No more celebrities are allowed to die…

bounds

…because I can’t stand the international sob fest!

Since Prince passed, we have drowning in media sob stories. Yes it is sad, a man died far too early, but this happens to thousands of people every day. Let us get some perspective. He was a musician that some people listened too. There was a time when he was the butt of much humour because he changed his name to a symbol.

What makes us glorify celebrity death, and to act as though our life will cease to be because they are no longer breathing? Then there is the rehashing of other celebrity deaths and on it goes.

In most cases, they saved no lives, often wasted their own, and made a lot of money along the way. Often then did not value that money and its power, but used it to indulge and take from our earth.

So no more celebrity deaths. Not that they are to be granted eternal life, but may they all live to be very very old, like movie stars from the golden era, so that they are no more than a blip on the evening news. No more fans rending their denim jackets on the footpath outside their homes with wasted flowers. Give the attention to your families, to your community, to people who make a difference to others not just to themselves – to someone you actually know.

 

Advertisements

ANZAC DAY

ANZAC DAY

UNTOLD STORIES : Today is ANZAC day and as a nation we celebrate all Diggers! But did you know that over 1000 Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders fought for Australia in World War 1 – even though they couldn’t vote and were not recognised as citizens in their own country? Many who tried to enlist were rejected on the grounds of race – but for those that slipped through the net – they rode in the Light Horse, they climbed the slopes of Gallipoli, they fought and died in the trenches on the Western Front. And they would not have thought their sacrifice more than that of any other Digger. They all volunteered to put their lives on the line for their country.

it feels like age is relevant after all

paris

I feel a great sense of urgency.  I want to live in an interior world that is creative, academic, and filled with ideas and information. Maybe, it is because I am only a couple of years away from the end of my fifties, and I must admit that I am all too aware of the clock ticking. Two parents who suffered dementia/alzeimer’s; I have been painfully confronted with the reality that the length of years has nothing to do with the quality of those years.

More and more, I feel resentful that I have to continue working. I like my job, some days I hate it, and I am painfully aware that I am more librarian than teacher, but then again a librarian is always a teacher anyway. I often feel like a pretender both roles.

I crave the freedom to be able to think and read, to debate and share. To enrich lives through information and awareness, but to be quiet when I choose.

The public face we need to portray is does not fit, if it ever did. The interior me is quiet, and contemplative. I want information and knowledge, and while I enjoy sharing, I do not share to force an opinion, I like to share to raise awareness so that people can form their own opinions.

My family are more extroverted than I, well, Mr FD has over the years become introverted in ways that seem to balance mine, but can also sometimes irritate me. No doubt my introversion does the same for him. We bump along somehow, but I don’t need nor do I seek, the distraction of people or places.

I am the person who could walk through a museum in utter contentment alone. I can dine alone and be oblivious to those around me, except for the undisciplined child beside me who risks my teacher’s voice. Mr FD has mastered the art of movie watching in theatres alone, but I don’t know if I can as I have never had the opportunity. I suspect I would do it well!

I resent the lack of time, the lack of quiet, the lack freedom to be and do what I need, not unlike most people, I know. I don’t care about you in this moment though, it is me, for when the last breaths come, that is all there will be…me.

Stick lists, vitriol and maleficence, life would be complete.

touche

The stick list has a sibling. The stick list being the list of people that I am going to go around and hit on the last day. Its sibling is my retirement speech. The speech that you ruminate over for years, composing it with vitriol and maleficence. Naturally, when the time comes, you are so relieved to be leaving that you can’t be bothered saying it.

I am sure I will deliver it, stick in one hand, list in the other and hip flask in my pocket.

Not that anything terrible, horrible has happened. I was just in the shower, where all our best thoughts come from, and the image of someone I really, really, want to whammy came into my mind’s eye and I was off. Small man in big job, who is just one of the world’s shinning examples of a bastard.

Sigh, tomorrow is another day, but sadly it is not retirement day.

Of course I can, said the brush to the comb.

violin

Favourite memory of the weekend is of three year old, Petite Fille, using a hair brush and comb as her violin and bow. Perky nose wrinkled tight for she was concentrating very hard, as brush tucked under her tiny chin, she hummed a high pitched melody as she drew the comb back and forth through the brush bristles.

We exclaimed at her talent and suggested that one day she would play for an audience and they would rise to their feet to clap their appreciation and Petite Fille merely nodded and said, “Of course they will.”

Her Daddy entered the room and we asked her for an encore. “Of course, I can!” she consented.

No one ever played a brush and comb with such delicate touch and feeling.

To achieve, first we must believe.

End of vacation blues

There goes those two weeks! New school term tomorrow, and I honest to the Big Whatever have done no preparation beyond wadding through my email inbox. Deleting emails took an hour, and by that time I was so over school that I closed my school laptop and put it in the car, where it can languish until tomorrow!

I am covering a colleague’s ICT class for four weeks so will be refreshing my coding skills. He is not a man to introduce anything new, so I can trust that nothing has changed in the unit since I taught it last year.

Over the break, I have had swarms of ideas running through my head for the library, but I need to sift and filter (do sift and filter mean the same, or is one more intense. I hope so, since my word choice!) I have neither time, energy nor assistance to do a lot of big picture stuff, but I will just try to do what I can do, one day at a time.

The manga and anime club kicks off this term with Manga Tuesday. Initial interest was about 40 students, but I expect that to be somewhat less when the day arrives. I am allowing the students to run it, as while I stock the graphic novels, I really don’t know the genre at all, so I am praying some of the older, or more enthusiastic students take up leadership.

Missing my Perth based Peppercorn.

four months

ready for swimming lessons!

However, home was where Petite Fille was waiting, with a butterfly cake that she had decorated with flowers. It was an earl grey tea cake with chocolate lavender icing. Yes, it was yum!

cake 58

Blessed.

All good things come to an end

boeing

From west to east, flying home today. Sad to leave Peppercorn and her Mummy, as always. I am not subtle in my “suggestions” that they move east and close to family again. Peppercorn’s paternal grandmother agrees as they live in Queensland too.

Comfort in knowing I am going home to Petite Fille, and a second birthday celebration. Petite Fille has been telling her mother that Grandma must have a flower cake, the gift of a toy truck, and a party with a friend called Anne Jones. We don’t know anyone named Anne Jones.