the kitchen sliding door which culminated in a bird smacking into the window and slithering down in the gap between the sliding door and screen door.</p><p>The bird sat there, stunned. We realised it was a young (fledgling?) pigeon. It still had the equivalent of its flying L plates. It had been chased by two butcher birds, who were now sitting on the deck railing, waiting to hound it when it flew away.</p><p>To make things worse, Indi was right inside the door and she bounded up to the glass trying to get at the poor pigeon, which curled itself into a tight, unmoving ball.</p><p>In the kitchen, we sprang into action. I grabbed Indi and hauled her out of sight of the door. LittleOne started to move to the door to tell the pidgy "not to worry, little fella" and then heeded my request not to get too close. Hubs went out onto the deck and by his presence, caused the butcher birds to fly away and (temporarily?) give up their bullying campaign against the young pidgy.</p><p>Young Pidgy eventually moved to the deck railing and then the frangipani tree to gather itself. It seemed to be ok.</p><p>I've now noticed two or three pigeons regularly coming and perching on the franipani tree outside the kitchen. Especially in the warming early morning sun, after a cold winter night. I'm presuming they're part of the one family.</p><p>I'd like to say all's well and ending well etc, but there is the sad addition of another little fledgling pigeon who didn't make through its flying L plates period. I found it in the garden, cold and still, its head still tucked around to the side in that way that birds do when they're sleeping. I looked after it sadly and carefully. </p><p>I hope Young Pidgy will live and long and happy life for the sibling who didn't make it.</p><p><br /></p><p>So there we go. Finishing on a little bittersweet note. </p><p>I'm not sure if there are going to be more bird stories from here on in. I'd like to dust my hands with great finality and say, "nope, that's it for this year," but I don't know if that's realistic. </p><p>Not for this bird brain, anyway.</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p><br /><div>PS., if the bird illustration looks familiar at all, it's because I first used it to illustrate a story in <a href="https://reeimaginedworlds.com/2022/06/24/welcome-to-ree-writes/" target="_blank">my newsletter</a>.</div>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-79737669110592058482022-06-13T10:06:00.007+10:002022-06-13T10:07:36.195+10:00I'm starting a newsletter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhYL4kdBTQ10BwsquQ9JIX2imQi37yo8NvJLLEgouTbeBfJVjVhKfc6FNhvMrFV1m_bfbvz4oMpL3P9DI7RfhxA6IhKIBZ6X1ZieuQ796xvjf6ileyAwhIxx7xPy9Qy8hHMev7cJOd-xp1Hc1A6iLlkv-lg31Ia_SJuhsKMMZKks53HHw-nf9GUo4/s1300/20210721_223124_ReenaPic%20RIW%20home_pic%201May22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1300" data-original-width="1300" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhYL4kdBTQ10BwsquQ9JIX2imQi37yo8NvJLLEgouTbeBfJVjVhKfc6FNhvMrFV1m_bfbvz4oMpL3P9DI7RfhxA6IhKIBZ6X1ZieuQ796xvjf6ileyAwhIxx7xPy9Qy8hHMev7cJOd-xp1Hc1A6iLlkv-lg31Ia_SJuhsKMMZKks53HHw-nf9GUo4/w217-h217/20210721_223124_ReenaPic%20RIW%20home_pic%201May22.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br /><p>It's June 2022. My last blogpost was at the end of March 2022.</p><p>There's a reason for the gap. You see, at the start of April 2022, I fell down a rabbit hole about newsletters.</p><p>I've thought about newsletters on and off before. It was one, maybe two, years ago that I plaintively tweeted a question about why writers are supposed to do newsletters. Yet, it's the recurring advice to all writers and wannabee writers and any kind of creator - build yourself a mailing list! </p><p>The logic begins: the mailing list is yours, people sign up because they want to know more about you and your work, and it's how you can share news about yourself, your writing, any new books. A newsletter lets you market yourself to a dedicated audience. </p><p>The logic continues: it's all very well building huge follower numbers on social media, but if anything happens to that social media platform or to your account on that platform, you're back to square one from a marketing perspective. </p><p>This makes sense. It makes a lot of sense. </p><p>But.</p><p>The barriers for me were: </p><p>1. I'm at a stage where I can barely get any engagement on the likes of Twitter (my formerly, highly-engaged Twitter community having dispersed to the winds of real life), what luck will I have getting anyone to sign up for a newsletter filled with my ramblings?</p><p>2. What would I write about? It's not like I've got a long backlist of indie books already published. As at June 2022, I've got a couple of short story anthologies on my Amazon profile (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Falling-into-Five-Senses-Anthology-ebook/dp/B07ZSWSKSK/" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09BZZWKKX/" target="_blank">here</a>) at most.</p><p>3. I'm not subscribed to many newsletters. Time, energy and interest. How many (most) people are the same? Although, to be fair, the few I am subscribed to, I look forward to and read with genuine interest and enjoyment.</p><p>3. The technicalities of it all. Of where and how and how you go about setting anything like this up from scratch? I'm not a complete luddite, but I'm pretty time-poor (mum to active nearly-4-year old, working full time etc) and lack the headspace to delve into all the technical side of it all.</p><p>But.</p><p>I seemed to become surrounded by narratives about what a Good Thing newsletters are, and how these are the Years of Newsletters and Everyone uses Email more than any other platform. These stories made me stop and think about the benefits of newslettering more than the barriers. </p><p>And then.</p><p>Then, I encountered Substack. Hello, I thought, a social media platform for newsletters. Where it's a one-stop shop. It has an easy user interface. If you decide to leave, you take your mailing list with you. You can even monetise your newsletter if you want. And, there's no need to mess around with the technicalities of setting up email lists.</p><p>I did an impulsive sign up for a Substack account at the start of April. By mid-April, I was this close to launching a newsletter<i> </i>on Substack. <i>Thiiiis </i>close. I was just waiting for a morning when I had more than 10 minutes to read through my draft and double-check my links were working. </p><p>And then.</p><p>A couple of articles found their way to me which made me second-guess whether the Substack platform would work for me, personally. </p><p>I hemmed and hawed and wavered and winced, and then decided Substack wasn't the way to go for me.</p><p>But. The damage was done. I had newsletters on the brain.</p><p>So I plunged into some of the barriers. </p><p>There were the big questions:</p><p>- What do I want to do with the official home of all my writing/publishing/creativity projects, my reeimaginedworlds.com site?<br />- Am I going to need consistent branding across <i>all </i>my online presences? Type and colour themes and fonts and things?<br />- Do I need to consolidate or separate names - my name, pen names, website names, blog names?<br />- How much do I really want to pursue writing and creativity as passion projects?<br />- What do I want out of life? (Yes, the questions got really big, really quickly!)</p><p>There were the specific questions:</p><p>- Do I try and consolidate this DodoAuGogo blog with my <a href="http://reeimaginedworlds.com">reeimaginedworlds.com</a> blog? <br />- Do I want to maintain the DodoAuGogo blog, the reeimaginedworlds.com blog <i>and a</i> newsletter?<br />- Which newsletter platform (there are lots: MailChimp, MailerLite, ConvertKit, Newsletter...) do I go with?<br />- What template do I use to best present things on my reeimaginedworlds.com website?<br />- Oh, you mean WordPress has newsletter plugins that are free to use on my reeimaginedworlds website, <b><i>but only</i></b> if I upgrade my plan to one which costs five times as much as the one I'm on now?<br />- So, how many potential costs are we up to now? 1) Cost of the domain name + plan. 2) cost of a plan which covers newsletter plugins. 3) cost of a paid template.) 4) cost of an email address tied to my domain name which would allow me to sidestep the spam-related issues of using a free webmail account like gmail. 5) cost of a paid plan on the newsletter platform. 6) cost of a paid newsletter plan if you get lots of subscribers... Ummm, that's a lot of potential costs.<br />- Where in the whippydippydoodad do I start, and how do I navigate all this??! </p><p>Eventually, as is the way of these things, I started to figure out how I wanted to do things (for now):</p><p>I'm going to keep this DodoAuGogo blog. It's been my little place in the sun online for ten years. It's old-school and I feel free to talk stream-of-consciousness style. Even when words for social media have been difficult to find, blogging here has come mostly easier.</p><p>A newsletter will provide the content for the reeimaginedworlds.com blog. This will help keep my reeimaginedworlds.com site fresh with regularly-updated content (something that's been sadly lacking since the launch of the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Falling-into-Five-Senses-Anthology-ebook/dp/B07ZSWSKSK/" target="_blank"><i>Falling into the Five Senses</i> anthology</a>), and it gives me a focused place to talk writing and creativity.</p><p>Figuring out newsletter platforms have been their own painful rabbit holes:</p><p>- As a complete newbie to all aspects of this stuff, the newsletter platforms seem to begin with a LOT of assumptions of prior knowledge about the process, format, language, structure and order of things. It's that presumption of basic knowledge made by people who work with these platforms all the time and who no longer remember that this stuff is quite specialised. </p><p>- The language! You get hit with 'campaigns' and 'lists' and 'broadcasts' and 'forms' and 'landing pages' - which are all connected to aspects of the structure and process of how you build and disseminate a newsletter. I'm still working on this stuff. Ie., I don't understand it yet.</p><p>- Going into specific platforms, I'm afraid I didn't even consider MailChimp because I'd read unfavourable stuff about their recent changes to their Terms of Service. </p><p>- I initially went with MailerLite, partly because of positive word of mouth and partly they let you manage 1000 subscribers for free. But even though I can get by with a lot of technology, I found the user interface challenging. Little things started to become big too quickly. Such as: the site wouldn't let me just go back to the template holding page whenever I wanted to compare templates; I'd have to log out and back in. Then, the actual editing-the-template interface wasn't my favourite. Actually, honestly, I found it very frustrating. Maybe it was the template I chose? I dunno. And then, after my template/draft seemed to lose the hyperlinks for the third time, I threw my hands up. (I stress: lots of these experiences may have been due to my blundering newbie status, but still...)</p><p>- I was frustrated enough to give up and go and sign up for another service, which is something I hardly ever do. I chose ConvertKit, which I initially wasn't going to touch because they "only" support 300 subscribers for free. (As if I'm gong to have hundreds of subscribers to worry about anyway! I'll be lucky to hit double figures!😏) I only went with ConvertKit because they're <a href="https://www.thecreativepenn.com/tools/" target="_blank">recommended by Joanna Penn</a>, she of The Creative Penn site. But I'm glad I did. The user interface has been much easier for me to figure out, and their welcome ('onboarding'?) has felt more nuanced and helpful too. So far, so good. I have a landing page thingy. I have a template saved. I have a draft saved. At least, I hope they're still there safe!</p><p>Ironically, the thing I thought would take the longest time, took the least! My newsletter name, <i>Ree-Writes</i> was the work of two seconds. I hope that speed bodes well for putting together the content for future editions! 😅</p><p>So what do I want to share in a newsletter? I'm going with the following basic structure for now:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>A quick Reeflection - a small personal piece, including what I wrote this month (ooooh, hello Accountability😬)</li><li>Sharing interesting pieces on writing and creativity </li><li>Sharing something I created (writing or art)</li><li>Sharing a book or piece of art that I find inspirational</li><li>Sharing random interesting things</li></ul><div>Half-sharing things from me and half-sharing of interesting, curated links. Hopefully that's a blend that will be of interest to potential readers. We'll see.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to send it out monthly. Probably the beginning or end of the month, so that I can keep the deadline locked in my head. That sounds manageable (she says, hoping this isn't a case of Famous Last Words). I can refine structures and frequencies as I go.</div><div><br /></div><div>If anyone actually opens it up and reads it, well, that'll be a bonus!</div><div><br /></div><div>If you managed to plough through this whole post, you are wonderful! And you might even enjoy the newsletter! If you want, you can sign up <a href="https://exceptional-creator-6140.ck.page/6df87673d8" target="_blank">here</a>. 😁</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks for reading this post!</div><div><br /></div><div>Du fond du coeur x</div><p></p><p></p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-41664850186409645922022-03-29T00:08:00.005+11:002022-04-07T06:14:58.561+10:00The Creek at the End of the Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">At the end of the road, there is a creek. </span></div><p>A little waterway which wends narrow and sings joyous and clear around rocks, widens into calm, almost-still pools, and runs muddy and ferocious when the rains fall.</p><p>This post is a list of observations of the worlds which intersect at this creek. Many of them seemingly random, or that I have no explanations for. Let's draw on my anthropological past and call it an ethnography of the creek. Or a collection of daily ethnographies of the creek.</p><p>The creek has one little footbridge, coloured red-brown.</p><p>At the edges of the creek are combinations of trees, stones, grasses, lots of elephants ears, weeds, thickets and bushes, and in one spot, a large clump of bamboo.</p><p>After these, there are more trees. Scattered. Or in family groups of 3 and 5. Perhaps they are the original trees from when this area was originally developed in the 1970s. </p><p>After the trees, there is grassy/parkland, some boggy patches of land and several more trees spaced further apart. On one side of the creek, a grassy area holds a basketball court. On the other side, there are two picnic tables - one is tucked into a gazebo, the other isn't.</p><p>On the side with the picnic tables, there are a couple of kids' playgrounds next to each other. They are ankle-deep in woodchips. One playground has the traditional, recognisable swing, slide, seesaw combinations. The other playground is a thing of futuristic designs - all hexagonal cubes, triangular surfboard seesaws, and a combination of thin, interconnected tubes, ropes, and speckled with lots of impossibly-tiny footholds like the ones rock-climbers use. </p><p>A number of different suburban streets end where the grassy areas begin, on both sides of the creek.</p><p>It's a typical Brisbane suburban area. I suppose. I don't know that many local suburban areas. So I'm going to assume it's typical. </p><p>This was my first visit to the area.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p></p><p>Springtime, serene and bright.</p><p>This creek, and all around it, is an almost-daily feature of our "pram-walks" - the daily post-work strolls I take with LittleOne and Indi-Girl. </p><p><br /></p><p>I've seen the creek in many different moods now - most of them in late afternoon, when paid work has ended, when the heat and humidity of the day is more bearable and when the sun is low and shadows are growing long. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>Without the sun, the creek usually looks darker. Solemn, and with wordless undercurrents. Whether this is the energy of the area or the energy left by people or both, I'm still not sure.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>This was also the spot where <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2022/02/lost-and-found.html" target="_blank">Woody went missing</a>!</i></div></i><p></p><p></p><p><br /></p><p>We've seen plover birds here. They successfully raised a family here before we arrived and now it seems to be mainly the parents who still groove in the parklands and in a couple of select houses' gardens. </p><p>We've also seen kookaburras here. They seem to get harassed by other birds a lot, so it's nice to see them unbothered, still and settling to sleep near dusk. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>A new sign at the bridge went up a few weeks ago, saying there are platypuses in the water, and to be careful and help protect them. This apparently caused some discussion on the local social media page, with some long-standing locals declaring they'd never seen any evidence of platypuses locally. Still, it's something to look out for when we walk in the afternoons. </p><p>But we have seen water lizards soaking up the warmth from the footpath, and dashing into the undergrowth when people appear. </p><p><br /></p><p>There have been trees lit with late, golden afternoon light at just that point in autumn when the sun is properly angled to kiss them goodnight, just right. </p><p>We've walked in cooling afternoons after hot days, when the sun-baked warmth rises deliciously from the grass and settles into your senses like the most satisfying memory you'll never remember - until you smell that same scent again. And then you will remember, and it'll feel special and long-ago and gone-forever and just-yesterday.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>We've seen the creek rise after heavy rains, including the recent <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2022/03/rainbombs-recoveries-and-stuff.html" target="_blank">rainbomb </a>(hoping desperately we're not in the middle of another one as I write this), and flood the surrounding grasslands heavily. We've seen kids walk down to said-flooded grasslands with boogie boards. We've seen the roots of the elephant ear plants wrapped around the bridge posts, around tree trunks and picnic tables when the waters receded.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>During the rainbomb (above) and after (below)</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4goZrENWKUY9lPfrXv-Xb9LGQLolb94XWzBKs2qD4Xt3FJpROArIue2QL38CHwoXk3qiYuGaJRRYDwY017P-mKqlbd8TTYmb1d-_AHpeD4Ri_freX5OncwogPhVtYrUR_8H6UarGaGRA/s1600/1648986325130714-8.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p>I've had a mozzie (mosquito for non-Aussies) land on me that was as green as grass, with a translucent body that had gone nearly all crimson from the blood it had surreptitiously extracted from me. That mozzie didn't make it. I've seen other green mozzies since then, so I know it wasn't a figment of my imagination. But I've never seen them before Brisbane. Green. Translucent. </p><p>There have been large, round spider webs which span the length of my arm, and which remain absolutely invisible except for the odd, errant leaves stuck to them. Recently I thought I saw a trapped butterfly sitting in silent misery. I couldn't leave it there of course. Emboldened by last year's <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2021/05/we-rescued-dragonfly.html" target="_blank">dragonfly rescue</a>, I gathered Indi and LittleOne and bumped and bobbled the pram over the longish lumpy grass and twigs and went to make sure it wasn't anything that was still alive. Fortunately it revealed itself to be two leaves sitting side by side to make an 'x' shape, lit up in the beautiful, still, gold colour of the late afternoon sun. </p><p><br /></p><p>There have been lots of strange human encounters compared to the previous place we were in. And honestly, I don't know whether the creek has attracted the weird, has been the cause of the weird, has been poisoned by the weird, or is oblivious to the many random weirds. </p><p>The weirds have included: </p><p>The family with super-long mullets. The dad with the waist-length, sleek, blond mullet, had the same mini-me haircut inflicted on son 2 (aged maybe 10) and son 3 (aged maybe 6). Son 1 (15 or 16) was the outlier with brown and curly un-mullet-able hair. He demonstrated his family loyalty by having his hair at shoulder length. Son 4 (aged maybe 2) was still in nappies and didn't have much by way of hair, but you could see by the long wisps that they were trying to grow his to match the rest of clan. They don't seem to be around any more. Besides the hair, the main reason I remember this family was the Saturday afternoon when sons 1 and 2 ran purposefully through the park, past the playgrounds where we were. They were carrying something that looked like a machete or some other kind of long blade. I don't know what they were trying to do with it, but I was glad I had Indi-Girl with us. Sons 3 and 4 tried to run after them but got sent back with brotherly rejection and derision. There were sulks from son 3 and toddler tears from son 4. Shortly after that, I noticed that several trees in the park had had their papery barks cut (see photo below) so that the trunks were thinner from the height of my knees to the top of my head. Several trees, same thinning, at the same starting and finishing points. I don't know if there's any kind of connection between the machete wielding and the trees, but anyway. Glad they don't seem to be around any more. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>Then there was the guy who, in the summer, for 3-4 days in a row, came to the playground in the late afternoon - usually as we were ending our pram walks - and sit on the swings and wait. Waiting for who or what, I don't know. But on day 4 or 5, he approached us in the playground, his expression diffident and quizzical. I was with LittleOne's Gran, and had Indi with us, so we had the strength of numbers. I keep assuming people know how to read dogs - and to recognise Indi is the opposite of friendly - and to not get too close. But obviously, people don't. As he got closer, I stared at him with increasing incredulity and frantically gathered Indi's leash shorter, before he finally stopped some 2-3 metres away and said, "would you mind if I take a photo of your dog?" Or words to that effect. I barely managed to reply "she's not friendly" before Indi exploded into a volley of barks, bared teeth and tried to lunge forward with the force that drags me off my feet if I'm not braced and ready. She made her unfriendliness very obvious indeed and the guy retreated. I don't think we've seen him since ...Describing this now, everything sounds a bit more sinister than it felt at the time.</p><p>Not to forget the very skinny dude who, a couple of times during the hot summer afternoons, would ride his electric scooter through the park, clad in full a motorcycle style leather jacket and black helmet. I have no idea what was going on there. </p><p>Then there was the guy dressed in fishing-type gear who, along with his mate, also in fishing gear, walked across the bridge and into a nearby thicket. They sat there, side by side, on some rocks inside the thicket and analysed their fishing gear for a while. Then one chap exited and while he waited impatiently for his friend, he decided to have a bellowing conversation with me across the grass to the playground. About Indi. Him: "Nice dog, good breed." Me: "she's not friendly." Him: "you feed him red meat every for 3 months, you watch him go." Me: "yeah." Me: Turns firmly to talk to LittleOne and end this strange conversation, thanks.</p><p>I guess I should also mention the stuff dumped and littered in the gazebo during the summer. An odd collection of bills, warranties for an iron and a playstation, a novel, kids' school photos among other things. The best I can think is that someone stole a box of stuff out of someone's garage and went to the park and pawed through the box and left everything there. It stayed there for 4-5 days before everything was cleaned up. Creepy. Oh, and the four bras dumped in the grass near the car park. Yes, really. Depressingly creepy.</p><p>I might just stop with the weirds there, lest it seem that this park is only ever frequented by super-psycho-weirdos. </p><p>Let me also emphasise that we have encountered many normal, nice families walking, and whose kids play at the park. But yes, it must be admitted, the weirdos seem to have that extra level of weird. But they're in the minority. Honest.</p><p>We have, for example, met Ted the milk-coloured Labrador dog who is very friendly and who came over to eagerly smell the leftover crisps flavours on LittleOne's hands. His brother, the chocolate-coloured Lab, is not as friendly so we haven't met him. Ted's dad goes to the playgrounds and takes them off the leash and throws a tennis ball for them to take turns chasing. If we have Indi with us, then Ted and his family go somewhere else to do their tennis ball chasing. Ted's mum has been expecting their first baby, and we were pleased to see them all out walking recently with a pram - which means that baby has arrived safely! </p><p>We also once crossed paths with a big dude in a high-vis orange shirt. He was talking on a mobile and he had a tiny pug-like dog ambling off-leash behind him. He saw us veer off the path (my normal practice when walking with Indi to prevent her snarling and lunging at other dogs - I think I've mentioned Indi isn't friendly to strangers, haven't I?). He picked up his dog with a nod to me and then stood in the middle of the path, looked up at the sky and continued his phone conversation. I didn't understand why he was standing there in particular until then next day when I looked up at the trees he'd been looking at. Then I saw that one of the possum houses high in the trees was covered in bees! A couple of days later, a second possum house appeared lower in the tree. A couple of days after that, it looked like the bees were expanding to the second possum house. And a couple of days after that, both houses - and the bees - were gone. I hope they managed to handle the situation without needing to kill the bees.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>See? Not just weird moments. Well, unless you're a bee in that last ethnographic snapshot, I suppose.</p><p><br /></p><p>Then, there's the graffiti in the playground, which we saw on our first visit to the area, which is surprisingly ... touching.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>See what I mean? Heart-felt. </p><p>Not what comes to mind for your average playground graffiti.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>Then there's this one, at the edge of the creek footbridge. "We are never alone." It sums up the vibe, really.</p><p>Thoughtful. Mostly.</p><p><br /></p><p>And btw, yes, the title of this post was inspired by Neil Gaiman's book, <i>The Ocean at the End of the Lane</i>. Thank you Mr Gaiman 🙏 But maybe I should have gone with <i>The Case of the Creepy Creek</i>. Or <i>Wending the Weird by the Weir</i>. </p><p>Nah. The Creek at the End of the Road is fine. Mostly.</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p><p><br /></p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-9158875047619304432022-03-18T08:37:00.004+11:002022-03-19T07:13:02.431+11:00Ghost Dolphins <div><br /></div><div>Earlier this year, before <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2022/03/rainbombs-recoveries-and-stuff.html" target="_blank">rainbombs</a> and such, I said I wanted to try and <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2022/02/creativity-on-quick.html" target="_blank">push small limits</a> of my creative comfort zones.</div><div><br /></div><div>Which basically means joining in with my LittleOne's creative activities and doing things like splotching paint on paper or doing crafty things or making play-clay models non-judgementally. Emphasis on the non-judgementally bit. I gave myself <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2022/02/creativity-on-quick.html" target="_blank">10 rules</a> (scroll down in the link to find them). </div><div><br /></div><div>A few weeks ago, LittleOne and I did a paints day, with some new paints and brushes.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was quite impressed with how I'd managed to get these ocean colours looking quite, you know, oceany. For once, I was genuinely not harsh at myself.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaEmC8Hl1VT8DE9tZe2tUPhpHwqjINQ3J8BqfeTMWPiXh8rBwm4nmME40qmURl_O41M79KzhLE0remBZAFwOlk1CWe5fCApC29XVhhfwVWAT0y4_17ji3vDTdWeNWo5O7Nwp7ZMy3vlQ/s1600/1647633528463050-0.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></a><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaEmC8Hl1VT8DE9tZe2tUPhpHwqjINQ3J8BqfeTMWPiXh8rBwm4nmME40qmURl_O41M79KzhLE0remBZAFwOlk1CWe5fCApC29XVhhfwVWAT0y4_17ji3vDTdWeNWo5O7Nwp7ZMy3vlQ/s1600/1647633528463050-0.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
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</div><br /></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Then LittleOne wanted to have a go on my paper and I quickly demanded a pause in sharing my paper until I got a photo of my oceany colours. </div><div><br /></div><div>This pause aggravated LittleOne's imp of the perverse. How dare I pause the collaboration?! Humph! As soon as I got my photo, LittleOne grabbed my paper, my oceany colours, the paints and brushes and marched off to the far side of the deck to add to my painting in private.</div><div><br /></div><div>This, my friends, was the result. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Dolphins and ghost dolphins swimming and swirling through ocean colours! </div><div><br /></div><div>I loved it. The best collaboration ever, I exclaimed.</div><div><br /></div><div>LittleOne had probably intended to needle a cranky reaction out of me, so my reaction was unexpected. It took the wind out of the perverse imp's sails and the imp went into the garden to sulk, and LittleOne declared painting time finished.</div><div><br /></div><div>Seeing as I would never have dared add anything else to the ocean - for fear of spoiling the oceany colours and knowing that nothing I added would look 'nice' or would 'fit' - LittleOne was right. </div><div><br /></div><div>This was a perfect time to finish.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Du fond de coeur x</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>This is an old, crumpled, dried out, crunchy frangipani leaf.</p><p>It's currently in my kitchen and I'm not allowed to throw it out.</p><p>I've tried a couple of times, but LittleOne spotted it, rescued it and chastised me. Most severely. Both times.</p><p>Why can't I throw it out?</p><p>Well, you see, it goes back to the rainbomb floods, which I wrote about <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2022/03/rainbombs-recoveries-and-stuff.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Before we realised the water coming in downstairs, we were having a normal rainy Saturday. LittleOne was transfixed by this little snail who, like its friends, had ventured out to the rainy parts of the deck to eat, groove, sing and to do whatever it is that snails do in the rain.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>LittleOne was quite delighted by this snail. They are quite small, with shells that aren't much bigger than the nail on a forefinger. They're small, fragile and rather cute. </p><p>LittleOne has stern, standing instructions to not touch snails and most other creatures (lest we accidentally hurt them or they bite us). But LittleOne got around these instructions by breaking off a frangipani leaf and putting it in the snail's path, and gently entreating it to eat. "Come on, little fella, here's a little leaf for you!"</p><p>The snail politely and repeatedly veered away from the frangipani leaf and LittleOne re-positioned the leaf back into its path tirelessly, until I broke the deadlock with some sort of distraction and lured LittleOne inside. The snail was left to its own devices and took advantage of it.</p><p>But poor LittleOne was then devastated on the next visit out on the deck some hours later to realise the snail was gone, and the frangipani leaf remained behind. </p><p>There were tears.</p><p>Accompanied by my inadequate attempts at comfort.</p><p>LittleOne found comfort in carrying the frangipani leaf inside to await the snail's return.</p><p>And, many, many days later, this is what had to be explained to me with exasperated open palms. "It's for the snail to eat when it comes back!"</p><p>"Ohhhhh," I said, light dawning and smacking me in the face, "I see".</p><p>So now I stare at this crunchy frangipani leaf moving around the kitchen, wondering when it can finally take a jaunt into the great outside and take its place amongst its fellow leaves at the bottom of the frangipani tree. </p><p>And maybe even meet up with the snail again.</p><p>Soon, I hope. </p><p>Soon.</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-9356518535064317542022-03-07T08:49:00.005+11:002022-03-08T11:23:44.525+11:00Rainbombs, Floods, Recoveries and Stuff<p>On the last weekend of February 2022, starting on Friday, it rained in Brisbane.</p><p>Not normal rain.</p><p>It was a strange rain - heavy, hard and non-stop. It fell furiously and at the same thick, relentless volume all day. Maybe it eased off once or twice, but mostly, non-stop. All day long.</p><p>I've never seen rain fall like before. I'm used to rain coming in bursts, easing up as though to take a breath, then falling hard again for a bit. Not non-stop.</p><p>I worked from home, periodically looking out to marvel at this incredible non-stop volume, and very grateful I didn't have to go into the office and drive in this kind of weather.</p><p>That evening, we took a little walk in the rain to look at the creek at the end of the road. It fills very easily after a little bit of rain. The creek had climbed its banks and had filled the surrounding parklands into a lake. Some local kids apparently took their boogie boards down to have a play in the new lake.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The creek that turned into a lake.</i></div></i><p></p><p>On the news, they called it a "rainbomb".</p><p>On Saturday, we discovered the sheer volume of rain, coupled with some poor drainage, meant our downstairs had water coming inside at different spots. Not flooding, but what gets called (I think) 'stormwater'. So we spent a lot of the day in a combination of mopping, trying to move all the as-yet unpacked boxes to drier areas, trying to macgyver temporary solutions to improve drainage in saturated areas too close to the house, and trying to unpack and assess boxes which had been water-hit.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The butcher birds taking shelter on the deck.</i></div></i><p></p><p>The rain didn't stop. We didn't stop. I think I fell over for an hour around 4am. Hubs didn't sleep at all.</p><p>On Sunday, the rain intensified and it was more of the same but more volume - except that our hands and tempers were increasingly stretched thin. It felt more and more like trying to mop deck of the Titanic. The weather app on my phone promised an easing of rain around 1pm, then 3pm. I didn't realise how much I was clinging to those forecasts of easing rain. So when the rain didn't ease in the early afternoon, and then at 3pm the app adjusted itself once, then twice, to land on a new forecast of 100% rain until midnight, I was beside myself.</p><p>LittleOne was absolutely wonderful that whole weekend - patient, willing to be as self-sufficient as possible with amusements, coming downstairs into the permissible dry zone to see how we were doing, and occasionally sitting on a chair in the water-hit area with us and giggling as we made jokes about Rhino (from Spiderman) trying to take over the city with rhino wee-wee but "not my Rhino wee-wee, the zoo rhinos' wee-wee!" LittleOne was utterly amazing for a 3-and-a-half year old. Although having LittleOne fall asleep alone on the couch that night will have its special scar of guilt for me. And the next day's confession that "I was a bit lonely" has bruised my heart forever.</p><p>Around 10.30pm on Sunday night, I hit my wall. I'd already rage-mopped and sob-mopped and mopped with all the degrees of resignation, pragmatism and despair. I'd already raged, sworn, begged and pleaded with the clouds to please just stop. I couldn't keep going all night again. I knew I couldn't.</p><p>Not long after 11pm, the rain eased. It eased then stopped, giving us hope that the forecast midnight lull might have just arrived a bit earlier. We stopped for the first time in hours. I think since 2pm. Hubs made us a cup of tea and we drank it downstairs, relieved to just not be mopping for a bit. Hubs had had no sleep, so he went upstairs to rest for a bit, while I slowly sopped at my still-watering sections.</p><p>Just after 1am, the rain squalled back as though it had never stopped. It's amazing how much that little bit of rest had helped me, and I picked up my mop with a pragmatism that surprised me. I tried to cover my and Hubs' areas, and I managed for about 10 minutes before I had to go and ask Hubs to come down and help. The rain pelted angrily looking for all the world as though it was back for the rest of the night. But after another 10 minutes, the rain stopped. This time, properly. As thought it had just returned to had to have one last, spiteful, parting deluge. To get us up, on alert, and prepped to do it all again - and then to laugh at us and take off. At that point, it was only what we expected from this sadistic raincloud.</p><p>Hubs trudged back upstairs again. I knew my areas would ooze water for a bit longer, so I dealt with them over the next 1-2 hours. As I mopped the dregs for the last time that night around 3am, the floorboard patterns swam and swirled into effortless and amazing Miyazaki painting wonderlands. Hallucinations, I presume. </p><p>I sat down and eased my waterlogged feet out of my flip-flops for the first time at 3am and had another cup of tea. Swollen fingers and welts, blisters, callouses and sore points in shoulders and necks, all sat and waited for me to notice them.</p><p>I fell asleep at 3.30am and was woken up at 6.30am by LittleOne.</p><p>I ran downstairs to check and some more water had eased it as a result of the over-saturated everythings, but manageable with a quick, casual mop. No more rain. Time to breathe.</p><p>There was much, much more to do with waterlogged boxes to rescue, damage to assess and everything else, but the rain had stopped.</p><p>I gave my boss the briefest of updates and took a leave day, thankful I had the means to do so. We caught the news and that was when our jaws dropped. </p><p>While we were maniacally mopping our little world on the weekend, half of Brisbane had flooded. And not only Brisbane. So many lower-lying areas - Lismore and the northern rivers area in northern New South Wales. Rivers and creeks had burst their banks and towns and houses were underwater.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Sorry for the lack of source. I'll keep trying to find the twitter account where I saw this.</i></div><p></p><p>Brisbane sits in a flood plain. Between rivers and plains, flooding is a given, which is why so many houses are built on stilts or high off the ground in Brisbane. There are flood maps you need to consult before you buy your house. Bad flooding gets talked about in years. 1974, 2011, and now 2022. It wasn't long before 2022 was being talked about as worse than 2011. And 2011 was <i>bad</i>. </p><p>It's not always consistent either. Some places flooded in 2011 weren't touched this time, and vice versa. Other places are in flood zones and are consistently hit. The place we lived before - only 3 months ago - Rocklea, is a known flooding area. Many houses are perched a storey-and-a-half off the ground. The place we lived in was only a metre or so off the ground. After a few hours of rain, the bottom of the garden would become glassy and swim with water. I have no idea how it fared after this rainbomb. There are people who have lost everything. Insurance premiums are insanely high in these flood areas, so people take the risk to go without. You're fine for years until you're not. I pram-walked with LittleOne and Indi up and down some of these Rocklea streets everyday. It's heartbreaking to think what they're experiencing. And that thought in the back of my head - if not for 3 months, might this have been us?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Rocklea. <a href="https://twitter.com/lukeroyes/status/1500340883807301635?t=SkK3BarNh1ZJMFNxg4p8Aw&s=19" target="_blank">Source</a>.</i></div></i><p></p><p>Whatever we went through on our weekend of little failed-drainage-stormwater-run hell, is nothing to what those who've been flooded. Everything others have gone and are going through. Going by social media (always a risk, I know), official responses seem sorely lacking and even formal rescue services seem poorly coordinated. I'm not saying there's no help - people have been busting their butts to help, formally and informally, but there's such a thing as 'organised disaster response', and we should have a system that's able to swing into gear and respond and make you feel like you're not alone. But when you see stories like <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2022/mar/07/locals-take-charge-of-helicopter-food-and-rescue-operations-in-nsw-floods-amid-frustration-over-adf-efforts" target="_blank">people go-funding their own helicopters while the Australian Defence Force focus on PR</a>, and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CavfXxMvEUQ/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link" target="_blank">people coordinating their own rescue logistics, rescuing a grandmother <i>floating</i> in her bedroom one foot from her ceiling and organising water and food drops for stranded people and cattle</a>, people's entire lives sitting in ruins on the kerb, hosing down walls and furniture with bleach, and describing all the things photos can't share like ongoing power outages, the smells of tons of spoiling food, sewerage, drowned cattle, petrol and diesel mixed into everything - and that there's seemingly no formal rescue going on, you despair. And then you despair some more.</p><p>And then there's the wider, insane picture in the world with Russia going troppo and people and animals there being made to abandon homes and lives and endure things they shouldn't have to endure. I thought the world would make more sense as I grew older, and that there was a way to make it all work. And now, I don't know. And then it's all despair.</p><p>We got some hot, muggy sun from Monday to Wednesday, and we hoped the saturated ground was starting to dry out. On Thursday morning, a vicious super-cell thunderstorm belted in unannounced early in the morning. The storm skimmed us. It hit other areas hard. We caught the edges and the storm still showed us how quickly the water could return inside the house. But we were lucky. The storm hit other areas hard. For many others, it meant a second round of flooding. </p><p>There were predictions about more super-cell storms for Thursday and Friday, which led to recommendations of closing schools and businesses. The other storms didn't eventuate, for which I'm supremely grateful. I think the state premier had to apologise for advising that everything be closed on Thursday and Friday, but - are you kidding? - after the week we've just had, I'd much rather have a storm risk be over-estimated than under-estimated. </p><p>We're still cleaning. Lots to do. I'm nervous and twitchy about any rain storms at the moment. Hoping for sun to dry out everything. There was a thunderstorm due yesterday, on Sunday, a week after the rainbomb. I was twitchy and nervous all day about it. And when it did hit, I cringed. Worrying about the water damage that might be on its way. Fortunately, it only lasted 30-odd minutes, and not the 3 predicted hours. But it's a psychological fear now. Until we get better drainage in place.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><i>After the storm</i><p></p><p>And with the cleaning and the cleaning out, there's the comparison to the people who are having to throw out everything or leave everything behind. And then there's the being overwhelmed by stuff. So much stuff. Childhood stuff, books, more stuff. Sentiment and the weight of things. And what to do and where to put it all and whether I even want to. </p><p>There's meant to be more rain this week. It's a normal week again - roads operating, schools open and expectations of being back into the office. How can things ever be normal again? For many, they won't - they can't. For some, they might. For many, they will. But right now, it all feels like a long time away.</p><p><br></p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-87507212737473136722022-02-20T16:27:00.002+11:002022-02-20T19:56:53.960+11:00Creativity on the QuickI like to think of myself as creative. <div><br></div><div>I enjoy doing things like putting words together into stories, doodling drawings, and doing photography and photoshopping pics.</div><div><br></div><div>Creativity is important. Creativity is important to me.</div><div><br></div><div>I occasionally like to get on my high horse and gently scold people who declare themselves to be "not creative", pointing out that creativity takes many different forms, and that things we don't automatically think of as creative - like cooking - are actually replete with creativity. And that we should just try new, fun, creative things without expectation or judgement.</div><div><br></div><div>Oh, hey, yeah! The person replies in an astonished voice because this is a take they clearly have not thought about before. They nod. Any unexpected hope quickly coloured by doubt. Then they go on their way - not really able to truly accept this perspective, relieved to be able to let it go and to revert back to 'common sense' - unchanged in their opinions. </div><div><br></div><div>And I will shrug a shoulder and go on my way, keeping creativity clearly foregrounded in my life.</div><div><br></div><div>Except...</div><div><br></div><div>Except that. </div><div><br></div><div>Except that it's been a slow realisation that I'm actually pretty resistant to many different forms of creativity.</div><div><br></div><div>As in - I will NOT allow myself to even try them. Or, if I do, I criticise my efforts mercilessly. </div><div><br></div><div>This is for creative activities that I (paradoxically) think of as fun. Like painting. or watercolours, or playing with clay. </div><div><br></div><div>But I refuse to try them wholeheartedly. </div><div><br></div><div>Actually, truthfully, I'm probably afraid to try them wholeheartedly. </div><div><br></div><div>If I think about why, a bunch of ready reasons bubble up. Because I'm afraid that I will be VERY, VERY BAD at them. And that I will HATE the results. And I don't want to know that I suck at any form of creativity. Because knowing I suck at any art form will make me never want to go near it again.</div><div><br></div><div>Oh, hello high horse as you come crashing down around me in a cascade of smoke and splinters. </div><div><br></div><div>So, in short, this has been an... interesting revelation. </div><div><br></div><div>One that's been slowly simmering in the background. </div><div><br></div><div>Some of the big things which have contextualised this realisation for me have been:</div><div>. parenthood </div><div>. learning to juggle my LittleOne and full-time paid work</div><div>. falling out of touch (or falling out of the practice or feeling uninspired or unable - maybe all of the above) with doing Twitter micro-fictions on a regular basis. As this has been my traditional way of maintaining a belief in my creativity for many years, this dearth has been gargantuan gap in my life</div><div>. not really doing any other writing (although when I pushed and sacrificed sleep and showed up, eventually the words did too).</div><div><br></div><div>But the main small-but-huge thing essential to my realisations has been: whenever I've sat down with LittleOne to do anything arty or crafty. Contrastingly - ironically even - I'm acutely aware of the need to encourage every aspect of creativity that LittleOne wants to explore. But me? Not so much. Not at all.</div><div><br></div><div>This has slowly come home to me in the ways in which I would be repeatedly, honestly, delighted with whatever arty outcome LittleOne produced, while being equally, silently, and viciously critical of whatever equivalent I'd created. No matter how much I tried to tell myself 'this is noodling for fun' or 'this is your chance to paint with creative freedom' or 'this is child's play'. Invariably, I would admire LittleOne's paintings and crucify my own. 'Not child-like enough' would quickly morph into 'can't even do child-like paintings'. It's not 100% of the time but it is a consistent note in my internal assessments of whatever I'd created.</div><div><br></div><div>It sounds so harsh when I pin it down in words. I'm a good bit aghast to be honest. Even if I can switch it off during the painting/playing process, it's usually there in some niggling or full-throated form at the end.</div><div><br></div><div>That I've been mired in a state of resistance-come-discouragement about many different kinds of creativity has been a shock to my system, really. <span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">And for a long while, I wasn't quite sure what to do about it.</span></div><div><br></div><div>Eventually an idea surfaced.</div><div><br></div><div>I decided I will not grumble about the lack of time, energy, focus, whatever else I can identify that might contribute to me not being productive in my traditional creative space of writing. Instead, I will (try and) embrace the creative forms I'm resistant to, and where I have an overly-loud and very obnoxious inner censor.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm doing drawings and doodles and paintings and arty crafty things with my kid, anyway, right? So keep doing it, BUT with the aim of ENJOYING whatever I produce. <span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">And sharing it.</span></div><div><br></div><div>That's it. Pretty simple, huh?</div><div><br></div><div>I'm calling it a project. I've given it a name too. Colouring it with some importance. </div><div><br></div><div>Introducing: CREATIVITY ON THE QUICK: Creativity <strike>around with </strike>because of my kid.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>I thought about launching this as a new year resolution-type project with some kind of scheduled timeline of sharing, but that was, frankly, too much pressure. </div><div><br></div><div>Instead, I'm easing into it and sharing when there's something worth sharing. </div><div><br></div><div><b>My 10 rules </b>*</div><div><br></div><div>1. Put aside the resistance</div><div>2. Have a go</div><div>3. Keep it quick, not epic</div><div>4. Be playful and childlike</div><div>5. Do NOT get judgemental</div><div>6. If I like it, try it again</div><div>7. If I don't like it, try it again anyway</div><div>8. Share my efforts, including past efforts if I want</div><div>9. I'm allowed to resort to any 'collaborative' pieces with LittleOne - where I photoshop one of LittleOne's pieces or LittleOne improves one of my efforts</div><div>10. If I have any thoughts about the process, I'll share those too</div><div><br></div><div>*subject to refinements as needed.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Okay. So that's the project. I'll see how I go with it.</div><div><br></div><div>Here's the first showing. Let's call it Rainbow Bird and Rain Bird.</div><div><br></div><div>This was a collaboration. LittleOne mixed the paints (pic 1). I spotted what looked like a bright-coloured bird in the paint, took a photo and cropped it (pic 2). I did a photoshop play. I did several, actually. Pic 3 is one of them. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>More to follow soon.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Du fond du coeur x</div>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-14289893333504571942022-02-07T12:09:00.002+11:002022-04-07T06:13:31.395+10:00Lost and FoundIt was a little bit of a weekend of losing and finding.<div><br /></div><div>Since we moved, pens have been one of those things which have remained elusive. They've been hard to find and even more difficult to hold onto. It's been positively umm, penful! 😜<div><br /></div><div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">So much so that, when working from home, I've had to resort to using a novelty, Halloween, pink, hand pen. Yes, really. I've had to make sure to keep it out of sight during online meetings and everything. </span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>See? </span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Oddly enough, this pen hasn't disappeared with all the others, but that might still be pen-ding.</span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Yes. I'll stop now.</span></div><div><div><br /></div><div>Imagine my delight then, when I found not one but three pens this weekend. Including my very, very special pen.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div>My so inspiring to write with, so smooth to write with, and so lovely a pen that every colleague I've ever introduced these pens to has become an instant devotee, pen.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well apparently, it's not just adults who like these pens.</div><div><br /></div><div>After using my pen for all of 5 minutes on the weekend and glorying in its gliding lines, it went AWOL. </div><div><br /></div><div>It disappeared so thoroughly, so completely, that I actually, genuinely began to doubt I'd even found and used it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then I found it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Carefully secreted and included into one of LittleOne's Place of Treasures.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div> It's in my possession again. For how long, we'll wait and see.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Our other big weekend lost and found experience featured this lil dude:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>A 1-and-a-half-inch (5cm) ooshie of, I think, Woody from <i>Toy Story</i>.</div><div><br /></div></div></div></div><div>I'm not into these ooshie thingies, and the last time the supermarket gave them away in a big promo exercise, I ended up with two dozen of them in individual packets. At the time, I looked at them askance, wondered what on earth to do with them and told the supermarket not to keep give me any more of the things.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, they've since come into their own. LittleOne enjoys them and they've been a useful ad hoc surprise/reward system for the last year or so. I kinda regret opting out of them. Sometimes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Woody was the last ooshie from that original supermarket batch of freebies. We opened it yesterday. He's the only Woody in the collection too. </div><div><br /></div><div>Woody was new and special enough that he had to come with us on our afternoon pram walk with Indi-Girl. LittleOne fell asleep for a bit, Woody tight in hand, as Indi and I did a longer-than-usual, detouring onto bumpy woodland grass to carefully make sure Indi avoided other people, dogs and bike riders. It was a rather peaceful Australian equivalent of a Wind the Willows type of mood, even if the reality was more pongy and with a greater number of biting bugs.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had just decided to head home when LittleOne woke up, so I extended the walk to show LittleOne a hitherto unseen bit of the creek. Including a new bridge and also a quick stand up in the pram to peep at a very long tree which had fallen into the creek, and which was sitting along the water without touching it (when water levels are low).</div><div><br /></div><div>We got home and then realised Woody was gone.</div><div>.</div><div>.</div><div>GONE.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was late afternoon. We left Indi home to have a huge drink and a rest. </div><div><br /></div><div>LittleOne and I came back out so I could frantically retrace of all my steps along the longer-than-usual walk. Trying to scan all around me for a 5cm scrap of yellow and blue in tall grass littered with yellowy leaves. Trying to remember all the bits where I'd taken Indi-Girl off the path to get her away from other people. </div><div><br /></div><div>Meanwhile, the afternoon sky started go sadly towards its indifferent late afternoon colours, the tree leaves started to darken their colours, and LittleOne wailed intermittently at Woody's loss with non-stop streams of nose goop.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the same time, the memory of how Woody spent the entirety of <i>Toy Story</i> trying to get back home taunted me with irony, thick and strong, as I paused repeatedly to mop away said nose goop with an ever-diminishing number of tissues. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'd just decided there was enough daylight to rush to the new bridge (the bit of the walk we did after LittleOne woke up) and back home before it got too dark. Actually, it felt like there wasn't enough daylight to do all that, but I had to try. Let's put it this way - at that time of day, I preferred to have Indi with me. It was less Wind in the Willows and more looming trees, long grass, overshadowing dark creek and a gathering darkness which didn't have long to wait.</div><div><br /></div><div>As we walked fast, I suddenly, finally remembered. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was the spot where I suggested LittleOne stand up in the pram to look at the tree lying over the creek. I gunned the pram to that spot, slipping and sliding over the muddy, slimy bits of path to the Fallen Tree Spot.</div><div><br /></div><div>There, nestled safely in the grass, right where LittleOne had stood up and dislodged him, was Woody.</div><div><br /></div><div>I scooped him, less triumphant, so relieved, and frankly annoyed at myself not remembering the culprit standing-up moment which caused Woody to fall in the first place. I presented Woody to LittleOne with lots of apologetic kisses and wasn't surprised when the main reaction was more tears. This time of relief as Woody got clasped tightly in both hands.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Wind in the Willows vibe returned surprisingly rapidly, and there was just enough daylight left to detour into the nearby playground to shake out the bits of tension on the swing and slide under a peach and gold sky. </div><div><br /></div><div>Woody got home safely and was sternly told he wasn't allowed to go missing again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, a weekend with all the founds and none of the losses.</div><div><br /></div><div>Du fond du coeur x</div>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-67923292437956019282022-01-21T07:34:00.005+11:002022-01-23T21:26:10.549+11:00I walked a 24-million year old caldera on my birthday<p>The older I become, the more ambivalent I get about celebrating my birthday. </p><p>No, it's not necessarily the increasing number - though that's an obvious part of it. It's also confronting all the lofty, unarticulated and half-subconscious expectations about the achievements I thought I would have trailing sunnily in my wake by now. You know - the enviable success in a globe-trotting career making meaningful contributions to the world around me, the regular holiday retreats to amazing parts of the world, the holiday home in the country with the pool and stables and vineyard... Yes, I exaggerate, but I'm sure you know what I mean.</p><p>Birthdays have become a day for me to confront unmet ideas, ideals and expectations between what is, what has been, what could have been and what should have been... Ambitions which got snuffed or dialled down dramatically, the disquiet of the mismatch between the age you feel on the inside and how life is being etched onto your face... There's not enough celebrating of achievements or of enjoying the journey so far, and definitely not enough looking forward to all the good things still to come.</p><p>To force a counterpoint, for my most recent birthday, we did a sunrise bushwalk up a mountain that's part of a 24-million-year old caldera.</p><p>Let me say that again because I'm still trying to get it to sink in.</p><p>A 24-<i>million </i>year old caldera. </p><p>Now if this wasn't going to provide me with a bit of perspective about age, nothing would!</p><p>As if 24 million years wasn't enough of a mind-bending number to come to terms with, the caldera is also part of the <a href="https://parks.des.qld.gov.au/management/managed-areas/world-heritage-areas/current/gondwana-rainforests" target="_blank">Gondwana Rainforests</a> - which means it's still home to species which would have existed during the time of the ancient <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gondwana" target="_blank">Gondwana supercontinent</a> (some 500 million years ago). </p><p>I can't even begin to grasp the vastness of this passing of time. It's even more amazing to try and comprehend that I was able to walk through a world with roots and experiences so ancient, they disappear into mists and dreams beyond beginnings. </p><p>Birthdays? Bah birthdays and bah unhelpful expectations. Bring them out and watch them evaporate into the mists, breaths and dreams that are part of everything and part of all of us.</p><p>The whole caldera is quite amazing, so for those of you who want to google, here are the broad geographical details. </p><p>The region is called the <a href="https://www.scenicrim.qld.gov.au/our-community/about-scenic-rim" target="_blank">Scenic Rim</a>, in south-east Queensland. It's about 1.5 hours south of the main Queensland city of Brisbane, and it was less than an hour from where we live. We walked the track up to the <a href="https://parks.des.qld.gov.au/parks/main-range/journeys/mount-cordeaux-track" target="_blank">Mt Cordeaux</a> peak, known as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Cordeaux" target="_blank">Niamboyoo</a> by the local Aboriginal Peoples.</p><p>Mt Cordeaux is 1,135 metres high, and it's part of the Main Range mountain range, a collection of wondrously-shaped peaks, cliffs and escarpments. The mountains gather in a smiling curve (the remnants of a volcano, perhaps?) and their varied peaks reminded me warmly of the unique outlines of Mauritius' mountains (also a volcanic island - so perhaps it's not that surprising that I would want to draw broad parallels in memory and experience).</p><p>The Main Range is also part of the broader <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Dividing_Range" target="_blank">Great Dividing Range</a> which pretty much runs the full length of the east coast of Australia, and of which the Blue Mountains (where we used to live) are also a part. </p><p>The walk was surprisingly... not as difficult as I anticipated. </p><p>It was a 6.8 kilometre, 3-hour return walk. The track was mostly level, with a few steps in places, some gentle gradients, and a few muddy sections where we had to tread carefully (especially me because I tackled the walk in my everyday sneakers). In any case, I didn't ache the next day, which surprised me very much, seeing as my fitness workouts consist of walking my Indi-Girl dog along flat streets for about 30 minutes a day. But maybe I was subconsciously expecting a Blue Mountains-type walk, where walks can include multiple 60-degree inclines, with 30 - mostly (horribly) uneven - steps at a time! So yes, it felt relatively easy.</p><p>There are 3 or 4 other walks and circuits around and up to the Mt Cordeaux peak that have been carved out, some with higher levels of difficulty. The different paths intersect at particular points and while these are usually signposted, me and my rotten sense of direction would say they're not signposted well enough.</p><p>We started up just as light was starting to run into the world. We still needed a torch for the first maybe kilometre or so, but we got to the first lookout just in time to see the sun blinking as it peered sleepily through the orange and lemon-hued mists around it.</p><p>Maybe it took us longer than three hours, but that was because it was important to stop, to look around, to look up, up, up to the tallest trees touching the sky, to see complex canopies, to drink in vast trunks textured with moss, to breathe in mixes of fresh air and loamy soil, to hear a thousand invisible birds and other creatures rustling out of sight, and to realise afresh the wondrousness of the world we were so lucky to have the opportunity to experience.</p><p>We took a flask, milk powder and honey so we could have a cup of tea - which we did - and which tasted amazing after our 3am start. </p><p>And then Hubs surprised me with birthday cake too! Chocolate cake - that he had made himself 💖 </p><p>Chocolate cake eaten on top of the world tastes pretty damned good!</p><p>I took <b><i>lots </i></b>of photos. Ready? 😁</p><p>Dawn skies</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>Canopies</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzEhQcnk6mhG6xWHzf_1CEtPBjKrJ9vg1CNc_EeF1upBPndEiW8keaO-Bu-tPYJaGx3h5Vx6dPp1wRnFqylrznCeFo_bHW6ktHlFQC3LnVuU9RCxVtlJgcyrMdqIPcEEaOI7OHBebLgUDLMU9kI7X3OILjbRwed7GO7IH2m19TXVg_EfifvCfwLSR4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzEhQcnk6mhG6xWHzf_1CEtPBjKrJ9vg1CNc_EeF1upBPndEiW8keaO-Bu-tPYJaGx3h5Vx6dPp1wRnFqylrznCeFo_bHW6ktHlFQC3LnVuU9RCxVtlJgcyrMdqIPcEEaOI7OHBebLgUDLMU9kI7X3OILjbRwed7GO7IH2m19TXVg_EfifvCfwLSR4" width="400" />
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</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Trees and tree trunks<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>Amazing, amazing views</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And if I must, obligatory birthday selfie (thinking/hoping maybe any readers will be so exhausted with scrolling, the selfie will remain unseen😅)</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTItK3tyXotxMDqIamNX0wxo2xOvLX6wE60O6SYxriWJ-wcnwMP--a76NTZbzqAzPX739g3GrjJV3Is33N3OVwkODcLqV7P0KbeVG3vk2s7bgFKWy9k3WuFIAUpUZh6YzPFxJ62cOe7wQV0Xo09tjDOgi9Y39nsEbxLZS2Ynv9VRQqvQQuj1RL8NRn" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiTItK3tyXotxMDqIamNX0wxo2xOvLX6wE60O6SYxriWJ-wcnwMP--a76NTZbzqAzPX739g3GrjJV3Is33N3OVwkODcLqV7P0KbeVG3vk2s7bgFKWy9k3WuFIAUpUZh6YzPFxJ62cOe7wQV0Xo09tjDOgi9Y39nsEbxLZS2Ynv9VRQqvQQuj1RL8NRn" width="400" />
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</div><br /><p></p><p>So if you're a<span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">bout to hit an age bracket that feels impossible - like my mid-40s ("how did I get to be this age? I still feel like I'm in my early 30s!" and so on) - there's nothing like strolling through a 24-million year old caldera to provide some beautiful perspective!</span></p><p>PS. if you're like me and didn't know the difference between a volcanic caldera and a crater, this might <a href="https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/what-is-a-volcanic-caldera.html" target="_blank">help</a>.</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x </p></div>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-68416087957649832552022-01-11T07:14:00.001+11:002022-01-11T07:37:29.078+11:00A Tall Tale of Tea<p><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">I'm not a coffee drinker. I can't even stand the smell of it. I'm a tea gal all the way. </span></p><p>It's a multiple-cups-a-day habit. So, while I can pretend to get all virtuous and smug about being a non-coffee person, really, my crippling dependency on tea can pretty much match the coffee addict cup for cup.</p><p>So you can imagine how I felt on 22 December 2021 - my last day of work in 2021 - when I got to work and realised I only had one tea bag left in my work stash.</p><p>One tea bag.</p><p>To last a whole work day.</p><p>I used the tea bag, enjoyed it, and then rifled all my desk drawers trying to see if I had any other emergency tea supplies. Anything at all. I found 3 Chai teabags and grimaced. I ignored the half-dozen Chamomiles. There was one single Russian Caravan which isn't my cup of tea at all, and I held it in my clenched fist fretfully, doubtfully until... </p><p>The angels sang and I saw my lovely, large orange tin. The one I'd taken to and from work a few times while moving house a few weeks before. The one filled with all my lovely Mauritius tea leftover from my last trip to Mauritius in the mid-twenteens.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>I hugged the tin tight as the angels sang around me. Not just any tea! Mauritius tea!</p><p>Mauritius tea is pretty special to me. There's the regular Mauritius black tea, and then there's the Mauritius black tea lightly infused with a whisper of vanilla. Elusive, tickling, glorious. Sitting just behind the tea. Teasing. Tantalising. </p><p>When I was in primary school in Mauritius in the late 1980s, we would learn about Mauritius' exports. Which at the time were in flux, as tourism was taking over from sugar as the island's number 1 export. Tea had dropped to the third. Tea, we learnt, grew very well in the central, plateau region of the island. Cooler, rainier, but still with the excellent Mauritius volcanic soil. Mauritius has been growing tea for a long time. Mauritius makes excellent tea. Especially its vanilla tea.</p><p>I've seen and tried other vanilla teas not made in Mauritius, and well, insert that green emoji face here. Because all I can politely say is: don't judge vanilla tea until you've tried the Mauritius one. </p><p>I had a quick little dilemma about which tea in the tin to go for. I had lots of loose tea, but no infuser (which wasn't going to stop me), I had the leftover packets of my favourite brand which still held the most longingly-amazing vanilla aroma, and I had one unopened packet of my next-best vanilla tea brand. </p><p>I had actually used up most of the packets of this next-best brand within the few months of returning from my last trip to Mauritius as I struggled to juggle a mostly-unhappy high-stress job, a very long commute, and a relentlessly cold winter. I felt that the vanilla taste in this next-best brand was so low-key as to be non-existent. Seeing the packet brought memories of the time of that particular job and time, and for a few minutes I was pretty ambivalent about whether to open up this last packet of the next-best brand or not.</p><p>I threw ambivalence to the winds and cut it open.</p><p>Rich tea with that marvellous whisper-song of vanilla tickled my nose. Mauritius overtook and swamped the associations with the old job. Mauritius stirred and sang. This only increased tenfold after I made the tea. And again after I took a sip.</p><p>How had I ever thought there was no vanilla in this tea?? After years starved of any vanilla tea, here it was - with sweet, glorious mellow notes dancing in and around the tea. </p><p>Oh and all the images and memories that glimmer and swim around and in-between the vanilla. </p><p>The combination of scent and sip takes me to myriad glimpses and moments in Mauritius - which might be real, might be my own memories airbrushed of messy realities, or might be the everyday complexities understood with the fondness of a long-ago migrant's distance of geography and time. </p><p>Of early mornings and clean magical air, of the sun rising over waving green sugar cane fields, where the mountains sit in solemn, unyielding purple basalt, with commuters alighting noisy buses and cars to school and work along packed roads, where saris, churidaars and western clothes rub shoulders with careless ease. Where family chatter and voices of internet, radio and TV rise from homes in their everyday mixes of Mauritius Kreol, French, Hindi and occasionally English. When we bought bread fresh from the bakery every morning, sometimes hot and ready for butter to melt on it, sometimes cold - but always fresh. </p><p>Longing and joy curled in a cup.</p><p>I only used two tea bags from that packet on that last day of work. And I've only used one during the whole December 2021-January 2022 break. </p><p>I dunno. It's to do with not wanting to race through the packet and lose the flavour and memories of those special vanilla notes on my tongue. I know the notes won't keep in their tin forever; that they will ease and stretch into the air bit by bit until their smell and flavour is faded. But I also know if I have the tea everyday, I will become indifferent to its special notes. And I don't want that to happen.</p><p>I've even done some searching and I've found a shop which specialises in international groceries and which carry the Mauritius vanilla tea - <i>and </i>some other Mauritius foods and drinks. So I know I can find new supplies again.</p><p>To make new memories. To always be looking forward as well as back. To be able to make more of those breathing moments where I can conjure up that tea travel. To come full circle in a cup.</p><p>It was especially nice that realise that I opened up that orange tin of tea on that last day of work for the year on 22 December 2021. Because that's the 35th anniversary of my arrival in Australia. </p><p>So here's to tea. </p><p>And taste, and longing and be-longing, and homes, and memories, and full circles, and all the things that are tiny and good and that matter most to us.</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p><p><br /></p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-50882493580116291892021-12-31T07:47:00.000+11:002021-12-31T08:00:51.868+11:00Wending Words<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br><p></p><p><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">As the last days of December run like water to the ocean that is (was) 2021, this is a quick and very patchy self-reflection. </span></p><p>On the writing front in 2021, I was delighted to be a contributor to the short fiction anthology, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Shadows-We-Breathe-1-ebook/dp/B09BZZWKKX/" target="_blank">The Shadows We Breathe (vol 1)</a></i>, the brainchild of the remarkable Sarah Brentyn. Creativity and crafting words doesn't always come easily to me, but this was one of those experiences where showing up at the keyboard eventually got the words to show up too. I wrote about it <a href="https://dodoaugogo.blogspot.com/2021/06/hunting-percolating-nurturing-creativity.html" target="_blank">here</a>. It's nice to remember that I got some nice feedback about one of my stories, "The Coma". (Also, there's a TSWB volume 2! Check it out <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Shadows-We-Breathe-2-ebook/dp/B09LNNW5ZV/" target="_blank">here</a>!)</p><p>Something I did do a bit more regularly in 2021 was blogging - especially during the Australian spring. Mainly nature- or parenting-focussed. Which is lovely and right and good as they're important things in my life. </p><p>But I haven't blogged as much about the creativity side of things. Which is interesting, and on the one hand reflects that it's been a slow year, creatively-speaking (despite my <i>TSWB </i>anthology contributions). But on the other hand, it also aligns with the fact that, my slow creativity has bled into my urge/ability to write any playful microfics on twitter. </p><p>This (for want of a better word) 'loss' of daily creativity is a bit at odds with my <i>TSWB </i>antho experience of showing up until the words do, but... that's the crunchy, pesky truth. Twitter microfics have been hard for me to come by this year. Microfics have always been a mainstay and my raison d'être for using Twitter, so I'm quite lost on how/why I should use Twitter without microfics. In fact, it's been kind of easier to focus on blogging than it has been to work on crafting microfics. I don't have an answer to this one yet, so bear with me while I muddle through. </p><p>I fell off the blogging bandwagon towards the end of the year, but I'm cutting myself slack about this. In the middle of a very frenetic and frantic Brisbane housing market, we managed to buy a house. A house which ticked most of our wishlist of things we wanted. The house-buying process itself was an ... interesting/exhausting/traumatic one. In that, everything that could have gone smoothly - didn't!* But, we made it. </p><p>This Christmas break has been one of unpacking a bit, sorting a bit more, too many 4am wake-ups, and starting to feel settled and at home.</p><p>So. New house, new year. </p><p>And hopefully some new energies to put into my words.</p><p>Wishing you all the good things in 2022, and see you next year💜</p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p><p><br></p><p><br></p><p>*I might write about this sometime. Or, I might not. Some things are best left adrift - to dull, soften and be forgotten. </p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-52464579704406010832021-11-30T08:18:00.002+11:002021-11-30T08:21:23.895+11:00Ree-Learning Lessons: the one with the pram walk <p> I've known about the book, <i>Sidewalk Flowers</i>, for years now. I still don't have a copy but it's never left my wishlist. It's one of those wordless, illustration-based books where I admire the idea, the illustrations, the creativity and the message.</p><p>The main way I know of the book's message is via excerpts from the very excellent <i>The Marginalian </i>(formerly <i>Brain Pickings</i>), which you can find <a href="https://www.themarginalian.org/2015/03/17/sidewalk-flowers/" target="_blank">here</a>.</p><p>It's a message that's been haunting me a little bit lately. One I need to keep learning and ree-learning.</p><p>On the one hand, I've written several different posts about trying to appreciate the small things in life and to enjoy being in the moment. But on the other hand... let's put it this way. I've been developing a sneaking sympathy for the pre-occupied adult in the story.</p><p>You see, I usually take my LittleOne and my Indi-Girl on what we call a "pram walk" everyday. With LittleOne in the pram and Indi on the leash, we take a brisk-ish walk around the local streets, usually in the late afternoon, just before dusk. I intend it mainly as a physical and mental constitutional for Indi. She gets to smell the scents of all the other dogs in the neighbourhood (and add her own), get some exercise, help her bowel movements ummm, move (we call them 'poopydonks' these days), and stop her love handles getting too love handley. We do it rain or shine - although we're lucky that we've only had two absolutely pouring-down afternoon that we had to squelch through, and fortunately Indi's tummy woke up pretty quickly on both those days and let us scurry our soggy way home sooner rather than later!</p><p>But, as is the way of things, the pram walks become more, and mean more too. </p><p>They're a way for me to re-connect with LittleOne after work. I get to see the world through LittleOne's eyes - the street with the line of poinciana and bottle-brush trees which became the "magic forest", the house which must have once been a child care place of some kind going by the faded painting of the animals on the garage door, the industrial building with the overhead outside light which flickers and doesn't work properly, the first-ever (unprompted) "goodnight sun" wish, the beautiful light of the sunsets, and the regular greetings to the statue trees of "hello statue tree, I hope you're having a lovely day"... We've invented monster creatures I need to push the pram and run away from, which turn into monster creatures who are actually really nice and friendly and just lost and need a home to go to. We've rescued imaginary creatures from trees, rendez-vous-ed with them outside the House With The Sugar Cane And The Broom-Bamboo. I've sung songs with made-up words, I've sung existing songs and I've been asked to please stop singing. </p><p>I like to think LittleOne enjoys the pram walks. There have been earlier phases where LittleOne didn't always want to go for the pram walk - and on the rare occasions where bluffs were called and the not-wanting became didn't-go, there were inevitably tears, goopy-nose-goop and regret for toddler and parents. Nowadays though, we're at the enjoying-the-pramwalks end of the spectrum. It helps that a treat-food dimension has somehow built its way into the walk. Although, to give due credit, there's rarely any scarfing of treats asap. Instead, LittleOne usually carefully holds on to the treat, delaying gratification, until a given moment well into the walk when I'll hear the words "I think I'm ready to eat my treat now, Mama." And then, my heart melts and the pram walk pauses as I assist with opening lids or packets.</p><p>But the new main reason LittleOne is enjoying the walks these days, is the insisted transition from sitting in the pram to hopping out and doing actual walking with me and Indi. It makes absolute sense that there is much more joy and freedom in walking alongside the pram rather than being stuck in it. But hoo boy, this phase has its own challenges for me. </p><p>The logistics are hilarious - in a gritted teeth kind of way. I've got Indi's leash tethered in my right hand, which is also the hand pushing the pram (a pram which usually needs to be pushed with two hands). While my left hand holds LittleOne's - who usually wants to lag behind on purpose. We end up <strike>walking </strike>straggling in an awkward, diagonal, single file. Indi and cumbersome pram, then me, then LittleOne. If Indi lunges to smell something off to the side, or if we hit a bumpy bit of footpath, my one-handed pram-steering can fail with the pram veering off-course or tipping over. </p><p>And of course one of LittleOne's favourite games in this situation is to deliberately lag behind while holding my hand. Let's be specific: lag behind, hang heavily onto my hand, and drag feet. So I'm dragging a surprisingly-strong three year old bundle of weight behind me. While a dog weighing half as much as me is in the lead. A dog whose protective instincts are so strong, that any stranger, car, bike, dog, cat or bug in a 10 metre radius will get eyeballed and if that radius is breached, get viciously lunged and barked at. Actually, for cats, make that a 50 metre radius. </p><p>I often wonder if this whole scenario looks as farcical as it feels.</p><p>I don't enjoy it. LittleOne does and finds it hilarious. I do my best to let the game happen and keep my eyerolls to myself. But sometimes, I just snap tersely or fold the game abruptly. These moments get repeatedly stuffed into the 'Not proud of myself' box.</p><p>Then, other times, LittleOne just wants to stroll through unkempt grass in the verge, crunch on fallen leaves, pick up leaves and flowers, or hop across freshly-cut lawns. I do try hard to keep the spirit of <i>Sidewalk Flowers </i>in my head, but sometimes the tedious adult concerns win out. In part, because a toddler pace of walking is slow and mindful and rambling and in the moment. Which is beautiful - and yes, a lesson I could take on board more. But which I also often need to juggle against walking faster to help Indi's tummy activate. Or hurrying because I'm plain old tired. Or needing to do dinner prep. Or whatever other domestic juggle needs to be juggled. I know these domestic things don't matter in the large scheme of things, but, you know, they still need to happen. </p><p>On a mid-November Friday a couple of weeks ago, we had an interesting intersection of everything - a very late pram walk (well into the dusk and darkness), an impatient Indi desperate for her walk at her time of day, and LittleOne repeatedly, innocently, asking me why was I so cranky. "Because it's late, because us walking this late delays everything into the evening, because I'm already tired and hungry, and by the way, Indi you'd better do your poopydonk soon because this is going to be a very quick, very short walk just around the block." I grumbled in reply, actively stoking the storm clouds around my head. </p><p>We stomped around the corner and LittleOne gasped, pointed straight to the sky and exclaimed, "what's that?!" I looked up sulkily, and then I gasped too. Because it was the blood moon eclipse! Round, blood-coloured, and with a crescent sliver of silvery frangipani light. All my irritation at the late timing of our pramwalk immediately felt petty and pathetic and small (but didn't magically dissipate). We paused and I explained to LittleOne what was the moon was doing as I took some photos. Indi waited patiently and sniffed around and ate some grass. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p></p><p>We walked on a bit more with no sign of poopydonks from Indi. Then LittleOne asked to "hop out" of the pram and walk. I'm afraid I exhaled noisily and exasperatedly because LittleOne's walking pace isn't fast enough to activate Indi's tummy, and we were already nearly home. I tried to demur, but LittleOne was having none of it. My irritation/crankiness/fit of pique simmered pointlessly in the light of the blood-moon eclipse. But LittleOne was happy holding my hand and enjoying the novelty of walking under streetlights and spotting the blood-moon eclipse in-between rooftops, and Indi was happy grooving and smelling things in spite of the lack of poopydonks.</p><p>As we reached our house, LittleOne declared that we needed to walk some more, because Indi hadn't yet done her poopydonk. Actually, LittleOne had just enjoyed walking so much and wanted more. But LittleOne is canny enough to frame requests in ways that appeal to huffy-Mama-logic. Because LittleOne was correct, of course. Indi needed every chance to do her poopydonk. But, but, but. We were already late for the evening routine, the short walk had been delayed by stopping to admire the blood-moon, me taking photos and then LittleOne walking, and... </p><p>"Pleeeaase," said LittleOne.</p><p>Cue more exasperated and blustering huffing and puffing from me, and I shoved the pram through the gate, so it was one less thing I had to contend with. Then, we retraced our steps along the street back towards the blood-moon eclipse. LittleOne and Indi both very happy. Me, still sulky, but less so because I didn't have to wrestle with the pram this time too.</p><p>Indi did her poopydonk. </p><p>I fell on LittleOne with a hug and kiss and said, "you're the reason Indi got to do her poopydonk tonight! You did it! Thank you so very much!" </p><p>I can't forget LittleOne's look of delight surprise and pleasure. </p><p>We all returned home happy. </p><p>I'd like to say I learnt a valuable lesson, but honestly, I'll probably react this way again and again. But it's a lesson I'll need to ree-learn again and again. Hopefully, I'll get better though.</p><p><br /></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p><p><br /></p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-27419679021870794852021-11-15T08:19:00.003+11:002021-11-15T08:33:36.136+11:00Presenting Purple PetalsThe purpose of this petite post is pics of pretty purple petals. <div><br /></div><div>Well, purple flowers actually. But why start with accuracy when there's a chance for alliteration😁</div><div><br /></div><div>The inspiration for this post came from the very lovely and generous <a href="https://twitter.com/immcarvalho" target="_blank">Maria Carvalho</a> on Twitter (who was also the amazing and stalwart co-editor of my <a href="https://reeimaginedworlds.com/" target="_blank">Five Senses anthology</a>). She responded to a couple of purple flower photos I posted, cheerfully asking how many amazing purple flowers were there in my part of the world. </div><div><br /></div><div>Not many, I replied back.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>As is the way of things, I immediately went on to notice several more purple/lavender/mauve flowers in the world around me. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I decided to do a purple flower photo essay. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Please note though, that I'm the opposite of a botanist and have no idea what (m)any of these flowers are called!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Jacaranda </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br /></div><div>A kind of wisteria (I think)</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div>I've been told these ones are called Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow- to reflect how they glide through colours starting with rich purple to mauve-y lavender then white.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div>I only just met these ones and have no idea what their name is.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div>Tiny purpley flowers with bright orangey-yellow (then black) berries.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br /></div><div>These seem to be commonly planted on roadsides. Purple seeds and mauve petals. They might be a native species? Not sure though. There's another one with yellow petals.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br />This looks like I'm cheating because it looks pinkish rather than purple, but it is definitely a subdued lavender colour in real life. If I can get a more accurate pic, I will.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br />And this final one is an Aussie native.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><br /></div><div>And there you go. Plenty of purple to please your palate😊 Or to pickle your prose. But hopefully the former. Enjoy!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Du fond du coeur x</div><div><br /></div>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-61471322784870647272021-11-08T11:04:00.000+11:002021-11-09T08:29:02.709+11:00Writing in Slow Motion<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p></p><p><br></p><p>I've been making a concerted attempt to blog more regularly of late. For a number of reasons. Which, if I think about it, are probably interconnected. </p><p>For one thing, I'm trying to write more. And write faster. I'm a pretty slow writer. It dates back to the difficult relationship I developed with writing when doing my PhD thesis. Academic writing is very different to regular writing. It's very structured, you're using other people's ideas to contextualise, discuss and explore your own concepts, and it's a formal space for expressing yourself. It doesn't really allow a space for including yourself in your words - or at least, I couldn't figure out how to get there. Instead, I got into the habit of writing in a passive voice. It was an easy way to keep myself removed from the topic, which also had the bonus of being an easy way to boost my word count. Fiction and creative non-fiction became the antithesis (pun accidental but celebrated!) and provided a welcome space for writing freely, in comparatively unstructured formats. Where I could write without second-guessing if I'd understood Prof So-and-So's argument correctly and had transposed concepts accurately enough into my own words. Where I could drop in an 'I' or 16 in a single paragraph. And where I could start my sentences with 'and', and 'where' if I wanted to. </p><p>Oddly enough though, my slow relationship to writing - even in the non-academic writing - has lingered. My fault entirely of course. I have developed bad habits of over-scrutinising my words as I write, of second-guessing, of ree-reading, and editing as I go. They all contribute to making me slow. I haven't figured out how to get around this yet. Except for practising not doing this. Write faster, give myself permission to not ree-read and edit, cringe later and edit later, and write to get to a point where the words get used to flowing more. Practise, practise, practise. </p><p>I've read most people can average 1000 words an hour for fiction. And more for non-fiction. Let's just say - those are benchmarks I need to work my way up to!</p><p>Blogging, in diary formats, is one way to practise writing faster. It's freed from most structures. It doesn't have to be sequential or flow coherently from beginning to end. It lets me read and review and, if I need to, to make changes after posting. It reminds me to focus on the little things and everyday delights - all the moments that slip by, through our fingers, to be quickly lost to the ebb and flows of daily living. This is important to me also for trying to capture family moments with my LittleOne. If ever there was a situation where the moments, once gone, are gone forever, it's in seeing your toddler grow up before your very eyes.</p><p>I'm also trying to blog more, because, for whatever reason, I seem to have lost my capacity for micro-fics and words in general on Twitter and Instagram (my main social media platforms). Writing microfiction on Twitter used to be my main creative channel and delight. But now, with the original Friday Phrases microfic community (the main writing prompt game I played and enjoyed) widely dispersed to the winds of real life, I'm also feeling (rightly or wrongly) that the many other microfic and prompt game communities have dynamics and engagement factors which are beyond my ken. And I lack the time and energy to plough and immerse and play and to establish myself in other games and communities. Lazy? Maybe. Time-poor? Yep. Oddly enough, although a more long-form medium, blogging feels like a writing alternative to the social media platforms. I can write and incrementally build up posts in the small windows of time I get, and I get the satisfaction of sending them off into the world sooner than any other kind of writing. Also, if I'm honest, I don't feel bereft at a lack of perceived engagement (or feel that my words are of lesser value because of small engagement) that I would with social media.</p><p>I also hope blogging will, at some point, help me crystallise what exactly it is I want out of writing and how it might work. But that's a work in progress for another time.</p><p><br></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-72240812701693825112021-10-28T09:10:00.000+11:002021-10-28T15:25:16.951+11:00A week of journeys' ends<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><p></p><p><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">Last week was a sad one. </span><br></p><p>I'm not sure why several journeys' ends all converged into the one week in mid-October, but they did. And the heart gets bruised, saddened. Realises afresh life and breath and sunshine is a gift and shouldn't be taken for granted, but grieves at the same time.</p><p>First, there was my baby bird. It was another round of baby mynah birds in the garden learning to fly - this time, two babies. I quickly figured out the signs - baby cheeps and parents hovering and calling urgently when we were nearby - and kept my Indi-Girl on the leash. But, one of the babies seemed to be staying on the ground too long. I put it onto low branches two or three times, but noticed its parents weren't feeding it as much as its sibling. The next morning, Indi found it - resting forever, at the bottom of the bushes where I'd perched it.</p><p>Then, a couple of days later, at work, I saw two magpies physically pouncing onto a pigeon. After much shooing, glaring and telling the magpies to leave, they did. But the pigeon didn't fly away. It looked at its reflection in the building glass and seemed baffled by the steps it was surrounded by. I went back to my office desk to get some gloves with the hope of moving it to a nearby woody area with trees, leaves and bushes where it might feel more comfortable. On the way, I touched base with a couple of colleagues on the off-chance they knew anything about pigeons. Two minutes later, when I returned, the poor pigeon had been killed by the two magpies. I've never see magpies do that before. I took the poor pigeon and put it in the woody area and covered it with leaves. Cried for it. What else do you do?</p><p>I don't think I'll ever look at magpies the same way again. Especially because, later that same week, in a playground, LittleOne got swooped by a magpie which got in a couple of pecks at the back of the head before Hubs hurtled in. (LittleOne hadn't even been aware of the magpie, so its pecks hadn't hurt much, but there was of course the shock and aftershock that followed.) Most playgrounds and parks have seasonal signs warning people if there are swooping magpies during baby season. This playground didn't.</p><p>And then, on Sunday, as we were driving to the beach, I received a message from my folks in Mauritius saying an Auntie had passed away. A lovely, brave, kind, hardworking, stoic lady, who had five children (my cousins), worked as a teacher, and who got to see her grandchildren grow to adulthood. It's a heart-loss. An ebbing of my extended family. And you breathe and send inadequate condolences by text, and you try and make peace with it, and try not to imagine the grief of those nearest and dearest.</p><p>And while I couldn't quite process this news at the beach, there was an instance there too. Two tourists had been kayaking and a turtle had swam up to them, as though asking for help. The tourists had taken it around to the where the lifeguard rescue folk were. There was a bit of a crowd which gathered, but I stayed away. I love turtles, but didn't and couldn't want to know. The long story short was that, nothing could be done, and it died soon after. The tourists took it over to the mangroves near where they'd found it, so it could return to nature. </p><p>And now, half a week later, as I tried to decide whether or not to write up these moments into words, I checked into Instagram after a few days and saw on the page of a faraway animal shelter that I follow, a street dog who'd endured a miraculous rescue, surgery and recovery to have 6 months of joy, had passed away.</p><p>And the tears flow and stop and journeys begin and end, and we try and appreciate and respect the multitude of souls and footprints with whom we cross paths. And I suppose, to see everything good that we are and everything good around us as blessings.</p><p><br></p><p>Du fond du coeur x</p><p><br></p>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8875429436134668435.post-8036635966152703302021-10-10T07:47:00.001+11:002021-10-10T07:47:47.709+11:00Ladybird Love<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br></div><div>Some recent 30+ degree Celsius days meant we got out the paddle pool out for LittleOne. This also meant me checking the water every few minutes all day in case bugs needed rescuing. (As I get older, I'm becoming more and more fascinated with the natural world and by extension, more and more obsessed with trying to help lil bugs if and when I can.)</div><div><br></div><div>There were lots of rescues from the paddle pool - flying ants, orange bugs, flies, mozzies and ladybirds. </div><div><br></div><div>I spotted two ladybirds in quick succession. One was frantically paddling, and the other still, and to all intents and purposes, drowned. I fished them both out, popped them onto a recovery paper towel, and left Mulberry leaves for shade.</div><div><br></div><div>I was going to pop the drowned one in a garden bed but just left it on the paper towel instead. And to my astonishment, 2-3 hours later, it woke up! It clung tight to the blue beaker in the pic.</div><div><br></div><div>I checked on both ladybirds regularly and gave them Mulberries and Mulberry leaves. Mainly because the ladybirds seem to like the Mulberry tree and fruit a lot.</div><div><br></div><div>Mulberry-leaf-ladybird rested that whole day and snuggled early inside its Mulberry leaf, tucked in behind a half Mulberry. The next day, it was up early. It climbed to top of its Mulberry leaf complex. In the shade, aware of the sun, facing the sky. It flew away early. Wishing you all good things, lil Ladybird 🐞❤🖤🐞</div><div><br></div><div>Blue-beaker-ladybird stayed hunkered down by the blue beaker all the next day and all the night. It didn't want the fresh Mulberry I gave it. The morning after that, it slipped away to the sun. It had pretty much drowned two days ago; it's amazing it came back at all. Rest now, lil ladybird. You're amazing🐞❤🖤<br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Du fond du coeur x </div>ReeD with a Beehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11718239897236088669noreply@blogger.com0