April 17

I am muddled and think it is the 16th today after a week full of domestic challenges.

The phone rings. It is my sister to announce she is at my front door. I did not hear the door bell as I am in the back.

She arrives with a bundle which includes tapes my father made of my aunt playing piano. There are some with my Mum, and surprisingly of my son and I also playing.

My sister has been hard at work sifting through the last of the things. Since Dad died having taken on the task of finding a home for the various sentimental items my sister is almost done.
She says Dad had a habit of pressing the record button, so we did not know he had taped us.

There is the painting that sat in the dining room at the old house. The paint is falling off the board. I recall the lesson was to prime to board well so paint would stay stuck. What material did we have to hand in the classroom which indeed meant the effort was in vain. It is a basic still life and I ponder about restoring this wreck. I had thought I said to let it go, but perhaps I had been ambivalent at the time. So it has travelled wrapped carefully all the way across the country.

There is a cookery book we both shared for domestic science. Covered well with brown paper with magazine cut outs then protected with plastic. I look at is more closely a little later. It includes some hand written recipe for plum sauce in my Aunt’s hand writing and another for French dressing in my mother’s hand.

It is the smallest of items that has us both in tears. It is a small gold baby bracelet that had been mine.

My sister and I spend a good part of the day together, just sharing some tasks; some shopping to be done before returning to make a sandwich and share some recipes. We are asked to come to dinner. The fish market has fresh muscles on offer. My brother will be by himself tonight as the others have already gone ahead for the bush wedding. I call my older brother before we leave. He is still on work time though.

It is a good evening with some gratitude to be shown for a difficult task done.

I am reminded of the distance there is between us and of special times to be shard as I have been sitting this week with my dying friend who is showing me how you can live every moment of your life well.

It is four years since our father’s death.

What will become of us all

 

"To worry about the inevitable is to speed up the process." -

Marshall Silver

Amazing Stich Photograph doing the rounds

 

This truly amazing photographic work by Julian Kalmar shows  the glory of the fully restored Piaristen Church in Vienna built circa 1715-22

Unique about this photos is it is actually not one but over 250 photos stiched together using very clever technology to make a 360 degree view of the church interior so you you can pan from any angle. It is also so dense that you can zoom up close and see very fine detail.

For the panning It uses the same technology you have seen Google earth and their street maps that join house photos together to make a contiguous imagine of a street with 360 views This is Known as Stich technology

The photo size is  51644 x 25822 pixels to make it a huge 1.3 gigapixel and just a bit big to download. 

For camera buffs Kalmar says he set his up for this shoot with the focal length at 70mm, the exposure: between 5sec. and 1/160and  using a wide aperture setting at F11 The processing speed was  ISO100..

Most cameras now amaze us with photos using less than 10 megapixels (I Gig is 1000 times a meg) The technology for this is quite incredible to exceed the gigapixel barrier.

Check it out, Just click in the snagged picture I pasted above to take you to the authors original in his web site. The make use of the buttons to pan up and down and around and zoom to get a sense of all the beautiful detail . For panning you can also simply hold the mouse pointer down anywhere and move the picture around..

if the embedded link fails for some reason use this one:

http://photoartkalmar.com/Photoart%20Kalmar%20high%20res/Gigapixel/Piaristenkircheflash.html

It is a December morning here in Perth. We are preparing for the time when we come together with family to celebrate another year passing. I wake to a welcomed downpour that will keep the garden going. The sun is out now and the morning slipped away with the various domestic things that absorb my time these days.


I am thinking about the books I have been reading as I bundle up my most recent to return to the library.

I have just read “A Trick of the Light “ Carolyn Polizzotto Fremantle Arts Press 2001.

The fly reads “Why are so many baby boomers choosing to write memoirs while still in their fifties? I wondered whether there was a paradox- whether they were doing so not because they could remember their childhoods, but because they couldn't.”

Carolyn lives here in Perth and is known to one of my friends who is also an author. My friend however is a historian who delves into a more distant past. Although I have not met Carolyn I would like to thank her for her books. I picked this book up as I had read “Pomegranate Season” which won her the Western Australian Premier’s Award for 1998. That was also a personal book.

I also liked the quote from the book that is on the back cover:

"My memories are at odds with the photo albums. Family snaps generally show smiling faces. The crying child is edited out before the photo is taken, the camera put down, the child comforted. Cleaned up, wiped down: if all else fails, the camera can be put away for another day. Videos are different. The genre of home video seems to admit- indeed to favour-crying children. Toddlers tripping over, dogs grabbing ice creams from wavering hands. It seemed to be allowed in the world of moving film for a child to choose to cry. Not in the world of the family snap, though, and certainly not in the fifties."

The embargo on tears is well remembered as part my early life. I now am much more able to express my emotions freely although it took some practice. For some the expression of emotion seems unsettling. Perhaps they remain so well trained by their childhoods? Tears of course are not only an acknowledgment of sadness they can flow with laughter as well. I have some famous memories for times when I laughed so much.

Carolyn does so much to remind you of things long forgotten, not the least of which was the impact of young men being taken to war. My father of course was one. He has been gone now three and a half years although he has influenced in ways that continue to weave in and out of my every day breathing.

So perhaps the baby boomer in writing about the fifties is not only finding a way to retrieve lost memories but also a way to ensure links to people who helped shape us.

Who Said That?

To quote a very famous man "In the first place, God made idiots. That was for practice. Then he made school boards."

So don't let your schooling get in the way of your education.

Para-phrasing more from this great writer, I am reminded that the secret to success is having a clear view of where you are going. But you must also know that you can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.

So get your facts first and then you can distort them as much as you wish. But when in doubt, just tell the truth. And believe in yourself .

The real secret to success in life is to make your vocation your vacation.
And remember that denial isn't just a river in Egypt. So face you self and got on with it.

Find people who encourage you and shun people who be-little others and their ambitions. Small people do that, but great people make you feel you can be great too.

So you see, it is much easier to start off as a great person. Why not?

081102G

Empty Chairs

There was a crowd, but they've left. And we're alone with the noise that has gone; From an event to remember that week in September, when Dan and Lisa were wed.

Just another flight?

Flight 777 from Melbourne to Perth yesterday might have been just another one of those flights back West. I have lost count of the number I have taken now as it is such long time since I first made the radical decision to live in Perth. I was a mere 20 years old then. So what was so different?

We started with a delay; some hold up in Sydney so I browsed the airport shops before settling in with my book.

I was quite snug wrapped in the soft and delicate light woolen shawl my niece had given me, booty from her buying trip in India. I really appreciated this gift more so once on board the aircraft. Just perfect to wrap around yourself to stay comfortable.

The movie had little appeal so I surf for music to play whilst I read and the flight was punctuated with the usual routine of the crew. The safety procedures clear then the meal coming along. I could hear snatches of sentences from beneath my headset as the food trolley trundled passed me to the place where the serving would commence. My thoughts came and went about the events of the last few days and my returning to my own.

The person who said she did not like her name. I wondered if the naming of a child is at times a task of the grieving who acknowledge a loved one passing by handing the name along.

My book refers to this happening and the next generation being bearers of a special person's name. Perhaps it is an expression of family connectedness, a name borrowed from other kin, or when denied a rebellion from that path. I decide I will look up the name of the woman who so disliked hers.

Today I have done this. Her name derived from various languages including Welsh and Greek. In sum this woman's name could be taken to mean " Blessed Torch Bearer for Peace". So a name not to be dismissed quickly.

I was pleased to find another meaning for my own name, I already knew it meant hope, the Arabic translation was generosity. It has been a gift to have a positive name.

I had just spent five days immersed in preparations for and the celebration of my eldest nephew's wedding. It was wonderful. I have now looked at the photos my brother has posted to me that show the many wonderful expressions: joy, pride, humbleness,gentleness and adoration that my nephew expressed.

I take a walk to the rear of the cabin to wait my turn, and catch a view of the southern coast line, clear as day. I had for the second time in this week seen the strip of sand and rock that clearly marked Cape Arid and the curve of Israelite Bay.

With so many flights before this was a special thing. I had mostly flown at night before and had this point of the journey marked only by the lights of Esperance. Only an hour until we land now.

It is warm balmy evening when we leave the terminal to be greeted by the efferverscent chorus of parrots chatter so familiar from many visits to this airport. I am home again.

It is the 16 September 2008 and not just another flight.