fab night in

Just time to put the kettle on, make a cuppa, and settle down in comfort for a double episode of The Bill!! Yeee Haa!!

on the beach

I have to report another Freddie adventure; once again the caper took place at the edge of edges; where Fremantle meets the ocean at South Beach.

On Monday the temperatures soared suddenly and unexpectedly and when 5 o-clock arrived what better place to visit. Rang my friend and we soon had our bathers on. At first all went according to plan. The ocean was an inviting cool release from the furnace the house had become. Freddie was happy retrieving his ball and paddling away at top speed, tail up. Because the day had heated up so quickly it had taken the population by suprise and the beach and carpark were practically empty. The beach however was far from empty of flies and they were definately the down side of the excursion. There had been no warning on the weather forecast so people hadn't factored a swim into their afterwork activities. We walked slowly up the beach keeping our toes wet and Freddie occupied. He did his customary thing of rolling around in the sand after a swim. Not a pretty sight esspecially with a swarm of black insects hovering around. We walked towards the groyn and Freddie ran here and there, finally getting left behind playing chasey with a labradoodle. I cast a look back and notice he is surrounded by two or three dogwalkers - I wonder why, surely he's not that interesting? A woman breaks away and runs towards us to convey the unwelcome news that Freddie is eating a blowfish! I run - yes run - back to the scene of the crime. He's definately found something suitably disgusting to eat and is very resistant to me easing it from clenched jaws. All the flies on the beach seem to have congregated around his head and I battle through them to grab his collar and wrench him from his deadly and foul smelling supper. Now, Freddie's history is one of abandonment. I retrieved him from a dog pound a couple of years ago but by that stage certain habits had been inground into his personality - one being the neccessity to be constantly focussed on food. He'll eat anything. So bearing this in mind I reason that he's probably grown up on blowfish. But when we finally get him home and washed and I look up blowfish on the net I find that they are extremely poisonous and potentially deadly. I keep checking Freddie for signs of paralysis setting in. Poor dog isn't allowed to rest. After 24 hours of vigilance I reacon he's out of danger and it probably wasn't a blowfish anyway.

awesome read

There is a strong sense of relief now that I have finally finished my degree. I look at a door marked 'New Beginning' and wonder what secrets hide behind it. In the meantime I weed the garden, walk the mongrel, shop, worry and read. I visit a friend and she says I've just read this fantastic book - hold on a minute while I read the last ten pages and you can take it with you - I hold on. I take it with me.

Now I know that my two most faithful readers are staunch science fiction/fantasy fans and Satima, I will attempt to read some of your recommendations and see if I can be tempted. Myself, well, I like all kind of reads. For an escape I might dip into Elizabeth George for a spot of crime. The other day I picked up a Michael Connelly that looked promising. But the book I took home was a real winner and highly recommended. It is Richard Flanagan's latest entitled, The Unknown Terrorist. Be afraid, be very afraid. This amazing Australian writer has managed to get his finger right on the pulse of certain aspects of our culture, especially the power of the media to completely assassinate a character. But its not only the story, so relevant to our times. The book is written in beautiful poetic language. The characters are spot on and the plot carried me along to the last page. The action takes place during a few steamy days of a Sydney heatwave. The city is in the middle of a 'terror alert'. The main character is a pole dancer who seems to live on a diet of Stemetil, Tamazopan and Zoloft (don't ask me what they are) has several aliases and is mainly referred to as The Doll. She meets a man she is instantly attracted to while at the Bondi Beach and later runs into him again at the Mardi Gras. There follows a night of passion before her life seriously starts to unravel. Tariq, her lover, is framed as a terrorist suspect and there is CCTV footage of him and The Doll entering his hotel. The Doll's life may have seemed inconsequential and meaningless before this incident but when she becomes the centre of a so called terrorist network it now turns into a horrific nightmare. Through her tragedy Flanagan reveals the truth and humanity of his character. The media, like a pack of mad wolves, set out to frame and find The Black Widow as she subsequently becomes labelled. The art, subtlety and sensitivity with which Flanagan treats his subject is awesome. I haven't read any of his other books but I'll be heading down to the library with a list as soon as I get a chance.

once upon a time

Tonight is the last night of a three day stay in Albany. Each night I put my three year old grandaughter to bed and she demands (in the nicest possible way) that I make up stories before she goes to sleep. When we lie in her bed, face to face, after a story she might say 'that was a really good story grannie' it makes me prouder than any mark that I got for a uni assignment. I love the opportunity she gives me to allow spontaneous stories to emerge from the unconscious. She never tires of the ever favourite opening line - Once upon a time.....When I say those few words her eyes widen and a look of joyful anticipation crosses her face just inches away from mine. Then for somewhere a name will emerge, a situation, one thing leads to another some of which bring a smile or laughter, always listening and interested. After a story comes to its conclusion she says, 'just one more grannie' and when I said my brain is empty she said her brain will fill mine up!

the wild side

The beach was pretty close to perfection yesterday: the water flat and glassy; the sky wide, pure and radiant was sunshine. Our toes were warmed in the sand, even so early in the day. Fred kicked up the beach in clouds of dusty sand as he raced for the water. He was in his element, barking at the rippling waves, running after the ball, rolling in smelly seaweed, chasing other canines and generally taking the position of owner of all he surveys. He set off on a mountaineering expedition over the rocky outcrops, disappearing from view as my friend and I trudged across the dunes to the next beach. He cheekily bounds back from his adventure with a look that says - 'so what' - and you know he's been up to no good.


One adventure I didn't want him to have though happened along the C Y O'Connor stretch of the beach. My friend and I are engaged in an entertaining exchange when I vaguely notice a retired couple walk towards us with an elderly looking black labrador. Fred and their dog struck up a acquaintanceship with perfunctory bum sniffing by both parties. All is as it should be when suddenly the boat is rocked, something shifts in the universe. What I see is the man grabbing the woman and pushing her to one side. What my friend sees is the reason why - a black snake sliding down a slope from the sand dunes. Someone, or all of us voice the obvious - 'a snake, a snake!' with all the conotations that word enfolds. For me the protective instinct kicks in fast - Freddie is vulnerable, protect, protect. Not having his lead I have to act quickly to distract him - throwing the ball far up the beach to get him away from the venomous wild creature. One thing is for sure if Freddie sees it he is going to attack, I've seen his reaction to blue tongue lizards and its not a pretty sight. In the fight or flight scenario Fred always takes the fight option esspecially with something unusual invading his territory . The moment was an instant of hieghtened awareness - a sudden 'stop' exercise, a micro-second of pause in the calm security we are lulled into by our familiar routines. The snake sensibly takes off back into the dunes, alarmed by our alarm, and our walk continues. Yet our senses have been intensified by the sudden shock; a confrontation with the random element of life, the unknown.

testing the waters

Yes, after a long absence I am back to blogging. There are many stories to tell. Yesterday I handed in my final assignment for my undergraduate degree. The new begins each moment but this moment seems to herald a bigger better new beginning. Now it is time to don the swim suit and the sun lotion, grab Freddie and put him on the lead, and head for the edge of edges, the summer sands of South Beach.

blown inside out

Tonight is a crazy wind, air energy gone mad. After the literary journalism workshop this morning I rushed home because I had been a bad Mum and not taken Freddie for a walk before leaving. He greets me with the full force of his enthusiasm; wagging his whole body. At the hint of me reaching for his lead he pants excitedly, runs round in tight circles. He pulls me out of the door and we're off and racing. We lunge forward into the weather - I take a peak over my shoulder and notice more storm clouds gathering over a feverish sea. Enough time for our walk before the onslaught I calculate. Rugged up and ready we are buffeted up the street with the wind a chaotic roar up our rear. The street is littered with leaves and branches and small cones that have been flung from the pine trees up by the school. As soon as we enter the park I realise that I have sadly misculculated the approach of the next squall and that the umbrella is sadly not up to the task of protecting me from the force of the sudden amplification and power of a relentless ferocious gale. We turn into the maelstrom; in one hand I sieze hold of a rapidly disintegrating and distorted umbrella that has developed a life of its own, in the other I am tugged this way and that by Freddie who has sensed a weakness. Now a slanting sheeting rain comes in waves across the suburb drenching my pants that are blown cold against my legs. It goes on and on as we plunge homewards with no vision past the tattered umbrella held grimly, shieldlike. As is the nature of squalls, they are quick to arrive and quick to depart - by the time we turned into our driveway a restless patch of blue sky and a pale sun whisked across the sky, flashing and dazzling in the puddles and lighting the dark streams that surged and gurgled down the side of the road. I chuck the umbrella in the bin, towel dry the dog and let myself into the blessed sanctuary of home for a restoring cuppa.

Walking on the edge

Now that the days are sunny and warm it gets harder to stay indoors to write and read. The brilliant day screams to be enjoyed - outside. The pull is a strong magnetic force. Freddie bounds around madly as I put my shoes on ready for our daily walk up to Booyembarra Park. Out of the gate and he instantly pulls hard on the lead, desperate to sniff around the letter box and pick up the scent of other dogs visits. After the obligatory pee we head up Watkins past White Gum Valley Primary. It's recess and the kids are screaming around on the grass in their red and black uniforms. Fred's pulling my arm off in his eagerness to get ahead. Heel Boy. No response. The phone box on the corner is surrounded by broken glass. I pull him onto the verge to protect his paws. Up the hill to the park. Uh ho, from a street away I can hear the penetrating drone of the park-keepers favourite toy - the dreaded leaf blower. He seems to spend hours blowing the paths free of the every concievable speck of detritus. I noticed that they have also given one of these loathsome tools to the groundsman at the school and ever since he wields it from morning to night. Paths have never been cleaner or clearer. These men seem to lay in wait for a leaf to fall and pounce on it straight away, and then blow to the farthest point of park or school. Fred and I take a route to avoid the noise and enter the haven of 'boo park'. The council in a moment of rare foresight have created the most beautiful public space on the site of an old limestone quarry. In the centre is a big lake that hosts a variety of birds; ducks, swans, coots and herons. On Sundays blokes drive up to the park and play at racing remote control sailboats. The lake is surrounded by lawns and used for picnics and kids parties.

It's a bit dangerous to let Fred off the lead too soon. He has a tendancy to bark at and chase anything on wheels - skateboards, bikes, rollerblades, he can even take offence to pushchairs and prams - but during the week the park is often quiet so I let him have a run. Paved paths circle the park then we take a bush track that takes off up the hill beside the golf course. Right now this track is like walking in heaven. On either side is regenerated bush with wattle trees dripping with yellow pom-poms. Under the trees and stretching across the edge of the golf course is a meadow full of lupins, yellow sour sop, mallows, and three different coloured wild radish - all flowering like mad. This morning I was able to just gaze at this wonderous site, watching bees softly land on the flowers and butterflies dance around amongst them. I could almost imagine that I was walking along a country lane in England on one of those rare perfect summer days.

We come down the track and onto another large grassy area. Here we meet a young man who is hitting golf balls for his dog, Zulu, to run after. Fred has a great run around with Zulu but soon tires of running after balls and goes back to sniffing. I put him back on the lead and head home for breakfast.

Notes on a few books

At the moment I have three books on the go. After reading Orwell's The Road to Wigan Pier for the Literary Journalism course I have been inspired to read more of his work. I read Animal Farm when I was still at school and 1984 while working on a kibbutz in the early 1970's. His name came up in the Brittania to the Beatles history unit that I studied last year and so I was glad to get the chance to study him in more detail this semester. His use of language is stunning. His style is 'plain English prose' and in an essay entitled; 'Politics and the English Language' (1946), he gives some examples of bad ugly and incomprehensible writing of the kind found in academia and politics and some sound advice on how to write clearly: He suggests asking yourself several questions when it comes to writing - 1. What am I trying to say? 2. What words will express it. 3. What image or idiom will make it clear. 4. Is this image fresh enough to have an effect? 5. Could I put it more shortly? 6. Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly? Having applied these questions to his own writing what emerges is a style of clarity and beauty of language. So to further my study of his writing I am currently reading, Coming up for Air. Even though he was writing before the second world war much of his writing is still relevant. Even then his narrator is harking back to the 'good old days' before the WW1. It is inspiring me to do some blogging about childhood memories of growing up in rural England in the 50's and 60's.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland is having the effect of allowing me to see the strange madness of the world. The other morning on my morning walk with Freddie the Dog the world seemed like a Mad Hatters Tea Party at full throttle - and I was a part of its dazzling insanity.

My final book is a real treasure. I found it in Bill Campbell's Secondhand Bookshop on High Street. A slim volume with a brown cover, it could easily be overlooked. The title is Bodhinyana: Teachings of Ven. Ajahn Chah. I read this book over and over again as it is full of incredibly simple wisdom. It provides the inspiration to practice and spend time out from the Mad Hatters Tea Party of worldly concerns.

The edge eclipsed

Would you believe it I managed to miss the eclipse the other night. There was an eclipse of the sun a few years ago and I was so excited it about it for weeks beforehand. Couldn't wait. Then, one afternoon I was indoors having a cleaning frenzy. It seemed to get quite dark all of a sudden so I just put on a few lights, thinking it was a bit odd. My friend got home a bit later and said wasn't it amazing, everything was so wierd and silent, blah blah rave rave.... The penny dropped and the realisation that I had been brandishing the vacuum cleaner in a bad mood while in the middle of a cosmic event was a shock I still haven't quite got over.

Yesterday I had to give a presentation in the Literary Journalism course on George Orwell's book, The Road to Wigan Pier. The previous two days had seen me struggling in front of the screen, constantly hitting the word count button trying to boost the total to 1200. I enjoyed reading the book but how hard it is to put the thoughts in order and then find words for those thoughts. In the evening I read a bit more of Alice in Wonderland because I feel I ought to - I am not sure if I have ever read it all before. The copy I have is really cheap and doesn't have any pictures. I don't know what happened to the blue hardback I used to have.

My next door nieghbour flew out to India on Sunday for a six week sojourn. I suddenly realised how much I would miss her. A couple I have sat a couple of silent meditation retreats with have moved in while she is away. On one level I feel I know them well but not on the level of every day chit chat and running in and out of each others houses with tidbits of idle gossip, extra soup we've cooked, cups of tea and the occasional muffin.

ecstasy on the edge

Yesterday was- Bob Day- Bob Dylan was in town and I, oh how blessed can one be, went to see him. All day I was thinking about him actually being here in Perth, somewhere. The day was tinged with his presence. They were playing him in New Editions when I popped in on the way to pay the rent. At the bank the girl behind the counter asks the dreaded question, "have you got much planned for the rest of the day"* - and for once I had something to report - "YES , I'm going to see Bob Dylan tonight". By that stage I wanted to shout it from the rooftops and bore everyone I met. "I thought he was dead" she said as she stamped my paying-in book. "God I hope not", I said, "it won't make for a very interesting evening". Blimey where do people get their information.

The expedition to the Burswood Dome was launched by my next door nieghbour A. and our mutual male friend P. A. knocks on my door brandishing a glass of wine while I am still in the throws of choosing an outfit. She is flying off for a six week sojourn in India on Sunday and getting her life in order so that she can leave it all behind. Her and Freddie get comfortable on my bed and she discourses on her dramas as I put the finishing touches to my face and dab myself liberally with the patchouli oil.

We pick up P. and are off up the Canning Highway like demented groupies.

We braved the horrors of queuing for a park and hustled our way into the dome - which must be the worst venue in the southern hemisphere not to say the world. Anyone who has been there will know that it may be perfect to watch a tennis championship but as a rock venue it sucks bigtime. We had consigned P. to the ticket buying and found that the stage represented a vague shape on the far horizon. Luckily though I had my Dad's trusty binoculars with me and with their help Bob, when he arrived, in all his majesty, was visible as well as audible.

The show was amazing, he was amazing, the songs were amazing and right at the end during the encore the crowd finally rushed the red shirted attendants who were ever vigilant to keep us in our place and oh well, there he was, there we were and it couldn't have been more perfect. He actually looked like he was enjoying himself and in the end came out in front of the audience and raised his arms pointing his hands skywards - unheard of!

*not quite as bad as; "Hows your day going, are you keeping busy?".....Busy; a concept I try to avoid - but try and explain that to a bankteller.

Falling off the edge

This is it - my very first post from the edge. The main concern at the moment is the fear of falling into the abyss - becoming homeless - all the insecurity made it difficult to be a confident blogger since setting up this blog. Of course I am being a bit melodramatic, it's just that my landlords; a couple; have decided to split up and this dear little house that is ideal for myself and Freddie may have to be split up as well - and as yet I don't exactly know what that may mean but it does bring up fear and insecurity about my tenancy. Oh well, I am getting used to it now.....more opportunity to live in the moment. The thought of packing up and moving my books though does not fill me with excitement - I like them where they are, neatly arranged on their shelves.

Let me describe this home of two years. For a start it is in the most desirable of locations - walking distance from Freo and an easy walk to Booyembarra park where Freddie and I step out each morning. The dwelling is a one bedroom unit in a block of three (a triplex) and my nieghbours are single women like myself - and my next door nieghbour is a friend of thirty years. When I moved from a flat to this house I wanted two things - a garden and a dog! I did a visualisation of the type of place I wanted and this little place came very close - I even imagined a little fish pond -there is one just outside the backdoor. The rooms are very basic but the front window faces north so I get all the lovely winter sun. I have covered the walls with artwork mostly painted by my family. The bookshelves take up much of the wall space - a friend was here at the weekend and she said I would soon be needing a new bookshelf as they are overspilling somewhat. I said -no room-.......she looked around for a minute and said -the ceiling is a bit under-utilized-. Living in a space like this is comfortably cluttered and cosy - my desk looks out into the garden where I have gone crazy with flowers. When I moved in I splashed out on a Kilim rug which gives the room a bit of class.