I once saw a doco on tv in which Grandmaster Flash said
"A dawg that chases it's tail is a very busy dawg."
I can not for the life of me remember anything else about that doco, but really - with a gem like that does it matter?
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Meeting Mary
Riley and I had some house chores to do today, and when we got to the Vet's place to pick up his special food he decided to wait in the car for this stop. I'm glad he did, because when I walked in after a moment I realised that I had inadvertently arrived at a very difficult time for the older couple in the waiting room.
I went to the display of leashes and tried to be invisible while the man took care of a very hefty bill. The woman on the bench was also trying to be invisible, but after a few seconds she started shaking, and I realised that she was sobbing, and trying not to make any noise. Her face was utterly collapsed in grief, and her hands, her arms, her back were all shuddering. I couldn't stand by and see that pain and do nothing. I could feel my own chest, my own guts cramping in empathy. I had a moment of hesitation about what would be polite, but this was beyond the realms of polite, I could not pretend that this was not happening. So I just sat next to her and put my hand on her back with my nearest arm, and let myself feel with her.
This could have been me last month if things had gone differently with Riley. She could barely breathe. Her husband was handed a dense, heavy black plastic bag, and he could barely see, although he was trying to hold himself together, he couldn't talk. It was the vet who called the woman, "Come on Mary, time to go." and she could not leave that bench. She was trapped in the moment of realisation that nothing they had done this morning could save their beloved, and she would be going home to a funeral, not to a recuperation. I sat with her through that horrible, horrible moment, and I wept too. I wept for her pain, and for their grief and for the loss of that precious life, and for the weary voice of the vet and for the gratitude I have that Riley is still alive.
They left in a slow, agonised stumble.
The assistant apologised to me "that you shouldn't have had to see that", but what had I seen? Nothing bad I thought. I had seen love, love caught in grief, but love nonetheless. I took a tissue from the box on the counter and caught the tears. A deep breath helped me to come back to my self, and the reason I was there - for love alive, waiting in the car and in need of biscuits.
"No problem" I replied, "its all part of the job, isn't it?"
"Yes." She said relieved, for the reality of being a vet's assistant is littered with moments like this but people like to think that it is all birthing kittens and the heroic saving of lives. "Sometimes there's just nothing we can do." She said, and it wasn't an excuse, it just was.
Riley was waiting eagerly for me when I returned to the car, and he had been happily oblivious of the black bag carried tenderly past him. I thought of that couple, laying the bag on the back seat of their car, and I hoped that they didn't have far to go before they could be safely off the road.
We backed out of the carpark and re-entered the world, and there they were, still parked on the side, and we caught each other's eyes, Mary and I, and she raised her hand to me, and I to her.
I went to the display of leashes and tried to be invisible while the man took care of a very hefty bill. The woman on the bench was also trying to be invisible, but after a few seconds she started shaking, and I realised that she was sobbing, and trying not to make any noise. Her face was utterly collapsed in grief, and her hands, her arms, her back were all shuddering. I couldn't stand by and see that pain and do nothing. I could feel my own chest, my own guts cramping in empathy. I had a moment of hesitation about what would be polite, but this was beyond the realms of polite, I could not pretend that this was not happening. So I just sat next to her and put my hand on her back with my nearest arm, and let myself feel with her.
This could have been me last month if things had gone differently with Riley. She could barely breathe. Her husband was handed a dense, heavy black plastic bag, and he could barely see, although he was trying to hold himself together, he couldn't talk. It was the vet who called the woman, "Come on Mary, time to go." and she could not leave that bench. She was trapped in the moment of realisation that nothing they had done this morning could save their beloved, and she would be going home to a funeral, not to a recuperation. I sat with her through that horrible, horrible moment, and I wept too. I wept for her pain, and for their grief and for the loss of that precious life, and for the weary voice of the vet and for the gratitude I have that Riley is still alive.
They left in a slow, agonised stumble.
The assistant apologised to me "that you shouldn't have had to see that", but what had I seen? Nothing bad I thought. I had seen love, love caught in grief, but love nonetheless. I took a tissue from the box on the counter and caught the tears. A deep breath helped me to come back to my self, and the reason I was there - for love alive, waiting in the car and in need of biscuits.
"No problem" I replied, "its all part of the job, isn't it?"
"Yes." She said relieved, for the reality of being a vet's assistant is littered with moments like this but people like to think that it is all birthing kittens and the heroic saving of lives. "Sometimes there's just nothing we can do." She said, and it wasn't an excuse, it just was.
Riley was waiting eagerly for me when I returned to the car, and he had been happily oblivious of the black bag carried tenderly past him. I thought of that couple, laying the bag on the back seat of their car, and I hoped that they didn't have far to go before they could be safely off the road.
We backed out of the carpark and re-entered the world, and there they were, still parked on the side, and we caught each other's eyes, Mary and I, and she raised her hand to me, and I to her.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
A Rumi Moment
Oh Rumi. Rumi, Rumi. What are we going to do with you?
Cats are funny (read "you wonder if you'll wake up whole") creatures to live with. Anyone who has lived with a cat will be nodding at that. They twist the truth, they re-write the code, they shed fucking hair everywhere. Seriously. Everywhere. A genetically modified for extra hair -shedding woolly mammoth could not shed as much hair as a domestic cat. Seriously. They've done tests. You want to know why so many shuttle missions failed? Cat hair in the intake valves. Really.
Despite all of this, you worry when the giant trolling food hoover doesn't show up for one of the meals that as the designated human I am obligated to provide. When he missed breakfast as well, I initiated DEFCON3. This is as high as you can go without seeing blood. Actually DEFCON3 really just involved checking under the house again and calling my mother so I had someone to talk aloud to as I reasoned through the last time I saw him and could that large dog roaming the street last night have gotten past the hair defences and 50 million razor sharp claws and actually have possibly hurt my missing puddy wuddykins?
A million million (is that a pentillion? No, it's a billion. What was a pentillion then? A billion billion? Huh. Have to ask the maths ref again.... anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, OK maybe 3) scenarios played through my sluggish and understaffed mind. I made a coffee and sat pondering life's imponderables on the couch (ie no thoughts at all, just waited for the coffee to kick the motor over). Riley watched. I could see he was weighing up the variables and figuring out if he was going to get a walk or not. He decided the odds weren't good and went back to bed, leaving me with a creeping sense of guilt that I had been judged a bad human and Rumi had simply decamped to better feeding and shedding grounds. I wrestled somewhat with my conscience. Tried again to figure out when I'd last seen him. Couldn't. Was it breakfast yesterday? Had he come in at all in the afternoon? What matter did this make? If a cat doesn't want to be found, you won't find it. I let the matter drop. There were things to be getting on with, after all, I was up at the crack of 10am and a day doesn't just get underway by itself.
Laundry is one of those household chores I like in that a machine actually does the hard work once you put the stuff in and press Go. There was enough for a whole load just from all the towels. Made toast, squinted, hung out wet things, stumbled to bathroom to open cupboard for actual clothes for washing and scared myself shitless when I reached in and it was warm. So help me for a split second I thought the Alien mother had laid eggs in there and I was about to have something horrendous force itself down my gullet and gestate in my abdomen until killing me for food. But no, I had woken Rumi. Not quite so different normally from Rumi really.
Which was how I knew things were pretty serious and he had been in that completely dark cupboard for a loooooong time. He stretched, gave a yawn, and strolled off with eyes almost completely devoid of irises. He ignored me. He made no snide comments. He made no showy exit. He walked around the house, he walked outside around the yard and came back, and asked for some breakfast. I felt very contrite, I served the special Chicken/Tuna combo he doesn't get very often. He ate a little to show there were no hard feelings, drank some water and sat on the back step. Not cleaning himself, not anything.
Eerie.
A tumbleweed rolled through the tableau.
Riley, quite pointedly, was no where to be seen.
Rumi came back inside and ate a little more of breakfast. He sat and turned to me.
"Here it comes" I thought "the reaming to end it all."
He looked me in the eye for a moment and said, "Don't let that happen again." and left to lay under the house until dinner.
"I won't. I promise." I said to his retreating tail and went to unblock the washing machine of cat hair.
Cats are funny (read "you wonder if you'll wake up whole") creatures to live with. Anyone who has lived with a cat will be nodding at that. They twist the truth, they re-write the code, they shed fucking hair everywhere. Seriously. Everywhere. A genetically modified for extra hair -shedding woolly mammoth could not shed as much hair as a domestic cat. Seriously. They've done tests. You want to know why so many shuttle missions failed? Cat hair in the intake valves. Really.
Despite all of this, you worry when the giant trolling food hoover doesn't show up for one of the meals that as the designated human I am obligated to provide. When he missed breakfast as well, I initiated DEFCON3. This is as high as you can go without seeing blood. Actually DEFCON3 really just involved checking under the house again and calling my mother so I had someone to talk aloud to as I reasoned through the last time I saw him and could that large dog roaming the street last night have gotten past the hair defences and 50 million razor sharp claws and actually have possibly hurt my missing puddy wuddykins?
A million million (is that a pentillion? No, it's a billion. What was a pentillion then? A billion billion? Huh. Have to ask the maths ref again.... anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, OK maybe 3) scenarios played through my sluggish and understaffed mind. I made a coffee and sat pondering life's imponderables on the couch (ie no thoughts at all, just waited for the coffee to kick the motor over). Riley watched. I could see he was weighing up the variables and figuring out if he was going to get a walk or not. He decided the odds weren't good and went back to bed, leaving me with a creeping sense of guilt that I had been judged a bad human and Rumi had simply decamped to better feeding and shedding grounds. I wrestled somewhat with my conscience. Tried again to figure out when I'd last seen him. Couldn't. Was it breakfast yesterday? Had he come in at all in the afternoon? What matter did this make? If a cat doesn't want to be found, you won't find it. I let the matter drop. There were things to be getting on with, after all, I was up at the crack of 10am and a day doesn't just get underway by itself.
Laundry is one of those household chores I like in that a machine actually does the hard work once you put the stuff in and press Go. There was enough for a whole load just from all the towels. Made toast, squinted, hung out wet things, stumbled to bathroom to open cupboard for actual clothes for washing and scared myself shitless when I reached in and it was warm. So help me for a split second I thought the Alien mother had laid eggs in there and I was about to have something horrendous force itself down my gullet and gestate in my abdomen until killing me for food. But no, I had woken Rumi. Not quite so different normally from Rumi really.
Which was how I knew things were pretty serious and he had been in that completely dark cupboard for a loooooong time. He stretched, gave a yawn, and strolled off with eyes almost completely devoid of irises. He ignored me. He made no snide comments. He made no showy exit. He walked around the house, he walked outside around the yard and came back, and asked for some breakfast. I felt very contrite, I served the special Chicken/Tuna combo he doesn't get very often. He ate a little to show there were no hard feelings, drank some water and sat on the back step. Not cleaning himself, not anything.
Eerie.
A tumbleweed rolled through the tableau.
Riley, quite pointedly, was no where to be seen.
Rumi came back inside and ate a little more of breakfast. He sat and turned to me.
"Here it comes" I thought "the reaming to end it all."
He looked me in the eye for a moment and said, "Don't let that happen again." and left to lay under the house until dinner.
"I won't. I promise." I said to his retreating tail and went to unblock the washing machine of cat hair.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Week One in Review
It was a great idea to come out to Ma&Pa's farm overnight. I wasn't going to, I didn't want to loose all that time driving, and I am no good at saying 'I have to go sit in my room and do other things than talk to you oh beloved parents who raised me and sacrificed that I might succeed in life' but logistical considerations for the rest of the weekend made it the logical solution, so I did. There was a meal together and an evening playing frustration on the new veranda. But in the perfectly non-linear way that the world actually works, this turned out to be relaxing, distracting, fresh and wholesome (in other words an antidote to a week of spitty gossip and petty work concerns). It also had the flow-on benefit that I could not guilt myself into doing chores before I wrote this morning (which I would have done at home). No indeedy. Here there's just the wind and the birds in the trees as much tea and left-over pizza (avocado, mushroom and corn) as I like and lo - I've done over 700 words and am not yet out of my jammies!
Riley doesn't know it yet, but he's staying here until Sunday evening. He needed a break from me, and a bit of dog time in the dirt always replenishes him. For myself, I am aware of how out of shape I am mentally and physically for writing. I have talked *about* it a lot more than doing it this year, and now I suffer for it. My wrist, forearm and elbow are sore. My mind is stiff, and my eyes are acting up (one keeps swelling and bruising. Maybe someone is sneaking up on me while I sleep and poking one eye with my thumb and laughing maniacally "that's for being you!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!) because I cannot think of any other explanation for this phenomena. Which simply demonstrates even further how out of creative fitness my mind is. Lazy and slow - too many pizzas and movies.
So, my week one word tally is 5 980. That's pretty good for an addled tryhard wannabe I reckon. Not great, not brilliant, but a fair effort. Shows potential, but plenty of scope for improvement. What I'm really happy about is that I don't feel bored. I can't believe how much fun this is! I still haven't got my characters off the fracking boat! WTF?! But I will dag-nammit! What's more, I'll get them off that boat and I'll get them into trouble, trouble they can not believe has rained down on their arses, and then I will twist that mother fucking plot on them! Oh yeah! and they will be in agony and things will be fucked up bad, man. Baaaaaad. And it will totally rock when, like a gentle ray of light from the high heavens, the characters think of a way to fight back, and they unravel the twist and they untrouble the shit and they fight the power. That is something I am excited about seeing, oh yes, and I have no fracking idea how the hell any of that is going to happen, or if it will be readable when the dust settles, but I don't care. We're in it together. If I keep writing, they'll keep doing and eventually, we'll have this adventure, or die trying.
You know, not die die, but just, maybe, well ....fail. But that's not the game plan! No, we're in it to save the Empire! (Questions about the value and validity of the empire can please be reserved for further projects on this theme should they eventuate).
Time to get out of the jammies.
Riley doesn't know it yet, but he's staying here until Sunday evening. He needed a break from me, and a bit of dog time in the dirt always replenishes him. For myself, I am aware of how out of shape I am mentally and physically for writing. I have talked *about* it a lot more than doing it this year, and now I suffer for it. My wrist, forearm and elbow are sore. My mind is stiff, and my eyes are acting up (one keeps swelling and bruising. Maybe someone is sneaking up on me while I sleep and poking one eye with my thumb and laughing maniacally "that's for being you!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!) because I cannot think of any other explanation for this phenomena. Which simply demonstrates even further how out of creative fitness my mind is. Lazy and slow - too many pizzas and movies.
So, my week one word tally is 5 980. That's pretty good for an addled tryhard wannabe I reckon. Not great, not brilliant, but a fair effort. Shows potential, but plenty of scope for improvement. What I'm really happy about is that I don't feel bored. I can't believe how much fun this is! I still haven't got my characters off the fracking boat! WTF?! But I will dag-nammit! What's more, I'll get them off that boat and I'll get them into trouble, trouble they can not believe has rained down on their arses, and then I will twist that mother fucking plot on them! Oh yeah! and they will be in agony and things will be fucked up bad, man. Baaaaaad. And it will totally rock when, like a gentle ray of light from the high heavens, the characters think of a way to fight back, and they unravel the twist and they untrouble the shit and they fight the power. That is something I am excited about seeing, oh yes, and I have no fracking idea how the hell any of that is going to happen, or if it will be readable when the dust settles, but I don't care. We're in it together. If I keep writing, they'll keep doing and eventually, we'll have this adventure, or die trying.
You know, not die die, but just, maybe, well ....fail. But that's not the game plan! No, we're in it to save the Empire! (Questions about the value and validity of the empire can please be reserved for further projects on this theme should they eventuate).
Time to get out of the jammies.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Bonnie RIP
Sad news for the family this week.
Our old dog Bonnie has died. She has been increasingly slow, deaf and stiff in her joints and it seems certain that these were contributing factors in the circumstance of her death.
She was missing last Wednesday and late Thursday she was found. Burial took place on Friday.
We remember here as she was in her youth - loving and active - and also her miraculous recovery from the nasty incident of falling from the ute tray and being dragged some distance by her leash.
She is survived by her daughter in residence, Zara, and an unknown number of other descendants living happily on other farms in the region.
“In sudore vultus tui vesceris pane, donec revertaris in terram de qua sumptus es: quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris”
[“By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken: for dust you are and to dust you will return”].
Our old dog Bonnie has died. She has been increasingly slow, deaf and stiff in her joints and it seems certain that these were contributing factors in the circumstance of her death.
She was missing last Wednesday and late Thursday she was found. Burial took place on Friday.
We remember here as she was in her youth - loving and active - and also her miraculous recovery from the nasty incident of falling from the ute tray and being dragged some distance by her leash.
She is survived by her daughter in residence, Zara, and an unknown number of other descendants living happily on other farms in the region.
“In sudore vultus tui vesceris pane, donec revertaris in terram de qua sumptus es: quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris”
[“By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken: for dust you are and to dust you will return”].
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Health Scare - Riley's Number Ones
In news just to hand, Riley was rushed to the vets this morning to attend to a possible relapse of bladder stones. Since the last surgery and subsequent recovery, Riley has exhibited no symptoms of crystallisation of his urine - the precursor to stones forming in the urinary tract and or bladder. However he started straining to urinate, and needing to do so far more frequently than usual and hence the express trip to the vet.
Thankfully a sample obtained (by getting between the dog and the tree in the carpark) showed a recurrence as unlikely, and a bladder infection as the most obvious cause of the symptoms. However, the infection may simply be masking the formation of crystals, so as his treatment progresses, re sampling and testing of the urine every 10 days or so will be undertaken. His treatment of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories has commenced, and Riley is currently in a stable condition and resting at his Leichhardt residence.
The owner is lightly sedated and recovering as expected.
Thankfully a sample obtained (by getting between the dog and the tree in the carpark) showed a recurrence as unlikely, and a bladder infection as the most obvious cause of the symptoms. However, the infection may simply be masking the formation of crystals, so as his treatment progresses, re sampling and testing of the urine every 10 days or so will be undertaken. His treatment of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories has commenced, and Riley is currently in a stable condition and resting at his Leichhardt residence.
The owner is lightly sedated and recovering as expected.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Because it's on
I'd had such hopes for the "antiques and collectibles fair day" that I was ready to be faced with many choices and competing desires. I was armed up with a little bit of cash, and ready to have to do some appraising and make a difficult decision of how best to deploy it for overall pleasure on the day.
What was actually available was ... lacklustre. A bit dull, very nana. Not much chop. Well, in the end I picked up another typewriter (a funky two-tone Remington 315 'portable') bringing it to just 2 Remington's an Olivetti and an Underwood (still pretty modest and I am *not* calling it a collection, I just like typewriters, and yes, nearly all of them work, but the ribbons are pretty faded) and an owl clicker. A clicker - you remember those pressed metal toys, where there was a body and then a little stub of metal on the back that you'd depress and let go, depress and let go and it would go "KL-ICK!, KL-ICK!" yes? Well, I paid an OUTRAGEOUS sum for one of those. I don't think it was outrageous, but Mellie (who is visiting with her dog-nephew Jinx) *screamed* when I said $8. Jeeze. Yes, we all had them when we were kids, but they got destroyed, chucked out, lost. Anyway, given that the only other thing I was interested in there was $255 (and incomplete! The lady let me take a photo of it which she seemed confused about) I think I got out very lightly and it was still cheaper than a film and a choc-top.
Once again confirming my theory that things in Ippy are generally well attended not out of the oft touted "community spirit" nor out of any particular interest, but simply *because*they're*on*. We'll go to anything around here just to have a look. That's right. Just because there's nothing better to do and we're all a tiny bit sick of the inside of our own houses.
I'm not complaining, I'm just saying how it is. Same thing today - Million Paws Walk. Can easily give the RSPCA money any day, but went along for the social outing. Riley doesn't even like other dogs. He certainly does not like being around hundreds of dogs he hasn't personally approved to attend, many of whom may bark without his express permission. None the less, off we went into the howling wind and sat around getting red ruddy cheeks, knocked around by massive bodies on short leashes, enduring ridiculous commentary of the Frisbee Dogs team (?! I kid you not) and getting sick on horrid, expensive coffee. Euch. But there you go. That's two events I've been looking forward too. Ah. [shakes head]
So here we are. It's early Sunday afternoon. I'm going to have a nap. Possibly for hours. Then I'm going to write (or at least type up some of the masses of notes I have, there's always editing time later!), and for dinner I shall have toast. Wonderful. See - no need to go out again for weeks, possibly months now.
What was actually available was ... lacklustre. A bit dull, very nana. Not much chop. Well, in the end I picked up another typewriter (a funky two-tone Remington 315 'portable') bringing it to just 2 Remington's an Olivetti and an Underwood (still pretty modest and I am *not* calling it a collection, I just like typewriters, and yes, nearly all of them work, but the ribbons are pretty faded) and an owl clicker. A clicker - you remember those pressed metal toys, where there was a body and then a little stub of metal on the back that you'd depress and let go, depress and let go and it would go "KL-ICK!, KL-ICK!" yes? Well, I paid an OUTRAGEOUS sum for one of those. I don't think it was outrageous, but Mellie (who is visiting with her dog-nephew Jinx) *screamed* when I said $8. Jeeze. Yes, we all had them when we were kids, but they got destroyed, chucked out, lost. Anyway, given that the only other thing I was interested in there was $255 (and incomplete! The lady let me take a photo of it which she seemed confused about) I think I got out very lightly and it was still cheaper than a film and a choc-top.
Once again confirming my theory that things in Ippy are generally well attended not out of the oft touted "community spirit" nor out of any particular interest, but simply *because*they're*on*. We'll go to anything around here just to have a look. That's right. Just because there's nothing better to do and we're all a tiny bit sick of the inside of our own houses.
I'm not complaining, I'm just saying how it is. Same thing today - Million Paws Walk. Can easily give the RSPCA money any day, but went along for the social outing. Riley doesn't even like other dogs. He certainly does not like being around hundreds of dogs he hasn't personally approved to attend, many of whom may bark without his express permission. None the less, off we went into the howling wind and sat around getting red ruddy cheeks, knocked around by massive bodies on short leashes, enduring ridiculous commentary of the Frisbee Dogs team (?! I kid you not) and getting sick on horrid, expensive coffee. Euch. But there you go. That's two events I've been looking forward too. Ah. [shakes head]
So here we are. It's early Sunday afternoon. I'm going to have a nap. Possibly for hours. Then I'm going to write (or at least type up some of the masses of notes I have, there's always editing time later!), and for dinner I shall have toast. Wonderful. See - no need to go out again for weeks, possibly months now.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The Great Cull
Having set a date (no matter how randomly) for delivering a project, one's energy seems to magically align to making that happen. Why don't I use this power for good more often?
Finally I am able to face the 3 or 4 (I don't even really know how many there are!) folders of notes, drafts, versions (at least 3 distinct versions, not including the original sci-fi dystopia version!) and scribbles, hopes and fakes that make up the "file" of this work in progress. I have been kidding myself that it's "pretty much all there" for quite some time now, allowing hope and denial to take the place of clear-eyed editing. Having spent Monday night critically appraising the existing computer files (ack! so make that 5! folders of stuff) I realise that there is a lot of work ahead of me. Proper work, not collating or finessing or polishing, or the other hand-waving that I will try and get away with before I do anything requiring mental horsepower. I think, with my Realistic Hat on that I will be keeping less than 10% of the guff that I have, and that I am at First Draft stage rather than the hopeful Second Draft I posited earlier this week.
Rather than being depressed by this (as I have been in the past when the hand-waving hasn't worked) I feel invigorated. Scared of still producing nothing but crap come August, but keen to give it a go. There's nothing to lose.
Finally I understand that there's nothing to lose in trying to make this thing. Oh. Oh wow.
No really, wow. I can only get better (!), I can only make myself happier by working on this thing. There are very few things I would rather do with my time, and (call me crazy) it might all go well and be good. Woah!
I know I'm talking it all up more than showing you the goods this week. It's not that I don't want to share with you, it's that there's masses of culling going on and not yet enough (read: any)new stuff. Tonight will be new stuff time (I will alternate culling and writing so that there's some chance for the old stuff to grow and the new stuff to not be too swamped). Even this degree of deliberate focus is very very new for me, and intimidating. I write on-demand at work, but that is very functional and practical material. This experiment tonight may be wobbly-time. Anyway, if all goes to the Optimistic Plan can expect to see some samples here in June/July.
The once-deserted fairly landscape down in the new estate is overrun with building goblins now. Men in high-vis yellow and orange or high-risk tans swarm over the mess of concrete slabs. Wooden skeletons of rooms and roofs are massing themselves and sitting over the top of the oddly truncated plastic tubes that stick out of the slabs like the severed arteries of ossified giants. It's a cacophony of nail guns, oaths and earth-moving equipment. I find it a bit much for my 7am, but Riley is intoxicated with the variety of smells and activities. We compromise and go there every 2 or 3 days for the morning walks, and I try and keep my gaze averted to the trees over the gorge, rather than risk accidentally seeing a workman piss against his own truck again.
Finally I am able to face the 3 or 4 (I don't even really know how many there are!) folders of notes, drafts, versions (at least 3 distinct versions, not including the original sci-fi dystopia version!) and scribbles, hopes and fakes that make up the "file" of this work in progress. I have been kidding myself that it's "pretty much all there" for quite some time now, allowing hope and denial to take the place of clear-eyed editing. Having spent Monday night critically appraising the existing computer files (ack! so make that 5! folders of stuff) I realise that there is a lot of work ahead of me. Proper work, not collating or finessing or polishing, or the other hand-waving that I will try and get away with before I do anything requiring mental horsepower. I think, with my Realistic Hat on that I will be keeping less than 10% of the guff that I have, and that I am at First Draft stage rather than the hopeful Second Draft I posited earlier this week.
Rather than being depressed by this (as I have been in the past when the hand-waving hasn't worked) I feel invigorated. Scared of still producing nothing but crap come August, but keen to give it a go. There's nothing to lose.
Finally I understand that there's nothing to lose in trying to make this thing. Oh. Oh wow.
No really, wow. I can only get better (!), I can only make myself happier by working on this thing. There are very few things I would rather do with my time, and (call me crazy) it might all go well and be good. Woah!
I know I'm talking it all up more than showing you the goods this week. It's not that I don't want to share with you, it's that there's masses of culling going on and not yet enough (read: any)new stuff. Tonight will be new stuff time (I will alternate culling and writing so that there's some chance for the old stuff to grow and the new stuff to not be too swamped). Even this degree of deliberate focus is very very new for me, and intimidating. I write on-demand at work, but that is very functional and practical material. This experiment tonight may be wobbly-time. Anyway, if all goes to the Optimistic Plan can expect to see some samples here in June/July.
The once-deserted fairly landscape down in the new estate is overrun with building goblins now. Men in high-vis yellow and orange or high-risk tans swarm over the mess of concrete slabs. Wooden skeletons of rooms and roofs are massing themselves and sitting over the top of the oddly truncated plastic tubes that stick out of the slabs like the severed arteries of ossified giants. It's a cacophony of nail guns, oaths and earth-moving equipment. I find it a bit much for my 7am, but Riley is intoxicated with the variety of smells and activities. We compromise and go there every 2 or 3 days for the morning walks, and I try and keep my gaze averted to the trees over the gorge, rather than risk accidentally seeing a workman piss against his own truck again.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Frack Me
Dogs and Sci Fi - they just bring people together.
A pretty social and crafty weekend, mostly with the Sisters. It's great having two sisters - it makes for three of us which is a good mischief number, and every now and then when we cackle over something dreadful, I feel a faint shudder of Macbeth fog rolling over some poor guy's back somewhere.... nahahahahahahahaaaa!
Anyway, we made resin fridge magnets (cool and toxic!), I made mustard pickles (I don't know why ok, and I already gave it all away), I won the b'day poker tournament (go me! With a flush no less!!), I threw more old crap away (hurrurah!), and I decided to visit the dog park on the other side of town that Yvj takes her two to.
I love the acceptance of dog parks. I imagine that perhaps this is what AA meetings are like, at least for the dogs. You just are who you are. You're into balls, or you're not. You run or you don't. Whatever. It's all cool. Of course the humans are more fraught. However, I had left on my fab-o "Frack Me" T shirt (purchased over the ever loving interweb) and this opened up an unexpected conversation about Sci Fi with a dalmatian owner. There you go. He recommended a few things, I threw a few suggestions into the mix, we patted dogs (apparently he bathes his dogs in the shower with him, and yes, uses the wife's shampoo on his favourite hahahahahahahaa). Turns out we like very different Sci Fi, but it was a pleasant social conversation interspersed with a running commentary from Yvj for my benefit on all the locals and their humans as they arrived. Quite the scene happening over there!
Back at Chawton, the pace has been pretty languid. I'm reading Lama Sura Das (letting go of the person you used to be) and my favourite quote from it today is "Let go or get dragged". Hi-larious. It's vying for quote of the book along with "Don't just do something, sit there!". Who knew buddhists made their own meditiating jokes? It's a revelation.
I slap my own thigh.
There's loads has happened.... um.... yeah ok, new neighbours. There's a kinda weird vibe and possibly 4 cats, so I'm not looking too closely at that side of the fence these days. Also, working bee at Chawton - the family came over on good friday and OBLITERATED all the problem trees (including "pruning" the mulberry tree to being 3 stumps about 2 feet off the ground). Basically they descended like locusts with electric chainsaws and I now get "quite a lot of light" into the yard. This was traumatic for me, but it's a case of tough love. The dead trees, homicidal trees and the barbed trees all had to go to make way for trees that grow food and give love (not pain). Also, word on the street is that S4 of BSG is about to really kick off.
Frack me, that's good news!
A pretty social and crafty weekend, mostly with the Sisters. It's great having two sisters - it makes for three of us which is a good mischief number, and every now and then when we cackle over something dreadful, I feel a faint shudder of Macbeth fog rolling over some poor guy's back somewhere.... nahahahahahahahaaaa!
Anyway, we made resin fridge magnets (cool and toxic!), I made mustard pickles (I don't know why ok, and I already gave it all away), I won the b'day poker tournament (go me! With a flush no less!!), I threw more old crap away (hurrurah!), and I decided to visit the dog park on the other side of town that Yvj takes her two to.
I love the acceptance of dog parks. I imagine that perhaps this is what AA meetings are like, at least for the dogs. You just are who you are. You're into balls, or you're not. You run or you don't. Whatever. It's all cool. Of course the humans are more fraught. However, I had left on my fab-o "Frack Me" T shirt (purchased over the ever loving interweb) and this opened up an unexpected conversation about Sci Fi with a dalmatian owner. There you go. He recommended a few things, I threw a few suggestions into the mix, we patted dogs (apparently he bathes his dogs in the shower with him, and yes, uses the wife's shampoo on his favourite hahahahahahahaa). Turns out we like very different Sci Fi, but it was a pleasant social conversation interspersed with a running commentary from Yvj for my benefit on all the locals and their humans as they arrived. Quite the scene happening over there!
Back at Chawton, the pace has been pretty languid. I'm reading Lama Sura Das (letting go of the person you used to be) and my favourite quote from it today is "Let go or get dragged". Hi-larious. It's vying for quote of the book along with "Don't just do something, sit there!". Who knew buddhists made their own meditiating jokes? It's a revelation.
I slap my own thigh.
There's loads has happened.... um.... yeah ok, new neighbours. There's a kinda weird vibe and possibly 4 cats, so I'm not looking too closely at that side of the fence these days. Also, working bee at Chawton - the family came over on good friday and OBLITERATED all the problem trees (including "pruning" the mulberry tree to being 3 stumps about 2 feet off the ground). Basically they descended like locusts with electric chainsaws and I now get "quite a lot of light" into the yard. This was traumatic for me, but it's a case of tough love. The dead trees, homicidal trees and the barbed trees all had to go to make way for trees that grow food and give love (not pain). Also, word on the street is that S4 of BSG is about to really kick off.
Frack me, that's good news!
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Joy of Riley
The sun came out this morning, and for a brief hour or so it was a clear sweet day. From bed I could hear seven or eight bird calls and when Riley and I went walking, it was lovely to hear the birds enjoying themselves and smell the hay of mown lawns. Riley was exuberant running and doing little hop jumps. Then throwing himself into the grass and rolling wriggling along on his side on his back, then trying to snorkel through it. Snuffling and huffing he had no cares or worries, just the sheer joy of being alive and having fun.
The sky was beautiful soft blue, clear and strong above, shading slightly to the edges of sight. Moon worked her way towards the brim, but was sadly fading as sun brightness pushed her to the background. But for our walk she was there and I love those times with sun and moon in the same sky. We’re all together.
The sky was beautiful soft blue, clear and strong above, shading slightly to the edges of sight. Moon worked her way towards the brim, but was sadly fading as sun brightness pushed her to the background. But for our walk she was there and I love those times with sun and moon in the same sky. We’re all together.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Dullsville, thy name is Ipswich
OK. This is it. My last night as a free-wheeling, happy-go-lucky bohemian type with no debts, no responsibilities and nowhere to live.
By this time tomorrow I shall burdened and shackled to an odious mortgage. Haunted by the towers of formal papers and hounded in my dreams by the marching column of compound interest I shall wither away into an ever-narrowing dullness. My only conversation will be of painting, furniture or food coupons.
Or, it could be really good. Don't really know.
One thing is certain, Riley doesn't want to leave the farm. Cruel of me to even ask him to give up his ute, his spot in the sun, and especially the wallabies - dead or alive, he loves them all.
"Riley," I say to him "we all have to make sacrifices in this Brave New World." and he wags his tail and runs to my father.
C'est la vie, eh?!
By this time tomorrow I shall burdened and shackled to an odious mortgage. Haunted by the towers of formal papers and hounded in my dreams by the marching column of compound interest I shall wither away into an ever-narrowing dullness. My only conversation will be of painting, furniture or food coupons.
Or, it could be really good. Don't really know.
One thing is certain, Riley doesn't want to leave the farm. Cruel of me to even ask him to give up his ute, his spot in the sun, and especially the wallabies - dead or alive, he loves them all.
"Riley," I say to him "we all have to make sacrifices in this Brave New World." and he wags his tail and runs to my father.
C'est la vie, eh?!
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Bucolic Idyll
Glorious sweetness of a day at home.
Woke without the alarm at 6 and heard the birds rustling each other into action within the soft, sweet silence that a large, mostly calm space makes.
Re awoke at 8 to the full chorus, callback and conversations of the crows, magpies, and all the other smaller ones that I can't quite see. Wandered out and made a coffee, went to check on the tomato seedlings - they're strong and perfect to plant out today. The big wattle tree by the front porch is in full bloom and heavy with labouring bees. I love that tree. So shady in summer and nondescript most of the time until this late August type time - when ka-pow - out with the enormous golden sprays of tiny fluffy pollen balls.
Took the coffee over to watch mum walk back from the top of the oats, where she'd been checking on a new calf. We're up to nine now, and they're a little smaller from the tough season, but perfectly formed and cheerful like baby animals with their mothers always are. The few good days of rain last week has come over our land like a kiss. We've blushed green.
My Grandad has arrived to stay with us for the weekend. He's just come back from about 4 weeks in America and he's bubbling with stories and amazement. He's been a long time without going everywhere, and he's sprightly and enlivened with all that he has seen, and the chance to spend such time with another branch of our family.
Riley is beside himself that we're all at home today and has been running like a running-fool, pausing only to wrestle Zac to the ground. Zac is grown into a large cat now, not quite fat, but very heavy and soft. To see this blob of ginger and white on his back passively getting choked by the tiny frantic terrier is hilarious... even when with his little tongue out he *really* is choking. I think he may be a little bit Michael Hutchence about the choking thing, and I am curious to see how far he would let it go before he pushed even a little bit back at Riley. The curious me would let it run it's course .... but the idea of facing ma and pa with an expired cat and a confused dog always tips me back into action.
"Enough Riley!"
Tonight is the launch of the Boonah Arts Festival. Ma and I will go, and I'm quite looking forward to it. Boonah embraces anyone who has a crack at something arty. It makes for what arts people call a "varied" or "mixed" show (ie they look down on it) but as a member of this community, I love the inclusiveness and fun of it. Should be a hoot tonight. May have to wear a scarf darling ....
Woke without the alarm at 6 and heard the birds rustling each other into action within the soft, sweet silence that a large, mostly calm space makes.
Re awoke at 8 to the full chorus, callback and conversations of the crows, magpies, and all the other smaller ones that I can't quite see. Wandered out and made a coffee, went to check on the tomato seedlings - they're strong and perfect to plant out today. The big wattle tree by the front porch is in full bloom and heavy with labouring bees. I love that tree. So shady in summer and nondescript most of the time until this late August type time - when ka-pow - out with the enormous golden sprays of tiny fluffy pollen balls.
Took the coffee over to watch mum walk back from the top of the oats, where she'd been checking on a new calf. We're up to nine now, and they're a little smaller from the tough season, but perfectly formed and cheerful like baby animals with their mothers always are. The few good days of rain last week has come over our land like a kiss. We've blushed green.
My Grandad has arrived to stay with us for the weekend. He's just come back from about 4 weeks in America and he's bubbling with stories and amazement. He's been a long time without going everywhere, and he's sprightly and enlivened with all that he has seen, and the chance to spend such time with another branch of our family.
Riley is beside himself that we're all at home today and has been running like a running-fool, pausing only to wrestle Zac to the ground. Zac is grown into a large cat now, not quite fat, but very heavy and soft. To see this blob of ginger and white on his back passively getting choked by the tiny frantic terrier is hilarious... even when with his little tongue out he *really* is choking. I think he may be a little bit Michael Hutchence about the choking thing, and I am curious to see how far he would let it go before he pushed even a little bit back at Riley. The curious me would let it run it's course .... but the idea of facing ma and pa with an expired cat and a confused dog always tips me back into action.
"Enough Riley!"
Tonight is the launch of the Boonah Arts Festival. Ma and I will go, and I'm quite looking forward to it. Boonah embraces anyone who has a crack at something arty. It makes for what arts people call a "varied" or "mixed" show (ie they look down on it) but as a member of this community, I love the inclusiveness and fun of it. Should be a hoot tonight. May have to wear a scarf darling ....
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Glorious Melbournia!
oh arduous journey!
Up at o-dark-hundred and manymany hours later ere I am... winding down the the lovely frabulous Allan, snuggled up with puppies, to the soundtrack of snoring form the couch (not me this time - I may have snored on the plane...) after a GIANT dinner in a great Vietnamese place in Fitzroy (which, sadly, out of habit, we inadvertently referred to as Thai on three separate occasions... oops... very understanding people, Vietnamese restaurant staff).
Anyway, I digress.
By several thousand kilometers this time, and what a world of good it's doing me. I feel younger, more interesting, stimulated, hopeful (but no thinner - how many bottles of wine got "knocked over" tonight?). Ah.
On the walk to the dinner-food-place we passed art stores, and bookstores, and a hat store, and a vegans place and and and! It was just great.
I am so grateful (as always) to Allan and Craig's generosity in letting me make their palatial home a bit messy in one corner - (Lee - listening?) so many great friends who have all invested very wisely in very expensive and well upholstered couches. Life is good.
Well tomorrow, I hope to catch up with a long-lost uni buddy who I have gotten back in touch with through FACEBOOK. Yes, after all that stupid ranting, it has borne tasty fruit immediately. I welcome our new robot overlords.
Over dinner we had a big chat about the possible Orwellian horrors of Google morphing all it knows about our dirty secret searches and face book accounts and dodgy second email setups (et al) and what kind of a future will it be when Bush and Howard merge it all into one database! Frankly, i just kinda feel sorry for the poor Level 2 temp who'll have to wade through the morass of shit i pump out on a nearly daily basis (The Eagle Has Landed) and try and figure out of I'm a terrorist (for the Chaser), a try-hard wannabe, or just a garden variety nutbar. Yay. Bring it on.
Okeydokey, enjoy the rain, culture, movies, bed - where ever you are, whatever you're doing - I'm sending you mellow vibes of goodness.
Love
J9
Up at o-dark-hundred and manymany hours later ere I am... winding down the the lovely frabulous Allan, snuggled up with puppies, to the soundtrack of snoring form the couch (not me this time - I may have snored on the plane...) after a GIANT dinner in a great Vietnamese place in Fitzroy (which, sadly, out of habit, we inadvertently referred to as Thai on three separate occasions... oops... very understanding people, Vietnamese restaurant staff).
Anyway, I digress.
By several thousand kilometers this time, and what a world of good it's doing me. I feel younger, more interesting, stimulated, hopeful (but no thinner - how many bottles of wine got "knocked over" tonight?). Ah.
On the walk to the dinner-food-place we passed art stores, and bookstores, and a hat store, and a vegans place and and and! It was just great.
I am so grateful (as always) to Allan and Craig's generosity in letting me make their palatial home a bit messy in one corner - (Lee - listening?) so many great friends who have all invested very wisely in very expensive and well upholstered couches. Life is good.
Well tomorrow, I hope to catch up with a long-lost uni buddy who I have gotten back in touch with through FACEBOOK. Yes, after all that stupid ranting, it has borne tasty fruit immediately. I welcome our new robot overlords.
Over dinner we had a big chat about the possible Orwellian horrors of Google morphing all it knows about our dirty secret searches and face book accounts and dodgy second email setups (et al) and what kind of a future will it be when Bush and Howard merge it all into one database! Frankly, i just kinda feel sorry for the poor Level 2 temp who'll have to wade through the morass of shit i pump out on a nearly daily basis (The Eagle Has Landed) and try and figure out of I'm a terrorist (for the Chaser), a try-hard wannabe, or just a garden variety nutbar. Yay. Bring it on.
Okeydokey, enjoy the rain, culture, movies, bed - where ever you are, whatever you're doing - I'm sending you mellow vibes of goodness.
Love
J9
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Dogs Bring People Together
Neil Gaiman blogged today about walking his dog:
You know, the best bit of having wound up with a dog, apart from the dog of course, is the walking. There are whole worlds out there I hadn't known about until I started walking them..."
and it reminded me of an incident from this morning. Sitting at my desk I could hear a dog howling and out the window there are these two beautiful hounds, wrapped around a pole with a bit of baling twine in the cold. Shivering and howling. Well what could I do but go out there to comfort them and see if I could possibly see who would leave them stranded like this (my window looks out onto the main street of the town).
Head sideways out from the door of the postoffice a straggly man watches me.
"Hey! These your dogs?"
"Yeah."
"You gonna be real long?"
"Nah" he walks towards me and he's dirt poor this guy, and nervous looking. "I'm looking for a stanthorpe phone book." (this is like saying - I'm hoping all my needs in the world are handed to me wrapped in silk)
"oh yeah, you findin one?"
"Nah".
"Right... you need a phone number?"
"Yeah."
"Well these dogs can't stay in the cold, I can look 'em up for you."
Eventually he comes in and perches on my visitor chair and we plug a few names into the whitepages online. He asks me how to spell Michelle. Lots of the people have the same surname.
"Plenty of these Clancy people."
"Yeah, we're a family of ten."
"Try Sonya" he says.
"S. Clancey," I type "where does she live?"
"Sydney" he says so I enter NSW
"Which Suburb?"
He looks right at me and just says "Sydney"
"It's a real big town" I say, "you're gonna need a suburb." But he doesn't know.
Here we are : I help him so his dogs aren't cold, and he's trying to find the phone numbers of some of his brothers and sisters whose names he can't spell for certain and who live god only knows where. He got 5 or 6 tho, and went on his way, and I'm still not sure that he was glad for the help for the truth it cost us both.
By the way Neil - congratulations on picking up the Locus awards for best short story & best collection. You so rock. And you have a cool dog.
You know, the best bit of having wound up with a dog, apart from the dog of course, is the walking. There are whole worlds out there I hadn't known about until I started walking them..."
and it reminded me of an incident from this morning. Sitting at my desk I could hear a dog howling and out the window there are these two beautiful hounds, wrapped around a pole with a bit of baling twine in the cold. Shivering and howling. Well what could I do but go out there to comfort them and see if I could possibly see who would leave them stranded like this (my window looks out onto the main street of the town).
Head sideways out from the door of the postoffice a straggly man watches me.
"Hey! These your dogs?"
"Yeah."
"You gonna be real long?"
"Nah" he walks towards me and he's dirt poor this guy, and nervous looking. "I'm looking for a stanthorpe phone book." (this is like saying - I'm hoping all my needs in the world are handed to me wrapped in silk)
"oh yeah, you findin one?"
"Nah".
"Right... you need a phone number?"
"Yeah."
"Well these dogs can't stay in the cold, I can look 'em up for you."
Eventually he comes in and perches on my visitor chair and we plug a few names into the whitepages online. He asks me how to spell Michelle. Lots of the people have the same surname.
"Plenty of these Clancy people."
"Yeah, we're a family of ten."
"Try Sonya" he says.
"S. Clancey," I type "where does she live?"
"Sydney" he says so I enter NSW
"Which Suburb?"
He looks right at me and just says "Sydney"
"It's a real big town" I say, "you're gonna need a suburb." But he doesn't know.
Here we are : I help him so his dogs aren't cold, and he's trying to find the phone numbers of some of his brothers and sisters whose names he can't spell for certain and who live god only knows where. He got 5 or 6 tho, and went on his way, and I'm still not sure that he was glad for the help for the truth it cost us both.
By the way Neil - congratulations on picking up the Locus awards for best short story & best collection. You so rock. And you have a cool dog.
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