of the despair caused by cold and flu

when you’re on your third or fourth bout of cold/flu/virus for the year, you begin to wonder ‘why me’? I know this isn’t cancer or brain damage or paralysis, ‘just’ the slightly less but still debilitating viral infection about which doctors can do very little but look at you pityingly and advise you to ‘rest’. Well I’ve been resting for a week, getting nothing done off an alarming to do list, and feeling increasingly depressed. So there’s a danger. That a little trifling cold can actually be more insidious than it seems. This virus I have at the moment is aggravating my airways, so I feel like I have asthma all the time. Breathing is painful, I cough a lot, which is tiring and causing my whole body to ache, and talking is also a trigger for the cough and the constricted airways … I can’t concentrate so the seemingly physically easy tasks I have to do – writing mostly – are still not getting done. Changes in air temperature cause quite a bit of discomfort, so I’m not going anywhere. Physical activity of course triggers heavier breathing and the coughing and the pain all over and blah blah blah.

When the very act of breathing causes pain and discomfort, so that you want to stop breathing to stop hurting, everything else you have to do is that much harder. It begins to take all your energy to convince yourself to keep breathing, concentrating on what should be an automatic task so that you balance getting enough air with gentle breaths that don’t aggravate the cough.

And when your breath is thus interrupted, breath which connects your physical and spiritual being, enables us to feel and to express emotion, you feel disconnected, fragmented, and the question is no longer so much ‘why me’ but ‘who am I’? at the very point in your life when you know more deeply and clearly who you are and it is all I can do to resist curling up into the foetal position and rocking backwards and forwards.

When there is nothing we can do, a person of faith has one thing she can always do – cry out to God. 

How long? 

How long, o God, will it be this way? 

When will breathing be easier, the pain disappear, 

motivation and concentration return 

so I can again be who I know myself to be? 

I have known wellness, 

healed wholeness – I want to know it again, 

you are the source of all that is well and good. 

If I hang on to you now, 

perhaps hope will keep me from the foetal position of despair. 

I am hanging on to you. 

Don’t you let me go!

ticking boxes

it's interesting how important it became for me yesterday, to know that the presbytery of south australia had endorsed the recommendation before them that i be approved for ordination as a minister of the word. it's really a formality, because if there were any issues they would have been raised well before now - or you would hope so, that's what the process is for - but it was still just a little bit exciting to receive the text messages and facebook messages from people who were there with congratulations. i couldn't be at the meeting because i am struggling with a pooky virus, so i wasn't there to witness the moment. mind you you don't really witness the moment anyway because those whose names are being put forward for ordination have to leave the room while the recommendations are put to the meeting. anyway. we are one step closer to ordination, and it remains now only to firm up my placement details for next year so that i can be ordained on 5 december with four colleagues with whom i have shared the journey / experience of candidating / being formed for ordination. watch this space ...

of human chess pieces

I have a friend who works at Tabor Adelaide, whose department of humanities is holding an open day in November that features a human chess game. Sounds interesting!

HUMANities CHESS GAME at Tabor Adelaide Open day

The School of Humanities are hosting exhibition games of Human Chess at the Tabor Adelaide Open Day on the 13^th of November.  The Open Day is an opportunity for the public to find out more about Tabor Adelaide enjoy the atmosphere, historic grounds and Human Chess is a great way to add fun and adventure to the day.

Human Chess is a tradition dating back to Medieval times that involves people dressing up as specific pieces on the chess board and a game of chess is being played with living, breathing knights, queens and pawns. 

Exhibition games will be held at 10.45, 12.00 and 1pm.   The games will be played on the main courtyard with the rival opponents calling out their moves from opposing balconies.  Expect to witness some truly over-dramatic death scenes, and applaud the efforts of the stretcher bearers as they carry away the fallen.  This will be chess as you have never before imagined it.  If you love chess or just want to have some fun, come along,  cheer or jeer and applaud the valiant efforts of attacked pawns and knights as they withstand the enemy advance. 

Students from the B.A. Grad. Dip. and Masters of Arts programes in Philosophy, English, History and Creative writing, in the School of Humanities;  along with friends, family and associates will perform as chess pieces and players.  However there are some  squares still available!  If you would like to be involved as a chess piece, call James on 8373 8740!

Tabor Adelaide is located at 181 Goodwood Road. Millswood.  Entry and parking is via the beautiful parklands off Mitchell Street.

of energy found in the sacred spaces

i cannot get over how energising it is to curate a sacred space for / with others, to open the sacred stories of our tradition and invite a community to enter them and discover meaning, life in all its raw pain and beauty, to encounter the Sacred.

perhaps one might reasonably expect me to be used to this by now - it happens at almost every Esther Project  gathering, which is where i have been this evening. but it's still just as surprising and delightful as ever! 

i've had an emotionally draining week leading up to and including an important conversation yesterday, not to mention the horrendous headache that came on last night because of this essay that is due tomorrow and just won't be written. so in the car on the way to the gathering, i was tired and grumpy. almost as soon as i got into the story space (aka The White Room at the Effective Living Centre / Christ Church Uniting), my mood began to lift, and the energy came flowing back. it's remarkable. 

and it's not as if the space we were entering was going to be that of a particularly happy story - we were hearing and responding to the story of lament in exile. Lamentations chapter 1. Psalm 137. refugees. first australians. our own times of exile and lament. 

but still, i felt lighter, happier, the thrill of anticipation, the joy of sharing the story and the experience with this community. the people themselves. all this held delight for me - not the heavy weight of one more task to cross off the list or one more demand being made on my time. this community, these spaces, are a source of joy. 

and this, for me, is God. 

this is the creative lift-giving Spirit that flows and into whom i lean, i dive, i rest, i frolic.
and for these moments i get to experience life in all its fulness.
i get to witness people engaging with ancient stories and current stories, and being moved, inspired, nurtured through the experience and the story.

i really do have the best job in the world!

of lament in exile

I am reposting this sermon from a couple of years ago, because lament, and in particular, psalm 137 is on the lectionary again this month, and is the focus of the contemplative gathering for the Esther Project this coming Monday. So my previous reflections on the psalm and the topic are floating around my mind again. 

Reflecting on Psalm 137

This is a sermon that includes prayers for the people. The song is one from a record my parents had when i was a kid - by Boney M. 

That’s some anger.

This psalm is one of the lament psalms. These psalms speak of sorrow, anger, loss – the ugly side of our human experience.

They are an important part of the worshipping life of the people of God who were Israel. Too often we leave lament out of our worshipping life today. It is ugly. It is frightening. It is challenging.

In psalms of lament people blame God for their suffering. They don’t just ask God, where are you?, they admonish God for being absent.

We have a covenant with you. We’ve been doing the things we promised – worshipping, praising you, faithfully as your people. But you haven’t held your promises. The land you brought us into has been taken away – why haven’t you protected it? why didn’t you protect us? What are we supposed to do now? ANSWER US! Get down here and DO SOMETHING.

Are we allowed to tell God what to do? Aren’t we supposed to apologise for the wrong we have done and ask forgiveness? Even if we can’t think what we have done to deserve this present suffering? We can’t get angry with God – God didn’t do it.

Why, then, are there psalms in the scriptures, the record of the relationship of God and God’s people, that contain anger, pain, cries for revenge?

Had they lost faith in God?

Well, if they were throwing insults at god, they were talking to God, and that would indicate that they thought God was still close enough to hear. Still listening.

It kept the lines of communication open – so very important in any relationship. And it says something else about the relationship of God’s people with their God. They knew their God was interested in their experience of life – their whole experience of life. the hard bits, the anger and hurt and vengefulness were not hidden from God, they were not kept out of the prayer and worshipping life of the community. Oh, no. The presence of lament psalms demonstrates and open and honest relationship between Israel and God, and between the members of the community. All of life is present and acknowledged, in the most important activity for a people of God – their gathered worship. There is a trust, a deep trust that God would listen and not reject them because of their anger. It demonstrates faith.

It reminds me of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, in which he is asking the church to be a body that weeps together when one member weeps, and rejoices together when one member is happy. This is what it means to be the body of Christ. Our whole human experience is part of the gathered time of worship. Every response to life comes to the community, to God.

To leave out the ugly bits is to be dishonest about the human experience. It is to be dishonest in our relationships with each other and in our relationships as members and as the body with our God. And though I may not feel like weeping today, as a member of the body of Christ, I take this moment to stand alongside those who do weep. We take this opportunity to remember, before and with God and each other, those in our community who, like the Israelites in Psalm 137, are exiled, longing for their homeland, and yearning for a way to sing their song in a strange land.

We’re going to hear three stories of lament now. After each story, we will reflect in silence and honour the sorrow and the anger. We will offer the sorrow and the anger we feel in solidarity with our neighbours to God. These will be our prayers for others today.

Warradale only – I spoke of drought last time I was with you, and that’s where we’re going to begin today.  

[Sing]

By the rivers of Babylon

Where we sat down

Yeah we wept

When we remembered Zion

By the rivers of Adelaide, where we sit down

Yeah, we weep. When we remember the ‘lucky country’

Now, it’s the dry country. The very dry country. so dry you feel thirsty looking at the earth. So dry you want to cry so that your tears can water it. But even those rivers don’t run deep enough.

I’m a farmer in the Murray Valley. Well, I farm fruit. And I sit by the river sometimes and – yep, I’ll cop to this – I weep. Where’d the ‘lucky country’ go? What did we do to it? Was it really just a dream?

[pause]

What have we done?

I remember great years, bumper years. ‘specially as a kid – all I wanted to do was take over the property from dad. Some great years. Boy was it good to work God’s earth in those times.

I never intended to send my kids away to the city for boarding school. But it would have been nice to have made the decision for ourselves – rather than having no option ‘cause the money’s just not there.

The kids will have to get jobs in town if they can, help us out. It’s not the way I’d like it to be. They seem to like the idea of being able to do something to help out, but I wish I could let them concentrate on their education properly. I won’t be encouraging them to take on this business unless they’ve got to university and learnt some new water management techniques. That’s the only way forward.

It’s the only way to get back to the familiar territory.

Oh, God, I know we got this land by dodgy methods, and in the end it’s all yours –

I try to remember the ideal, the promises, the garden. It’s hard to remember sometimes, hard to keeping singing in this strange, dried up land. But there has to be hope, or we wouldn’t even try – doesn’t there?

It makes me so mad, all this suffering. There are farmers much worse off then us. Although, we might have to take some of that charity soon. Not sure whose going to cope with that one better – me or my wife …

The authorities, the governments, they’ve known for years, they’ve known we were heading for this. Driest state. Driest continent.

Why bother with the titles if you’re not going to make any effort to manage what water we have got? Why?

Boy, I’d like to sit them down, all the people who could have acted and didn’t, and I’d, I’d, I’d throttle them – God, you know I would. Make ‘em last a week – 24 hours even – without water. See how it feels.

My trees, God, my trees are dying and I can do nothing but watch it happen. I can hear them groaning with the weight of it all, and no water to replenish them.

God – let me at ‘em. I’ll speed up the decision making process, you’ll see. They’ll be gasping. Gasping.

Remember, Lord, remember how they have hurt this land of yours, how they have left us with nothing. No alternatives, not a clue, they’ve let this happen, God. Don’t you forget what they’ve done!
We pause to remember those who are so deeply affected by this drought, by our mismanagement of water, by the loss of their lives on the land.

Silence

God, we lament the loss of water in our rivers. We join our cries of sorrow and anger with the many whose living comes from the land.

We trust each other and we trust you with these emotions, and in faith we pray, in love we weep, in hope we keep on singing.

[Sing]

By the rivers of Babylon – Where we sat down

Yeah we wept – When we remembered Zion

By the rivers of Adelaide, where we sit down

Yeah, we weep. When we remember Africa

I long for Africa. Not the Africa you see in the news – the Africa of my dreams, of my ancestors. I do not recognise what it has become.

All my daughters know of our homeland is the camp. I love my children very much, but it is hard not to remember why they came to be born. Hard not to see them as a product of the brutality of our lives then. They do not understand. They both have different fathers. They have no father. Uncles and cousins they have, but we see them very little. I do not trust men easily any more.

I weep for what we have lost.

I weep for my father and my mother, killed so long ago.

I weep for my sister who lives with us. She dreams the same dreams I dream. The same nightmares, too. I could not protect her from that.

I weep for my brothers who were stolen in the night. Always in the night these things happen. I do not know what has happened to them.

How do we keep singing, people ask me?

We sang in the camps, even when soldiers taunted us, ridiculed our language, tried to beat it out of us.

But we had to sing. To lose the song was to lose the soul. I knew women who could or would not sing. They had empty eyes. They had lost hope.

But we sang, my sister, our friends, and me. we sang as we put up our tents. We sang as we waited in line for our rations. We sang as we walked to the well and carried water all the way back – it shortened the journey, lightened the load. It reminded us of peace and of home.

Sometimes it was sad to remember, but we would not let them take our memories from us. They were not going to kill our souls.

Yes, we sang out of defiance. Sometimes, the songs expressed the anger we dared not show any other way. What did they know? Ridiculing our language, taking no trouble to learn it, they would not know how we cursed them in our singing.

Rage still burns in me, sitting here by the rivers of Adelaide. When I remember, I scream. I scream silently and I scream loudly. I scream most often in my nightmares. But I also scream in the kitchen, throwing things, breaking things, shaking the anger out of my body. It frightens the children. It frightens me.

Oh, my children. They do not understand how I hate myself for wishing they had not been born. I hope they do not know what I see when I look at them. I have lost the chance to love my children as a mother naturally loves her children. I hate the soldiers most for that. For what they have stolen from my children by giving them life.

What would I do to them if I had the chance? I would like to slit their throats. I would have, too, on my way out that last stinking day, but it would have taken the last of their mother from my children. God, I know you are listening – curse those deadly men.

We pause to remember these women in our midst, whose memories tell horror stories to bring tears to our eyes. We remember them in their exile – in camps still in Africa or in their Australian refuge.

Silence

God, we lament the losses of home suffered by so many African women and men. We join our cries of sorrow and anger with the many now in exile.

We trust each other and we trust you with these emotions, and in faith we pray, in love we weep, in hope we keep on singing.

[Sing]

By the rivers of Babylon – Where we sat down

Yeah we wept – When we remembered Zion

By the rivers of Adelaide, where we sit down

Yeah, we weep. When we remember Burma

Myanmah the junta call it. Had to give it a new  name as well as everything else. Well, good. What they have done to this country would defile the name of Burma. So take it away. Do not violate it with your filthy mouths. How can they do these things to their own people?

Not that we are entirely their people. We were an independent state before they flattened our villages, forced our leaders into exile and displaced thousands in our own country.

I have been moved from three villages. All in what they call the ‘cease-fire’ zone. Ironic. They may not fire their guns, but they manage to use just as much force without them.

Never settled, we can find no paid work. If we do, they pull us from our jobs to build roads or clear fields the army confiscates to build castor oil plants for oil they will not share. We are made to tend the plants for no pay, no share, no gain. And the working conditions themselves are so dreadful. Someone tried to escape last week. They hunted him down, brought him back badly beaten, forced him to continue working when he could hardly stand, and fined the whole village 100 times a daily wage, which most of us cannot even earn.

I am thankful I have not married, and have no children.

Daughters are sold to Thai men as slaves. The money covers the fines for a while, and the daughters are never seen again. The wailing echoes between your ears long after the trucks have taken them away.

Sons join the drug trade. Good money, I guess. Well, any money would be better than what most jobs pay. There’s little risk of getting caught – the soldiers don’t care. Actually drugs seem to be leverage, in one way or another, to get want they want, with minimal fuss.

It all makes me so angry. It’s like being tied up, you can’t move, can’t escape. We are all imploding with rage.

We heard of the monks in the city walking with the people on their way to work, who can no longer afford gas for their cars or tickets for the bus. A sea of red, they said. They should have let them walk with the people. But of course they saw it as disrespect, as a political act, a threat.

So they used violence as usual.

What has to happen to a person’s soul for them to beat a monk? The monks are peace personified. It is so symbolic, this violence against monks. They are killing peace. They are, have been for so long, killing this country.

Take their children, sell them to the Thai slave trade. Make them build a road with bear hands made for playing music not laying stones. Stones. You know what I was doing with the stones in my head each time I threw them down? It makes me shudder to think of what I wanted to do to another human being. Even God would rage against this regime. Buddah, too. It is hard to sing the song in this strange, strange land.

We pause to remember the monks who march for peace in Burma, the thousands of displaced people and the thousands more in exile. We remember a country being torn apart by a violent regime.

Silence

God, we lament the loss home suffered by so many Burmese people. We join our cries of sorrow and anger with the displaced, the exiled, and the monks who march for peace.

We trust each other and we trust you with these emotions, and in faith we pray, in love we weep, in hope we keep on singing.

How do we feel?

Hearing these stories of lament, what are the emotions stirring inside you? Hearing of

the fruit farmer, held hostage by drought

the African woman, abused, her only refuge to be found in exile

the Burmese villager, an exile in his own country

if you feel you can, name your emotions out loud and let us share them together

And so we pray – God, we bring these emotions to you – name again,

And in faith   we pray

Out of love    we weep

With hope   we sing.

Amen

powderfinger - the reason for the holiday

the reason we were in Canberra at all these past few days, my two friends and i, was to attend the powderfinger concert. this is their farewell tour, and we missed out on tickets in Adelaide so went to see them in Canberra with Danii.

just how good this music event was is this - i woke up feeling unwell yesterday morning, had been feeling queezy all day, was still feeling ill up to the moment powderfinger began to play. from that moment until we began to walk back to the car, i was lost in the music, carried away to another place beyond myself yet deep within myself.
this is the magic and the mystery of art. it is healing. even if only for those two hours (because as i write this 12 hours later i'm still dizzy and queezy). art reaches the depth of us and nurtures our entire being.

i was in awe of the poetry, the musicality, and the way they held more than 10,000 people in the palm of their hands for the entire 2 hour set. if there really is magic, it is music and its magicians are musicians. the crowd clapped when the band wanted them to clap, cheered in delighted appreciation for the solos and the tricks, moved as one like a snake in response to the charmer's music.

the crowd gave an enormous roar each time the band came back on stage for an encore.

my ticket to this event was a gift. what a profound gift it was. thank you my dear, dear friends.

a feast for the eyes

yesterday was a feast for the eyes, beginning with the gorgeous views from Black Mountain in Canberra. it might be far from the coast; it might be disconnected from the cultural capitals of the country; but this is undeniably a beautiful part of the world in which to place a capital city.

from the mountain we went to the national portrait gallery. here's a way to tell the story of a nation - in art, in portraits. it's laid out chronologically, so you move first through the portraits of convicts, settlers and governors alongside portraits of first australians - this is so( gently telling the story with integrity and respect for the different experiences of European settlement. actually the whole gallery is well balanced - women and men, first and second australians, different media, realist and interpretive, from many different areas of the history of australia.
then other galleries tell of early shapers of our identity, pioneers in business and the arts, the world wars and their aftermaths, sporting heroes and musicians, journalists and politicians ...

these things struck me:
the portrait of Deborah Mailman. it is simply stunning.
the video portrait of Cate Blanchett. captivating and innovative.
the portraits of Angry Anderson and Glenn McGrath, for the technique employed by the artist.
stories of women artists, innovators, leaders. some i'd heard, some i hadn't. i want to learn more. (two names i wrote down were Mary Gilmore and Andree Johnston Bell, also noted Catherine Helen Spence's story, she's an Adelaidian).
but the one that got me hardest and deepest was of a musician. a jazz musician. a clarinet player. the portrait of Don Burrows is alive with movement and music, depicts the energy the musician puts into his art, draws you into its joy and life. it was painted in 1998 by Barry Walsh. i was disappointed this one was not available on a postcard in the shop. it will live on in my heart and my memory regardless.

entering stories of war and peace

where did i get up to? i left of the story of my canberra holiday at the wig and pen. mmm, beer.
before that, however, we had been to the Australian War Memorial.
at first we wandered through on our own, past the walls of names of all who have died in Australian uniform, the pool and everlasting flame, and into the tomb of the unknown soldier. then we joined a tour, with Robert, who was in the navy for 35 years. i appreciated his insights, because he didn't glorify war or cheapen it by apologising for it, rather honestly and with respect for those who serve, told it like it was and is. in the end i felt quite overwhelmed by the whole place, and the stories of death and futility and all the negative elements of war. i have some friends who serve or have served in the defence forces, and my great uncle died in world war two, so remembering them and their stories helps me to maintain a more balanced view of war than i might be otherwise inclined to (e.g. hate it don't see the point, it's the worst side of humanity ... ) But then Robert told us stories from both world wars of the opposing soldiers' lines being so close they could talk to each other, sharing their frustrations and the sense of the futility of battles and wars the reasons for which they'd long since forgotten ...

Mel noticed that through all the exhibitions, I would gravitate towards the art, the interpretations of the war, more than the facts. perhaps this is part of the way i found some distance from the ugliness of it, seeing through the artists' eyes the humanity? or perhaps not, because the artists portray it how it is, brutality, violence, bloodshed and horror.
certainly i found the whole thing a bit overwhelming, and by the end, could only look at the paintings of officers back in the safety of home, or of the women offering healing and comfort ...
i'll have to put up photos later - missing the cord that connects my camera to my computer - so for now, these words will have to suffice. i was struck most i think, and perhaps not surprisingly, by the artistry in the tomb chapel place. can't remember what it's actually called. our guide Robert told us the story of the two artists coming from Italy to work with the tiny glass pieces, who were helped by a team of war widows, taking three years to create the mosaics that cover the wall and ceiling. i love the way that the general pattern gently melts into the backgrounds in a different shade for the four figures - army, navy, airforce and nurse - who are gorgeous works of art. the ceiling's symbolism of spirits and swans, carrying or holding the fallen after death. the stained glass windows, which remind me of windows in the chapel at the daw park repat hospital where i meet with a friend each friday afternoon to work on sermons. and the four strong solid structures that represent the four elements - water, air, fire and earth - but which Robert doesn't like so much. there used to be a statue of an army soldier here (a sailor and a pilot stand outside the chapel), but this was removed to give full attention to the tomb of the unknown soldier, which was installed in the 1990s. and we heard the story of that occasion too.

This war memorial is a reasonably unique place - no other country has the names of all who have died in uniform on plaques in one location; no replicas are on display, everything shown has been used by Australian defence force personnel or comes from sites of conflict; Peter Jackson, of Lord of the Rings fame, has directed one of the four sound and light shows that take visitors right into the stories of battle (he has told the story of world war one fighter pilots, there is also the story of the HMAS Sydney sinking the Endren (i think), three Japanese submarines attempting to infiltrate Sydney Harbour in world war two, and the story of G for George - a world war two plane that had an unparalleled record of success and safety).
i wasn't sure i wanted to stay for those, to be taken into the story of battle experiences, it's so uncomfortable to be confronted by the reality of war.
but perhaps this is exactly why we need places such as the war memorial, that tell uncomfortable stories, but also stories of hope and endurance and the incredible spirit that emerges in humans placed in dangerous situations. we need to hear the stories of war so that we remember the horror, and the good, of which humans are capable. we need to hear the stories of war to remember how our actions and our decisions have consequences (and this is why Burley Griffin wanted the war memorial in direct line of sight from parliament house, to remind the country's leaders what they were doing). we need to hear stories of war, so that we can continue to strive for peace.

wig and pen

on a previous visit to canberra, mel discovered a pub called the wig and pen , and since our arrival in canberra this time has been dying to take us there. yesterday afternoon she did.
they brew their own boutique beers, and the pub itself has a great feel to it, for the shakespeare fan, reminiscent of pubs of the bard's era.
my first was a belgian blonde - a belgian wheat beer with orange, corriander, spicy tones.
second was the wig and pen pale ale with hops from the US, Australia and New Zealand and a toffee maltiness to the taste. yum. i had tasted this and compared with the rumpole's pale ale, which intrigued me with the tasting note suggesting hints of passionfruit. didn't grab me though.
third was a something or other gold - a pilsner for which by this time i'd lost interest or ability in taking down the tasting notes ... sorry.
other beers we drank included an irish red that was quite heavy, a bulldog that was sweet but not overpoweringly so, an indian pale ale that was fruity and a kemberry something that was quite light.
it would partly for the chance of such a pub downstairs or on the corner that i would consider living in an inner city apartment. it's small, cosy, has top quality beer, hospitality from staff who enjoy working in such an environment (again with the happy staff in the boutique with the specialist product) ... loved it.
with three days and three boutique experiences - chocolate, tea and now beer - we wondered whether there is a fourth for today ...

visiting julia

the lodge - pm's residence - was open today to the public. i'm not sure what i was expecting, exactly, but what we found surprised us in the way it is unassuming, unimposing, and therefore quite australian. there is much history presented through the arts that are on display in the house - though we only walked through a few rooms at ground level - the pieces that struck me most were a mirror made from queensland wood by a queensland (i think) artist, with carved australian flowers that said 'australia' to me, and the sydney nolan painting of ned kelly. the grounds were smaller than i thought they'd be, and we noted that the trees have been planted in just the right place to block out the view to parliament house, which also surprised us a little, but does actually help to create the feel of the lodge as a retreat as much as it is a comfortable and welcoming house to which to invite the prime minister home and her guests to visit. we weren't sure how much time the prime minister would get to relax and enjoy the grounds, but it occurs to me that whether intended that way or not, the lodge manages to offer a conveniently close home for the pm as well as a quiet and relatively peaceful retreat.

of tea and chocolate and the enjoyment of life

it occurred to me today, having been at Koko Black yesterday and Adore Tea today, just how important it is for employees to have a positive working environment. of course i don't actually know what management is like at either establishment, but each is a boutique (chocolate or tea respectively) hospitality venue, offering high quality products and serving customers who are excited about the chocolate / tea, know good quality and appreciate the good things about life.
the staff at each place appeared to me to be happy to be there, genuinely interested in providing a positive eating / drinking experience, and knowledgeable if not passionate about the chocolate / tea. which combined well with the level of expectation and anticipation of the customers, not to mention the actual good quality products, to create a really enjoyable experience for all.
beneath all that there may be something quite profound, but all i really wanted to do was acknowledge what i noticed.

for interest, i shared a belgian tasting plate with Danii, and had a blood orange iced chocolate yesterday - which was divine, the mousse and iced chocolate my favourites; and scones and iced teas today (one passionfruit one mango iced tea), the tea refreshing and lovely the scones a nice light afternoon snack. recommend anyone go to both if you're in Canberra.

home made pizzas and a mixed bag of dvds

last night was a night in with home made pizzas and dvds.
the pizzas were great - opportunity to be creative together and to enjoy good food. and beer. of course.
from paris with love was a pretty violent movie, whose plot gathered momentum and intrigue after a slow start. love the way john travolta looked so incredibly different with the shaved head and goatee. his performance was characteristically and eminently watchable.
i hope they serve beer in hell didn't last ten minutes. dreadful.
the australian film i love you too was the pick of the night - great story which could have been told in a less comedic way but would have, i think, been less accessible to an audience who might identify with the main character. the way it was told was itself typical of the laid back australian character we've become well known for, and the characters were gorgeous. jim's journey of self-discovery, alice's struggle with hope yet to be fulfilled, blake's bravado, charlie's generosity and creativity. in an era of films more explicitly telling stories of the different shapes love takes - love actually et al. - this does it australian style, understated, with humour, of mates and the women they love (and even the tension surrounding the place of homosexual relationships in our communities). well worth watching.

of politics, history and chocolate

my two best friends and i are having an extended girls' weekend well hosted by a younger sister of one of us.
we've had dinner and brunch at nearby Tilly's, which is a gorgeous restaurant with such a great feel. it's painted, walls and ceiling, a burgundy type red, but it's not dark because the large windows and mirrors seem to open the space up. the food is fabulous quality too, and if i lived in this part of canberra, i'd eat here often too. we didn't hear any, but it seems as though there is live music at Tilly's often, too.
we wondered at brekky this morning about the nature of Canberra as a created capital city - a friend of mine from New Zealand commented on this about Australia the other day at lunch. our wondering took us to whether the separation of the political capital from the cultural capital/s might have an influence on how the country is governed. and we wondered about the way that Canberra is not well linked through transport to other cities in Australia. for instance, it would seem to be reasonably logical to establish a rail, better a high speed rail, link between Canberra and Sydney at the very least. and how difficult is it for overseas visitors to access the embassies when they are located in this isolated capital city?
interestingly, we followed this conversation with a drive through some of the consulate areas, seeing the different foreign embassies, noting which are well secured with high fences (USA), and which are more open (Greece), and that some seem to have a disproportionate chunk of land for the embassy in comparison to the size of their country (Belgium).
we passed the lodge and waved a greeting to Julia.
and we wandered around the current and old parliament houses marvelling some of australia's history - the apology to first australians, the hawke era of politics and the cramped quarters in which the prime minister and the government operated, the first australians' tent city embassy on the lawns of the old parliament house and brief insights into some of this country's leaders through the past hundred years or so.

and we topped off the day with chocolate at Koko Black, which is like a little glimpse of heaven ...

Juliet

Well, what a day I have had today.
I discovered a book called Juliet, by Anne Fortier, in a bookshop earlier this week, bought it and began reading it that very night. It is a story woven around history and the legend of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.
I read most of the book today, thoroughly immersed in the worlds of the 14th and 21st centuries. I sometimes have a tendency to read books I am enjoying very quickly, skimming over the detail of the prose in order to find out as soon as possible what happens next in the plot. With this one, though, I did manage to slow down enough to savour the words, and to delight in the crafting of the story. It's a big book, and I was afraid that it might end up begin too long, that I would get lost in the details. But Fortier seems to me to have crafted this story into just the right length, with the very clever and timely weaving of the stories of two centuries, and actually three distinct time periods, with now, twenty years ago and 1340 ff. I liked the way the stories were juxtaposed, it felt like the pauses in each were well placed, and where the author left one story, the movement back into the other flowed seamlessly. mmm.
And the twists - I couldn't work out until the moment the author wanted you to, who was trustworthy and who was deceitful. nicely done!
As I took a moment to pause and prepare dinner, in that space I began to realise the danger the characters were in ... the book is narrated for the present story in first person, and Juliet doesn't seem to realise just how dangerous things are getting for her at first, and so caught up in the story was I that I didn't either. I appreciated that the author successfully drew me in, helped me to identify with the character. Or perhaps I was predisposed to identify with Juliet, being young, single, and a bit of a Shakespeare fan ...

I want to turn around and read it again at once - and maybe I will. But this wasn't the only book that jumped off the shelves of that bookshop this week ...