..and says, 'help' you speak German! " One of my paintings has been doing really well in Germany, as the cover of novels and now a magazine! What's it all about?" See for yourselves: Cicero the magazine . Her image is on the cover of the June issue, with a great rave about her.
How is this magazine viewed in Germany? I'd not heard of it. Berlin readers, pls comment - it's published there.
What it's about is: the globo-tribe, mobile, available to go anywhere, coming from anywhere, and my incredibly talented, hard-working, painter friend swimming easily in its currents. Oh and did I say she's gorgeous?
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Define home
Among only 'bout 1000 jobs around the house, yes our own house, back in our own street, I miss this geographically-free space of the blogosphere. There's a liberation in this space. I feel very much at home out here, as I do in the galleries, museums, public gardens and bookshops of the globe.
That said, it has been rewarding to get in and DO here, and it is, slowly, feeling like home again. One day last week, turning over the sods to reinstate our vegetable patch, I dug up a silver earring hoop of my own. So that's what coming home means, you dig and turn up your own stuff - from 2 years ago. And the soil which turned up to fill the bed is curiously inert, lifeless by contrast, not a worm in there. Lucky for the racecourse nearby which has a great big painted sign on its corrugated iron fence: free manure. You shovel and haul it yourself. Six sacks done.
And in Cork, the families are getting ready to go back to school after the long summer holiday. On Monday, I will miss them again, as I so often have been.. I see some of them in the streets here sometimes, or think I do.
Our new school is great too, we are happy at the change, with the Bean settling well into his age cohort now. The furniture is assembled, boxes despatched, shelves restored, office set up, letters sent, start-up costs paid, uni courses enrolled in, tip run done, garden jobs done. What's left? Oh just the rest of our lives.
And on Monday, I resume my own postgrad studies. A door closes on a wonderful year of lightness, of returning to myself, of pursuing long-held dreams.
That said, it has been rewarding to get in and DO here, and it is, slowly, feeling like home again. One day last week, turning over the sods to reinstate our vegetable patch, I dug up a silver earring hoop of my own. So that's what coming home means, you dig and turn up your own stuff - from 2 years ago. And the soil which turned up to fill the bed is curiously inert, lifeless by contrast, not a worm in there. Lucky for the racecourse nearby which has a great big painted sign on its corrugated iron fence: free manure. You shovel and haul it yourself. Six sacks done.
And in Cork, the families are getting ready to go back to school after the long summer holiday. On Monday, I will miss them again, as I so often have been.. I see some of them in the streets here sometimes, or think I do.
Our new school is great too, we are happy at the change, with the Bean settling well into his age cohort now. The furniture is assembled, boxes despatched, shelves restored, office set up, letters sent, start-up costs paid, uni courses enrolled in, tip run done, garden jobs done. What's left? Oh just the rest of our lives.
And on Monday, I resume my own postgrad studies. A door closes on a wonderful year of lightness, of returning to myself, of pursuing long-held dreams.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Asterix and Obelix take it to Bondi
My first ever City to Surf in Sydney with the Bean, yesterday, with 75,000 of my closest friends. Completed the course, enjoyed ourselves: not bad for a small one who's 8, and another who's not very race-fit. We had prepared well, with practice runs around Newcastle, discussions and costume preparations, and the other half of the family briefed on the meeting point for a picnic at the beach afterwards.
Well, we had an absolute blast! Running down into the red start group, as we made our way to our blue start group, we nearly got cleaned up by the FAST runners - and got a great rev from seeing them go. At the Kings Cross tunnel, I could see it dawning on him that this whole thing was going to be an 'event' all the way to the beach. We shouted ourselves hoarse at the footbridge, where the other half of the family was watching, heard the rustling of the drinks stations well ahead of seeing it at Rose Bay, ran up Heartbreak Hill at a steady pace, walked whenever he said walk, then he took off and ran again. I just stayed with him, and had plenty of energy left at the end - I am just that much fitter after the gym
in Cork. (thanks Jamaican in Cork for the motivation!). We people-watched the whole way, had drinks, chatted, jogged, patched his heel close to Bondi and kept going the whole way! We were snapped at the finish line, didn't know this at the time, but V proud we were. A flood of tears, overwhelm, at the finish made me realise that I'd worried a lot about what I was putting on this small boy, but he's made of stern stuff.
Then in the bright winter sunshine at Bondi, with the sea brilliant green-blue and the skate-park in full flight, we picnicked among all the other smiling groups with red ribbons and medals around their necks. Me: elated, really enjoying this whole thing, and a definite starter for next year. Savouring what I'd looked forward to for 14 years - doing the C2S with my own child. Yes, a fine, long time coming - and we'll get under 100 minutes no bother.
That evening, back in Newcastle, a very tired, proud boy put his arms around my waist and said he'd like to do that with me another 24 times, then he'd get the cloth badge for 25 years' C2S completion too, just like the one we'd seen on a tattered old white shirt on the course today. Of all the things I thought of to say to that, I just squeezed him back, my eyes filled with tears - and said none. Treasure.
Well, we had an absolute blast! Running down into the red start group, as we made our way to our blue start group, we nearly got cleaned up by the FAST runners - and got a great rev from seeing them go. At the Kings Cross tunnel, I could see it dawning on him that this whole thing was going to be an 'event' all the way to the beach. We shouted ourselves hoarse at the footbridge, where the other half of the family was watching, heard the rustling of the drinks stations well ahead of seeing it at Rose Bay, ran up Heartbreak Hill at a steady pace, walked whenever he said walk, then he took off and ran again. I just stayed with him, and had plenty of energy left at the end - I am just that much fitter after the gym
in Cork. (thanks Jamaican in Cork for the motivation!). We people-watched the whole way, had drinks, chatted, jogged, patched his heel close to Bondi and kept going the whole way! We were snapped at the finish line, didn't know this at the time, but V proud we were. A flood of tears, overwhelm, at the finish made me realise that I'd worried a lot about what I was putting on this small boy, but he's made of stern stuff.Then in the bright winter sunshine at Bondi, with the sea brilliant green-blue and the skate-park in full flight, we picnicked among all the other smiling groups with red ribbons and medals around their necks. Me: elated, really enjoying this whole thing, and a definite starter for next year. Savouring what I'd looked forward to for 14 years - doing the C2S with my own child. Yes, a fine, long time coming - and we'll get under 100 minutes no bother.
That evening, back in Newcastle, a very tired, proud boy put his arms around my waist and said he'd like to do that with me another 24 times, then he'd get the cloth badge for 25 years' C2S completion too, just like the one we'd seen on a tattered old white shirt on the course today. Of all the things I thought of to say to that, I just squeezed him back, my eyes filled with tears - and said none. Treasure.
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