The events of recent weeks have brought the all too real threat of terrorism to the streets of our Australian cities. “That which was a plane ride away, is now a bus ride away.” Once again, we have learnt nothing, and a violent, ignorant minority who seek power because they feel powerless seek to dominate that which is not their’s to dominant.
Go home and love your family.
Well, I have to hand it to the slithery little sods, they appear to have a taste for the finer things in life. I walked into the bathroom this morning to take a shower and found another snake; in the spa bath. A quick exit and down the hall way I sprinted calling to Mr FD and Son.
They declared it a tree snake, and a young one. Kin no doubt to the one despatched in the hallway earlier this week. Son brought in a leaf rake and balanced it on that until he was able to set it free further down the property. He and Mr FD totally ignored my demands to “kill, kill, kill” from the patio where I had retreated with Augie Dog.
I argued my point with a hysterical biology lesson as to how one snake meets another snake and next thing we have many snakes, but Mr FD tried to pretend he thought it “cute”. I know he was just doing it to torment me and he shall pay long and hard for his misbehaviour…
Not sure if the snake had been coming out of the spa jets, or just heading towards one, I decided to fill the tub to flush out any possible companions out. I kept watch as the water rose over the jets, not sure what I would do if something did appear. No doubt another sprint down the hall, at the very least! Nothing appeared, so I took a very fast and very nervous shower.
I was joining my sister for lunch, and the very first thing I did was order a glass of wine to soothe my rattled nerves. My stress was not alleviated by the text I received from Daughter2 who relayed a message from her boyfriend that snakes often get into the roof and slither on down. Comforting thought that no doubt will stay with me through the midnight hours, waiting for snakes to fall from the ceiling onto my head!
Yeah, sweet dreams, right.
Climb Mt Everest
Sale solo around the world
Be the Queen of England
Be President of the United States
Build a kit car
Perform brain surgery
Eat brains
Ride in a hot air balloon
Be 21, 35, 40 or 49 again.
Dance on MIL’s grave (she got cremated, you can’t dance on a wall niche)
Poke Putin in the eye (though I might possibly smite him)
Vote for Tony Abbott
Ride a motorbike
Appear on a reality TV show
Work a minute longer than I absolutely have to…waiter, tab please!
Get married again (who could follow Mr FD, right? HaHahAhAHAHa)
Consider Prince Charles handsome or king material
Have cosmetic surgery (can’t improve on perfection, right?)
Write an erotic novel (too difficult to put hands and noses and tongues in the right place at the right time and all at the same time!)
Say that yellow is my favourite colour
Follow the yellow brick road (now if it was blue, that would need serious consideration)
Call my cat, Hitler (even if I had one!)
Own a gun
Win an Academy Award (though I am very good at drama)
Be a city bus driver
Yodel
Play the glockenspiel (I am not even sure I can spell glockenspiel)
Retire the stick list (so much annoyance and imperfection)
Run with the Bulls
Probably finish this list!
forest reading: kate endle
What is your greatest fear?
I have so many fears, where do I start? Fear of heights, of snakes, lizards and frogs. Fear of failure. Fear that I will be found out, fear that someone will realise I am just bluffing my way through life (Not a real goddess? Who knew!)
Fear that something will happen to those I love. Now a fear that my grand daughter won’t have the life we all wish for her.
Fear that Tony Abbott will almost certainly win the next election.
Fear that I will develop dementia like both my parents. Fear that I will be a burden to my children. Fear that I may go blind.
Fear that I may have to work until I drop by the side of the road.
Fear that we will never learn that conflict and war produces no winners. Fear that we will continue to abuse the planet we live on, and each other.
Fear that we really will have Charles as our King one day. All hail Queen Camilla!
Fear that there may be a blight on tea crops and my favourite beverage will become scarce instead of plentiful.
Fear that my stick will snap.
Fear that I may develop even more fears.
I could go on, but I fear I will drive you away… What is your greatest fear? Are you frightened that you might wear two different coloured shoes at the same time?
If an irrational fear actually eventuates does it become a rational fear, and concrete proof that you are both sane and rational, as well as proving that proper reverence should be granted to all your anxieties, phobias and sense of impending doom? Not that any of my 3957 irrational fears in any given day have come through, but one never knows, and I do believe I should be prepared with more than “I told you so!” for Mr FD when the end of the world comes.
I try to be a glass half full woman. I earnestly do try, but most of the time I am a my glass is not only cracked, but it is filled with boiling water and is going to splinter into a zillion pieces as I make a mad dash for the kitchen sink, in bare feet across a bed of nails- on a good day.
In many ways I am inquisitive, reasonable, intellectually flexible and open minded. I make no claim to fair mindedness, unless the mind agrees with mine, but I do believe that I am open to new ways of doing things; well, professionally, if not privately. I will do things differently in my private life if I come up with the idea, but if Mr FD proffers a suggestion, I know that it will just be a waste of time to go down that path, having already seen 37 faults in his line of thinking, and so I am not going to waste my time and energy. I do consider alternatives, some for more than a second or two even, but I am fairly persistent in pursuit of my own will. I am, after all, a modern woman and above all, Flamingo Dancer.
In all, I would label myself as a truly critical and creative thinker as I do endeavour to integrate reason, logic, imagination and innovation into my thinking process. However, this is often where the Good Ship Flamingo Dancer flounders on the giant iceberg of doom.
Instantaneously, I can take a thought and focus in on it in a totally illogical and unanalytical way for some time. Whole nights of sleep have been lost to this unhappy activity. I can sort out conflicting claims, shredding the positives and strengthening the negatives, sending concrete evidence out of town on the first available bus with a one way ticket. The scales are not balanced with evidence, in fact the scales are packed in concrete evidence’s travel bag and all possible solutions are dispatched to a senate inquiry that will bog them down for the next decade.
As noted previously, I do try to relax and reflect, but those thoughts and emotions are slippery buggers, and before I can get a grip on any of them, they slip right away and disappear down the plug hole again. (Did you know that it is a myth that water goes down the plughole in a reverse direction in the southern hemisphere to the northern hemisphere? We’ll discuss that some other time, though.) My creative energy kicks in and I spontaneously sculpt innovative and ill-considered possibilities; irrational fears that are fine examples of both flexibility and precision.
And let’s be honest, irrational fears are only at their best when they are shared. Through visualisation and innovation, by giving and receiving effective feedback, we can, without hesitation or consideration for how insane we may appear, learn to value those warm and fuzzy moments when we communicate our irrational fears to our nearest and dearest. Or the entire worlds if we are famous; believe in conspiracy theories, it is an election year, or are addicted to twitter. (Another reason why I do not have a twitter account, I know my possibilities. We have all noted that I am an overachiever.)
Being Flamingo Dancer I have a steely façade, much like Superman and Clark Kent, but in reverse. Superman does the day job, little Clark gets the night terrors. To look at me, I am all that should, and is, adored by millions of little people all over the world. A model of genteel womanhood, modern independence and giant intellect. I am impressive, even to me, and I am hard to impress.
Peel back the wing feathers, and there lies a goose that considers it is well and truly cooked. I self-baste in scenarios that identify and describe issues beyond my immediate world. I neglect to prioritise rational ideas or select information to form a considered response (there goes that creative flair again!) Nothing is coherent, logical, or in perspective. I don’t test any reasonable possibilities, but allow bias and unreliability to flavour my thoughts and bake those fears. Even if there is contradictory evidence from multiple sources I just fling them into a zip lock bag and throw them out the door. Fact has no role to play in irrational fear, except as a silence or gap in my self styled narrative.
This whole process can spiral out of control too, as I apply the irrationality of one fear to another fresh and totally unrelated context, creating whole families and species of contexts and new meanings. Oh, the scenarios I can craft for myself, and those around me.
I won’t go into detail of what they may be, suffice to say that are many and varied, and lucky for you that I am covering all the bases and saving humankind from all types of calamities. How I suffer for the greater good. I predict possibilities, envisage consequences, and suspend all rationality.
And the best thing is, that this talent is easily passed on to the next generation, then it becomes a team sport. The competition of generation against generation, sibling against sibling, mother against child, oh hours of blame, guilt and therapy can ensue. Who says that the modern family doesn’t share? Not in our house. Why, right now we are worrying about whether there is any possibility that the ozone layer is directly over our house and we are all going to die from melanoma tomorrow, whether we will find another house to buy when our present one sells (not yet on the market), shall we find snakes in Grandma Flamingo Dancer’s garden shed when it clean it out (no one may have entered for the past 5 years), if Daughter2 goes to work in England, will I ever see my future grandchildren (of which she has no plans for, as yet, not even being married) , will I grow a mono brow and a beard when I am demented in the old people’s home, and even worse will I be forced to sit beside a boring person of ultra conservative opinions at the dining table in that home? That was all in just the last five minutes.
I fear, now, that I am boring you, destroying the myth of Flaming Dancer, and making you feel better than I. None of which is officially sanctioned. I bide you adieu, and will take to checking the stats to ease my fear of abandonment. Or is that heighten it?
I was rushing around the library, solo as my library aide was off for the day and her replacement was allocated elsewhere, when I stumbled over the carpet. Well, I thought it was the carpet but a very brief glance told me the sole was flapping off my shoe. Damn those $30 shoes! Who would have thought that cheap meant no quality!
Another glance of the other foot showed the sole flapping there as well. I was in danger of walking like Bozo the clown for the day!
I rushed to try blu-tac and craft glue but nothing held at all. Frantic phone calls home to Mr FD went unanswered – he was still asleep!
Eventually Mr FD answered the phone (it took about 6 calls!) and he agreed to drive over with another pair of shoes. I had to leave it to his discretion, and hunting prowess as to which pair of shoes, as I could really only tell him “black”. He was a bit grumbly as just awake, but I suggested putting some coffee in a travel mug and making the 20 minute drive – because he was going to die if he didn’t.
About 40 minutes later Mr FD arrived carrying shoes. He didn’t think to throw them in a bag, he just trotted through the campus holding a pair of high heels!
In with the new and out with the old. One whirl of the library and in walked, unannounced, the Chairman of the College Board and the city’s Deputy Mayor to check out the new library!
Little did they realise how close they came to having Bozo the Clown as their tour leader!
I am a little tired of hearing about the generation x, y and z stereotypes, just as I am exhausted from hearing about the baby boomer stereotype. Digital natives versus digital immigrants. I don’t believe that one stereotype fits all. What’s the old adage… assume makes an ass out of you (u) and me? Assumptions are in the same stable as far as I am concerned.
I am also tired of the way baby boomers (and I am a tail ender baby boomer) are working so hard to button hole younger generations. Are we going to be just like every other cranky older generation and carry on about “the kids today”? Surely we can do better than that. We are better than that.
Sitting at the English teachers’ conference today, I also grew tired of the older generation, and particularly the elder of the older generation, bemoaning the death of the book. I swear if I hear another teacher proudly boast that they refuse to use email, I may just push a chalk board duster down their throat. Failure to adapt is not a trait our students require in a teacher, especially as we try to instil a passion for life long learning into those students.
Get a grip, people, there is room in the world for both traditional books and new text forms. Don’t decry technology just because it frightens you, or you are too lazy to update skills. If you choose not to use it in your private life, that is your choice, but as an educator, you have no choice, but to evolve along with your students. Otherwise, exit stage left, I think.
Surely if nothing else, history has shown us that if something is valued it continues to hold importance. If we continue to find value in the written hard copy book then it will continue in its traditional form, if not, then it means we found something better. The horse and carriage preceded the motor car, remember? Somehow society continued to survive, as did the human race.
Just try raising the bar…
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