Dodo Au Go-Go

Drawing by my LittleOne Not that long ago, I posted a very long explanation of why and why I was finally updating the look of the Dodo Au Go-Go blog. And now, I've up and changed it again.  What was the main reason this time? Well, to be honest, last time, even though I spent a lot of time and energy trying to find the best colour and font combinations, plus moving all the gadgets (widgets) to how I wanted them, and generally wrestling with blogger's clunky behind-the-stuff, there was one thing I couldn't change about my previous template.  And that was: the way it used an extract of the post's first pic in giant, poster-size to loom over my title and my opening words in the featured post on the home page. In subsequent posts, the pics dropped to a normal size, thank goodness. But the featured post really 'headlined' the image in an excruciatingly unsubtle way.  I guess that was the nature of the template. I didn't realise it when I chose it, and I couldn

On Saturday afternoon, the energy-sapping sunshine and heat was softened by the sorts of heavy clouds which often promise a rain if not a storm. In the heavy wilting heat of the morning, we'd done our weekly run to the local fresh fruit and veggie market (what I sometimes call the 'bazaar' in a nod to the Mauritius bazaars of my childhood, where local growers gathered to sell and spruik their fruit and vegies), and a seller reminded us that it was February 13. It was cool enough that we ventured outside - me, LittleOne and Indi-Girl, our beloved nine-year-old pupper. We grooved outside, did some water-painting, ate some lychees, wondered if the clouds would bring a storm and looked for magic wands in the backyard.  At some point, I looked up and saw Indi-Girl strolling down the side of the house towards the front - to do her regular nose-check of smells and scents of all those who've been by since she last checked. And as far as Indi is concerned, if some poor passer-by

The days are starting to shorten. Barely. Tiny little five-minute increments, morning and night. Hardly noticeable. And yet, the shift is there. Two weeks ago, the sun still felt warm and high in the sky at 6.30pm. Since last week, I've been aware that I've been rushing and wrangling the family to get out of the dusk by 6.30pm (*points to mosquitoes - or as Aussies would say, mozzies - with baleful side-eye*).  This (obviously) happens every year, but I suppose I'm noting it here, because it's not often I actually feel like I'm catching that moment of change. The moment when the seasons stretch their arms, merge in a hug and the world strolls imperceptibly from summer into autumn. Or maybe we do notice it - in the way we're aware of the backdrop of things, but without really paying attention to them. I can say I've been vaguely aware that the heat and humidity characteristic of south-eastern Queensland summers has lately been retreating at night.