You say you want...

Sore throat. Oops. That would be my horribly enthusiastic students turning up this week dripping with colds but determined not to miss their music lesson. I must give bonus points for enthusiasm but must gong every single parent for not realising that their darlings are contagious and that I earn my living by being well and able to sing for 5 hours a day.

In other news my brother has (so far) cast off certain manacles that masqueraded as freedom. Although I am pleased, I will wait to see if this little bid for freedom lasts out the week. You wanna kitchi-kitchi ya-ya, Mocha-choca latta...ahhh, the lures of fiscal 'security'. Rich slave or poor free man? Ideaology says one thing, but reality and habit quite another I'm afraid.

I struggle to feel for someone who has dug their own plush-lined ditch. A big part of me has a serious case of the 'told ya so's'...another big part of me is hurting for him. Not that he really deserves my sympathy. This is the man that will help everyone but me. This is the man who asks his family to believe in him but will not believe in us (except when the chips are down, and that's reasonably often). I'm trying not to be cold-hearted here but injustice weghs heavy on my reasoning.

This is the man who can wax lyrical about my talents and abilities but will still always give the job to someone else...anyone else. If I am used at all it is as an administrator (see shit-kicker). I would love this little 'penchant' of his to be real, but I doubt his will-power in the face of easy $$.

He actually said "Now I have this huge grand-piano...what am I going to do with it?"

PLEASE LISTEN TO YOURSELF.

I hope I am wrong. I hope my brother is not a whore. I hope he actually does have the strength to pull away. I miss him.

Washing Up and Ornithology

My kitchen is soooooo clean. This should shock you considerably. My kitchen generally ambles between shabby and shocking. I love cooking but have, until now despised washing up (except occasionally in winter when there seems so nother way to warm up my hands).

Mr has been quite tricksy. On the way back from buying veges last weekend, Mr pulled off the highway at the weird 'Pot Place' in W'Worth Falls; the one you always drive past and wonder 'Who actually goes to a pot-shop?'. Us, it seems.

I trotted along asking questions that were not answered and insiting that we didn't need a pot. I have pots. I have nothing to put in the pots,-why don't we go across the road to the Nursery?

20 minutes later I was the proud owner of a blue ceramic bird-feeder and a marble bird-bath.

We hung the feeder on the pear tree and poured in native bird seed. I waited anxiously all afternoon. A couple of cockatoos and an indian miner. I could have wept.

Then, the next day my bare and wintry pear tree was suddenly a riot of colour and birdy-arguments! I took my tea and sat on the bench beneath for an hour with a huge grin on my face:-)

I had king parrots, rosellas, rainbow lorikeets, satin bower birds and more cockies. I would have taken a photo but A certain Mr has worn out the batteries in my camera playing Lydgate's X-Box.

Now, I can wash up whilst watching my pretty feathered friends squabbling over sunflower seeds.

Just this morning an amusing scene at pear-tree theatre. 2 rainbow lorikeets screaming at a cockatoo while two rosellas pulled at their tail feathers trying to get to the feeder. Mr Cockatoo got quite stroppy, but the colourful little bullies weren't backing down. Meanwhile 2 king parrots sit in the box tree above patiently waiting for everyone else to move along.

It just occurred to me that this post will bore everyone except me...Well, me and Bill Oddie.

ouch

I dug out tonnnes of yarrow, dismantled a lavender bush and some other herbaceous monster, pruned back all the sage, cut back the ginger liles, thrived the veges, planted spinach and attacked the passionfruit vine. I am zonked.
Tomorrow I have to clean up the mess I made today (another 4 hours work). I made a lovely McDougall meal for dinner and then wrecked it by eating two handfuls of salted peanuts. Salt is so very very good.
Tomorrow we'll have good-girl burritos (made without an inch of fat). Mr will accidentally eat raw veges and I will be smug.
I haved chucked ACNT in favour of Charles Sturt University and am anxiously awaiting my acceptance (or not) letter. Another 2 years, but with the glorious HECS in place, I can actually afford to study.
Oh, and I suck at poker,-truly.

Because it's sunday

A day that begins with 'chicken-noodle soup is sure to be a good one. I slurped in soup and the Herald and giggled lustily at Micallef's comments on manhood. I raked the front yard, side yard and front strip because it occurred to me my my noisy late-night crunching might annoy the neighbour. I made a large batch of chilli-rice which I will have for breakfast every freaking day and not be bored. I hopped in the car with Mr and went to see Indiana Jones. Awesomely average film but something about that John Williams theme always makes me grin and clap my hands in front of me like a 5-year old. I am the kind of person that would go to see 'Indiana Jones and the difficult laundromat'.
I planted Jerusalem artichokes by the dozen under the back porch. According to gardening lore, this means I will have hundreds of the things by next autumn. 's OK, I like prolific things in my garden. Apparently if you microwave them before you roast them the inulin breaks down and you don't fart as much. I will try this. I will also have celery-seed tea with my roasted Jerusalem artichokes just in case,-maybe throw in a few fennel seeds for good measure.
I wrote an article for the Vegan Voice and submitted it on a whim. In it I was lyrical about rainbow chard and reduced carbon footprints. Heady stuff.
I am trying not to be angry at my brother, and it is working intermittently. He is a very charming bastard. I could have done the gig standing on my head,-no, in my sleep,-no dead, but No. It is an unforgiveable sin to hire ones family members for anything. People will know. Not only that, but legend has it that immediately contracts are signed you will automatically lose all of your own talents, grow three horns and purple nose hair and develop a penchant for wearing uncured animal skins. This is only the beginning of the horror that awaits when you hire a family member for a professional engagement.
Of course, it is probable that I just don't understand and that the professional music industry is a mystical place that only the chosen can negotiate. It is also probable that I'm just over-reacting like a typical female. Three words; Shoe, Foot, Other...?

Lord, has it been that long?....

In response to many enquiries; No, I am not dead nor in significant physical or mental distress. No-one in my family has dropped off the perch; I am not in mourning; I am not particularly pissed off at anyone; I have not been offered the Artistic Directorship of the Actor's Centre in New York and I have been keeping myself occupied....without a computer for THREE WEEKS!!.

I have been neatly filling in time with books, friends and (gasp) longhand notes on various matters. Totally odd, I assure you. I felt 16 again. I started using the telephone regularly. I actually pulled out reference books that had been usurped by google for many years. I had to just deal with not being able to look up everything (including train timetables and growing habits of Jerusalem Artichokes). I was quite pleased at finding a 1800 number for Cityrail and called Chalkgirl for the chokes info.

More importantly, I realised how long a day can be without innane games and odd Fspazbook applications.

Having said that, I am heartily glad to be back in cyberworld and have been making something of a glutton of myself this evening as a result. Like all diets (enforced or not), net-deprivation is followed by a frantic gulping of information and search engines. Unlike diets, it shouldn't make me fat...I think....Poor Lydgate left about an hour ago and I muttered something distracted,-eyes glued to the screen. I didn't even get up for a cuddle and that's reasonably odd.

Important events since the compulsory 'blackout' have been Mr's 31st birthday party at the Green Gourmet, Newtown followed by drinks at the den of the Cybervixen on Denison

Gorgeous evening, gorgeous food, gorgeous people and gorgeous newtown humming and buzzing it's 'Welcome back!' in my countrified ears. We arrived home at about 4am, so the next day was written off as befits such things.

More recently, we met up with Cyberfox's mum at Glenbrook to do a couple of play-readings (possibly one of the absolute BEST ways to spend an evening). French champagne, log fire, very unfairly wonderful and talented people all around and the chance to relive one of my earliest parts. 'Time to Remember' won 2nd prize in the Sydney theatre Critics Young Playwright's awards some years back and I had the honour of premiering the role of 'smith'. Mr played opposite me with suitable panache. We also read the Morrigan's 'Mrs Bond and her Ducks-a fertility play' -v.v.clever and v.v.funny,-keep an eye out for it in local theatres soon.

Guitars were sourced and comforting renditions of 'St.James Infirmary' and 'Bitch in a Manger' were performed with tipsy aplomb. Aaaaah. Good times.

Note to all: Computers do not want a drink. No matter how fine the chardonnay they do not appreciate it being tipped all over them...not at all. Annoyingly, I wasn't drunk at the time,-just excited about a scrabble in a game I had been losing....

Artfest

Wow. Mr and I decided to go and support my little brother who had been awarded the honour of opening the Winmalee Autumn Artfest. Partly because he is my brother and one does this kind of thing, and partly because I too attended the dreaded WHS. We pay $15 and stroll about. In the manner of small towns we know at least 50% of the people there. We are served cask wine in plastic glasses, approximately 1/3 full. Fabulous. We enthuse to people about the wedding (again) and stroll about looking at landscapes, still-life, craft stalls and miscellaneous. Little brother sings with the WHS choir to back him up. It is nice apart from his bizarre bullfrog impersonation between verse 2 and the mighty finale. I have a moment of weirdness when he's referred to as 'Mr Lockley'...that's my dad.
My mother sings the soprano descant loudly from the middle of the hall. I disppear behind an arras and try to look unrelated.
We listen to the local Real Estate honcho describe a woman's work as 'The sensual mysticism of vegetables', Mr nearly wets himself.
Mr and I run off to find the sensually mystical vegetables. They aren't particularly, although you have to admire a woman who looks at Bok Choy and wishes to spend hours turning this into a creative statement about..erm...something.
We run into my old art teacher (now v.important person in DET Arts programming) who greets Mr as 'the Drama-teacher extraordinaire'. She has his full portfolio on her desk apparently. Mr glows alot and is v.v.nice.
The local publican tries to book my brother for a pub gig. Brother mentions that Olivia Newton John told him that he should do local pub gigs recently. I make jokes about being an alcoholic.
What is amazing is that no one remembers that I am a performer too. No One. Nothing like your local community to make you feel imvisible.

The beholder

My eyes worked well this week. I have seen a great number of things that have affected me. I could often be accused of walking through the world seeing nothing. This is especially ture when in busy environs. I usually ignore the seething mass of humanity and retreat to familiar ports nestled on safe neural ocean currents.

Observed;

A man kisses a woman roughly before she jumps on a bus. She pushes hastily until she is at the rear window. They watch each other with small smiles until the bus is out of sight.

A small child convinces both mother and father to swing on the monkey-bars in a park full of people. The whole park smiles readily.

A girl in pain reaches deep inside to find a voice she thought she has lost. She sings through and with the ache and finds sounds of deepest mahogany.

He comes in to kiss her forehead lightly every morning. She has only just realised, as he is careful to be silent.

A cat attempts to figure out why humans play pianos and sets her little paws to keys, bottom to stool watching carefully and imitating.

A magpie stands over the body of a fallen mate and makes a sound both terrible and beautiful.

Weary adults become children splashing down a riverbed and walking gleefully through mud in the autumn sun.

An elderly gentleman complete with straw boater and vest imparts gentle wisdom to a rough young woman who has not uttered a sentence without swearing. They laugh like old companions.

A woman finds an old love letter and is surprised by misty eyes as she sips her tea and time folds in on itself.

A spotty teenaged boy folds his umbrella in the rain and allows himself to be rained upon. He squints upward with a little smile.

An aging teacher arrives home and thinking himself unobserved talks to his cat about school matters.

This week the seething masses have been interesting.