Dude sculpture

The Dude had his first after-school sculpture club meeting yesterday and came home with this. He modelled a group of colourful plasticene penguins to represent our family (the Fun Policeman, me, the Airhead, the Drama Queen, and the Dude) then placed them in a jar of water.

The Dude said, "We were supposed to put glitter in the water to make it like a snowdome, but I didn't want to. I guess it's more of a rain-dome."

Tune in for more sculpture next week.

50 years from now...

... according to Liberal Party backbencher Danna Vale, Australia will be a Muslim country because of all the little Aussies we're aborting today. (I wanted to put a link to the article that appeared in today's Sydney Morning Herald, but they haven't put most of the inflammatory bits on the website.)
WTF? This is wrong on so many levels I hardly know where to start! She says that she heard a Muslim cleric at a Sydney mosque make the claim that Australia would be a Muslim country in 50 years. So what? Go to any evangelical Christian church any Sunday and you'll hear the same thing with the word "Christian" instead of Muslim, but no-one gets upset about that. (Actually, most Aussies react to both claims the same way: "Yeah, whatever... when's the cricket starting?")
And how dare she bring race into the RU486 debate? It makes it sound like eugenics: "if only all those white middle-class girls weren't aborting potential Australians, we would be able to prevent the Muslims from carrying out their not-so-secret plan to convert the whole country". Which is a really screwed up way of thinking. If you take it one step further, perhaps Danna Vale would like to encourage Muslim women to have abortions, because it saves the Australian government the trouble of rejecting the kiddies' refugee applications, sinking their boats or blowing them up in Iraq when they grow up.
Please note: Amanda Vanstone has responded to her colleague's comments by pointing out that she's completely wrong, although I think Mandy's response still smacks of racism. Yet once again I find her standing up against the more offensive views of her fellow MPs, for which I grudgingly give her kudos. Eh, Chloe, next thing we know we'll be having cucumber sandwiches with her ourselves!
And also note: I have written this whole post without a single personal, emotive attack on Danna Vale. Except the bit about taking it one step further. True2life should be (a little bit) proud of me, because I was tempted to say much more.

The Great Fire

Last night I finished reading Shirley Hazzard's latest book, The Great Fire. I read it very slowly: it's the kind of book you want to enjoy to the fullest, so I didn't want to open it when I was just filling in time, or was too sleepy to take it in. And when I finally finished it, I felt as though I had had a box of exquisite Belgian chocolates and, although I was careful to conserve them as long as I could, I had just eaten the last one. I can still taste the sweetness this morning.
I read Shirley Hazzard's last novel, The Transit of Venus, as part of my Australian Literature course at uni. Being an impoverished student, all my books came from second-hand book stores and I remember turning up at the tutorial with my tattered paperback version in hand. The copy I had found was the kind of book that one of my lecturers would look down her nose at and term "airport literature": the title was in red foil letters and there was a slightly dated illustration on the cover of a blonde woman nearly popping out of a scarlet bustier. (The weird thing is, the heroine actually has black hair -- and I don't think she wears a bustier in the entire book.) My (richer) classmates had the brand-new version from the Co-op Bookshop, which had a very tasteful piece of modern art on the cover and a slim white serif font proclaiming the title.
Despite the off-putting appearance of its cover, I really enjoyed reading The Transit of Venus (and loved the debates we had in our AustLit tutorial about the ambiguous ending). So I was expecting a lot from The Great Fire. And I got it.
As well as rich, unpredictable characters and an intricate tapestry of plot threads, The Great Fire happens to be set partly in Hong Kong and Shanghai, where I have just visited. Not to mention Norfolk (UK) and Wellington (NZ) where I have also spent a little time. The postwar period setting notwithstanding, it was a kind of sweet synergy to have the characters treading in the streets I had so recently visited. Although I had to laugh when Peter Exley (a character who is originally from Sydney) describes working in the tallest building in Hong Kong, at 13 storeys -- these days, it would be one of the shortest (even our low-slung hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui had 14 floors).
We claim Shirley Hazzard as an Australian writer because she was born here. The Transit of Venus has an underlying theme of Australianness linked to the title: Captain Cook's voyage of discovery was primarily to observe the transit of 1776 from the southern hemisphere. Some of the characters in The Great Fire are Australian, too. But England, Japan, Italy, China and New Zealand are all beautifully represented in the scenery and characters of the book too. I think Shirley Hazzard is a truly international writer (in English), but nevertheless with a distinctively Australian sensibility.
I highly recommend that you read The Great Fire. It's just beautiful.

Happy Darwin Day

Today being the 197th birthday of the great Charles Darwin, the Dude and I attended a symposium at the Sydney branch of the Australian Humanists Society that was advertised on the Darwin Day website. The meeting began with a brief DVD viewing showing the argument at the Royal Society between Bishop Wilberforce and Thomas Huxley that included the noted (but partly apocryphal) exchange:
"Do you claim descent from an ape on your grandfather's side or your grandmother's?" and Huxley's brilliant put-down in reply.
There was also a short section of footage of modern studies of finches in South America that the Dude, in mini-naturalist mode, found intriguing. Then the symposium was opened up for discussion. Opinions were bandied about but the chairperson did an excellent job of allowing everyone to have their say and reminding those who interrupted to wait their turn. The Dude, unfortunately, fell asleep in his chair, but was inspired enough to ask to visit the bookstore on the way back to the car, where we found and purchased a slim volume about Charles Darwin and his work.
I was surprised that there was next to nothing about Darwin/evolution/natural selection in the Children's science section, but I think the (adult) book we did find is simple and concise enough for the Dude to enjoy and comprehend.
On the way home we had a great chat about natural selection, which branched into cosmology and Stephen Hawking's statement that the Big Bang leaves room for God (the Fun Policeman and I had been discussing that a couple of days ago and the Dude was intrigued).

Now I've just got to finish reading The Origin of Species... I'm up to the last chapter, so it won't be too long!

RU 4 RU486?

I have been building up a head of steam for several days now about the legislative amendment that was passed in the Senate yesterday concerning RU486. It is absolutely horrifying the way the terms of the amendment have been completely hijacked and ignored by lobby groups from both sides of the abortion fence.

Let's get this clear, everyone. The amendment is about whether the Health Minister (that is, Tony Abbott, who is not a medical practitioner or a pharmacist) or the Therapeutic Goods Administration (which is a unit of a Government department) should be able to decide whether this drug is safe enough to be made available by prescription to Australian women. The amendment is not about whether women should be allowed to abort fetuses: it is not even about whether this method of abortion is safer than other (legal) methods of abortion. It is about who gets to make the decision.

Whether this amendment is passed by the House of Reps next week or not, the legal status of abortion will not change. The availability of RU486 as a method of carrying out abortions may not change, either, depending on the decision of the TGA. All that will change is that Tony Abbott will no longer have the right to make decisions about the availability of drugs that he personally will never use. So he can stop meddling with women's bodies and go meddle with his own.

There's a scare campaign going on that has convinced some wimpy politicians that Mr Abbott is the only person in the country who can protect Aussie women from gruesome and painful death. The campaign features ads that claim women will die if RU486 becomes available by prescription. But consider the statistics:
The Medical Journal of Australia says that the maternal death rate in Australia in 2003 was 8.2 deaths per 100,000 women. On the other hand, the death rate for women who used RU486 is 1 in 200,000. In other words, RU486 is about 15 times safer than continuing with a pregnancy.
*** Please note: these are statistics. I am not trying to prove that abortion by RU486 is better than pregnancy in all, or any, cases. I am simply trying to show that the scare campaign about women dying from RU486 is missing the point of both the abortion debate and the actual amendment to the legislation.***

You know, I love to keep in regular correspondence with my local MP, and I'd write to her about this but I know she's already on my side. But if you have an MP who may need encouragement to vote to get RU486 assessed by a properly qualified Government body rather than Tony Abbott, then join GetUp's campaign. Please.

Yes, I know the heading of this entry is also missing the point of the amendment. But it got your attention, didn't it?

Mardi Gras is nearly here

Can't wait to see a drag queen wearing this creation as she totters down Oxford Street on March 4!

Thanks to Cherie for pointing this out to me.

Get your mind blown!

First mind-blowing thing. I think this astronomy picture is the wildest and most amazingest thing I have seen in a long time.

Another mind-blowing thing is that my coffee grinder is working again. Having been disassembled and reassembled by at least four people, including an engineer (okay, her PhD is in Chem. Eng. but you'd still expect some kind of mechanical aptitude), the grinder was finally fixed by the Dude's best friend, an 11-year-old supergenius (and son of the aforementioned engineer) who is, from this day forward, my Best Friend for Life.

Third mind-blowing thing: yesterday the Aforementioned Engineer and I went to see the Amazing Human Body show at the Superdome at Olympic Park. We went with a mixture of trepidation and macabre fascination: there's a kind of reluctance to come face-to-face with dead people, even if they have been plastinated. I had read a couple of newspaper articles about similar exhibitions in Europe and the US and there seems to be a certain amount of controversy over whether the people who donated their bodies really meant for them to be put on display like this. One article I read even alleged a kind of Frankensteinian body collection process. For the purposes of this blog I choose to believe that the bodies have been obtained legally and with full consent, as we were assured by the curator at the beginning of the exhibition.
Having bidden goodbye to the Fun Policeman, the Dude and my Best Friend for Life (the boys sent us off with the words "Bring home something for dinner, okay?") we went off to have our minds blown. I loved the cast of the blood vessels of the kidneys, looking liike fluffy kidney-shaped pompoms. I was fascinated by the tendons of the feet (for those of you who don't know, the Dude was born with Talipes equinovarus and has had two lots of corrective surgery on the tendons, bones and muscles of his feet, so seeing a foot's internal structure gave me even more respect for his wonderful orthopedic surgeon). There was a marvellous display of plastinated blood vessels of the arm, with all the flesh, bone and skin dissolved away so it was just a lacy network of amazingly fine vessels in the shape of an arm.
The biggest complaint I had heard about the exhibition was the lack of female bodies. The curator explained that this was to deter the voyeurs who had apparently ruined early exhibitions. I am not sure if I accept this argument: I mean, couldn't you just have the wankers escorted out by security guards? There is only one female (full) body in the exhibition, although there are several uteruses (uteri?) and a pelvis. There are no breasts. Not even on the full female body. This was disappointing. Having seen the amazing internal structures of other parts of the body, the Aforementioned Engineer and I were bewailing the missed opportunity to look at, say, the mammary glands and milk ducts or the blood supply of a breast. The other annoying thing was the labelling of a "Pelvis" and a "Female Pelvis". Yes, it was good to be able to compare the two, but why not say "Male Pelvis" and "Female Pelvis"? The current labelling implies "here is a pelvis and here is a female pelvis, which is not like a normal pelvis".
It took nearly two hours to get through the exhibition, we were surprised to note as we exited. We had been fascinated and horrified by turns, but managed to hold on to our lunch. In fact, we laughed quite a lot, making irreverent statements about the way plastination is not kind to the penis (the limply hanging testicles brought back memories of dissecting rats in year 11 biology class). We also decided not to get pate de foie gras, steak and kidney, lamb's fry or osso bucco for dinner (a horizontally sliced-up human leg looks just like chump chops, we decided) so the boys had to settle for chicken and salad that we picked up on the way home.

The philosopher's tone (and a singing blog)

Today I signed up for a 10 week evening course in Philosophy. Why? It all started with the course I did on string theory last year...
In case I haven't whinged to you about it -- is there anyone in the world to whom I haven't whinged about it? -- this was a course I signed up for that was supposed to be about the history and philosophy of quantum science. The course was 10 weeks long, and we finally got onto quantum theory halfway through week nine. At the time I was disillusioned with the teacher who allowed the class to be constantly hijacked by people pushing religious/creationist agendas. I think he just liked arguing with them. One of the worst hijackers always sat in front of me, and the Fun Policeman's solution to my frustration was a recommendation that I take along a plastic ruler and flick him in the back of the head every time he tried to go off-topic. He reasoned, like Pavlov, that the guy would eventually learn to associate pain with thoughts of creationism... I didn't test the theory. I'm pretty sure they banned those kinds of human psychology experiments a couple of decades ago.
Actually, my favourite memory of the course was when I caught two of my fellow students -- namely, the annoying elderly WASP male who sat in front of me and a young hijab-clad Muslim teacher -- conspiring in the stairwell about how they were going to make the teacher admit that God exists before the course was finished. I could barely contain my laughter until I got to the ground floor and out of the echoing stairwell! I mean, say they succeeded -- which they didn't -- what were they going to do THEN? Which God were they going to get him to acknowledge?
To get back to my reasons for taking a philosophy course, there were actually a couple of students in that class who gained my respect for their critical and logical thinking in the face of all the ridiculousness. One was a 40-something Jewish man who, despite his obviously sincere and deep-rooted beliefs (he wore a yarmulka and full beard), was always able to distill the masses of information that we were dealing with and ask questions that were pertinent to the subject we were supposed to be learning about. Without pushing a religious agenda at all. His knowledge of philosophy and his grasp of logic were refreshing.
The other student I respected was a bundle of visual contradictions. He was also 40-something, had a conservative haircut and wore conservative rimless glasses. His conservative, short-sleeved business shirts, however, were worn under a battered leather jacket and revealed a pretty impressive collection of tattoos all over his arms and, I imagine, most of the rest of his body. I invented an imaginary life for Tattoo Guy that included years spent poring over philosophy books in prison (I may have been doing him a disservice but he sure looked the part). He had a mind like a steel trap and could always add positively to in-class discussions at times when my brain was turning to jelly.
Tattoo Guy became my hero when he accosted the Elderly WASP during the class break one particularly frustrating day. He simply turned to the Elderly WASP and said, "You just have to accept that we're not here to discuss 'why', only 'what'." When the Elderly WASP tried to argue, Tattoo Guy calmly stood his ground and repeated his reasoning. I was silently cheering him on (although part of me wanted him to lose it and just deck the WASP. It had been a very frustrating hour.)
This is how I was inspired to sign up for the philosophy course; to improve my understanding of philosophy, logic and critical thinking. I feel that I have some mental muscles that need to be developed further. I was raised to accept the status quo: scepticism has never been my strong point. And I really don't know much about the great philosophers of human history, apart from what I learned about Plato, Socrates and Aristotle from my studies in ancient history and classical literature.

And Monty Python's Bruce's Philosophy Song.
Now this term, I don't want to catch anybody not drinking, eh, Bruce?

Naked blocks

Here's the next stage of my soluble fabric stabiliser experiments. These six naked crazy patchwork blocks are about to head off on an adventure around Australia and New Zealand, to be embellished, embroidered and solvied by five other embroiderers before they are returned to me to decorate the last one.
They are part of a round robin challenge in which each person in the "chain" sends out six naked blocks, then each recipient selects one block to embroider and embellish, before sending all six blocks along to the next person in the chain. The only stipulation is that the embellishment must use soluble fabric stabiliser in some form. This is why I've been practicing: having never used the stuff before I needed to get my skills into shape.
I used small sections of my blue experimental piece as the centre of each of these six blocks, to set the colour scheme and the theme for the block. Now it's up to Jan, Sue, Faye, Alison and Joy to let their creativity run wild. Meantime, Joy's blocks should be arriving in the post at my place soon and I get first pick from her selection to embellish -- so look out for more experiments soon.
In six months' time my blocks will come back to me all pretty and embroidered and not naked any more, at which point in time I will have to decide what to do with them.
Going on past form, this will mean I put them in my suitcase full of UFOs and do nothing with them for several years.

Experiment 3

My latest experiment with soluble fabric stabiliser. This is the best yet -- although it is still stitched by hand. (I scanned this piece rather than photographing it so the colours are a bit washed out -- it's actually bright blue!)

Experiment 2

Here's my second experiment with the soluble fabric stabiliser. This was going to be the back of the fabric but I like it better than the "front".

Warning: R-rated rant

I apologise in advance if the following diatribe about female body hair offends you and suggest that you skip reading my blog today if you are not interested in hearing my views on Brazilian waxing.

With regard to depillation, although I don't live in a glass house I certainly have some extremely large picture windows that make me feel very vulnerable in throwing stones at pubic waxing. I pluck my eyebrows, remove stray hairs on my chin and neck and shave my legs (reasonably) regularly. I also tidy up my bikini line when socially necessary (that is, before going to the beach or a public swimming pool). Some would claim that I am almost all the way along the line that eventually leads to a Brazillian; nevertheless, I take up my stones and begin pitching.

The reason I want to draw a line in the sand (or should I say, wax a line in the pubic hair) and question the idea of a Brazilian wax is that it seems to me that the primary purpose and result of the process is to make a woman look more like a little girl. This horrifies me, with its overtones of infantilisation and undertones of pedophilia. It horrifies me that so many women are prepared to go down this path without thinking about the messages they are sending to their lovers, friends and daughters.

Some of the reasons I have heard women give for having a Brazilian are that "it's cleaner" and "it increases the pleasurable sensations for me and my lover". To both of these excuses I reply: B*%!.S#!*. If you really thought being hairless was next to godliness, you'd shave your head as well. And I fail to see how hair inhibits sensation: in fact, if you ask me, there's more sensation to be felt with hair -- the stirring of the strands by your lover's breath, for instance.

Probably the most disturbing thing about the rise in popularity and acceptance of the Brazilian is that it is becoming the norm. Those starving size 8 darlings in fashion mags seem to have no body hair at all (of course, Photoshop has a lot to answer for here too). And take a look at pornography, if you dare: women with pubic hair is now a "fetish" category along with B&D, nuns, schoolgirls and MILFs. In other words, there is a false perception being created in society that women will be hairless, everywhere, placing yet another demand on women to make their bodies conform to an unnatural ideal.

There is some hope. One friend of mine had a Brazilian as a reaction to the discovery of grey pubic hairs; when she showed her husband the result, his response was, "What did you do that for?" Gotta love a man who's not afraid to love a woman -- a real, hairy woman.

For myself (and the Fun Policeman), I'm proudly maintaining my lush undergrowth.

Hat tip to the Daily Troll and Fluffy Dollars.

Girt by sea

Our State Premier, Morris Dilemma, thinks that he can solve all our Cronulla-based race-hate problems and wipe out terrorism by requiring the kiddies to sing the national anthem once a week at school assemblies.

I do love a good national anthem -- the Star Spangled Banner and Aotearoa/God Defend New Zealand are among my faves, along with good ol' Girt. I also am one of several Australian citizens (including the aforementioned State Premier) who actually know the words of the second verse (I even know the words of the disgraced and discarded verses: "When gallant Cook from Albion sailed...").

But I can't help thinking that poor old Morris is just taking a stab in the dark here. I mean, singing gospel music doesn't get you into heaven, and mumbling "Australians all eat sausages, for breakfast, lunch and tea" to a stodgy old tune is not going to magically turn primary school students into multiculturalists.

The only saving grace will be if the kiddies are allowed to belt out the anthem to its alternate tune: Barnesy's Working Class Man. (Go on, try it. It works.)

All together now:
Woah-oh-oh-oh Advance Australia Fair!

Crafty Dude

The Dude took a piece of cardstock from my craft supplies and spent a couple of quiet hours working away at this creation. It's a 3D representation of me sitting on my ergonomic kneeling chair, with my laptop on my worktable, surrounded by my books and other paraphernalia. He hasn't bothered to capture the messy state of the top of my worktable -- papers, bills, two telephones, beads, stapler, paperclips, tins of pens, pictures cut or torn out of newspapers and magazines, a copy of Wuthering Heights, hand cream, ribbons, letters, a key ring, the smoke alarm (needs a new battery) -- but at that scale (the whole thing is about 10cm high) it would have been quite a challenge.

Anyway, I love you too, Dude.

The Fun Police received a similar card, depicting him swinging by his hands in the doorway of the fire station. I'm not sure what the Dude thinks his dad does all day....

Help! Caffeine withdrawal imminent!

Here's my old faithful coffee grinder. This little baby was already old when we found it in the kitchen of the house my parents bought when I was four years old. But now I think it has had the rhubarb... it just doesn't grind the beans any more.

I've been looking on ebay for a new one, but I've got a dilemma: should I go for another manual grinder, or a new-fangled electric one? I've heard that the electric ones aren't very efficient and, personally, I'm not a big fan of electrical kitchen appliances anyway (just another machine to find a spot for in the cupboard). On the other hand, grinding coffee beans by hand every morning is hard (though rewarding) work. And the Fun Policeman always teases me about it being "mother's little helper" when I hold it between my knees to stabilise it (the joke will be apparent to fans of Australian Crawl*).

Any help with the pros and cons of coffee grinders would be appreciated, either in the comments here or by email. And now back to ebay...

* The Boys Light Up

The Fun Police

Not being accustomed to hard work, the junior members of the household didn't take too kindly to the Voice of Reason whipping them into a cleaning frenzy in preparation for the Dude's birthday party last week.

So they created a new job description and identification badge for the VoR: he is now known as the Fun Police.



(Later in the day, I confess, I also earned myself a badge and title: the Lounge Cover Nazi. Don't sit there! Don't put your feet on the lounge!)

Cycad

Look, Alli -- how your baby is growing!
Cycads are amazing plants. This one, that came from my sister's garden when she moved to America three-and-a-half years ago, has just sprouted four new leaves. No big deal for an angiosperm, but this cycad just doubled its complement of branches in one hot, wet week.
What intrigues me about my cycad is that it doesn't grow. When Alli gave it to me, it had two 15cm leaves growing from the bulb-like central "stem". Those two leaves continued to exist for a year and a half, without growing or changing in any way. Suddenly, after a hot, wet week that summer, the cycad sprouted two more leaves. These ones quickly expanded to their full size of about 45cm, then the plant stayed just as it was for another two years, not growing or changing. This week there are four new leaves that look as though they are going to be about the same size as the second pair.
It's as though the little cycad saves up energy in its core, waiting and waiting for just the right moment, then it explodes with new growth, before settling back into dormancy for another couple of years. This is a plant for a patient gardener.

Their smooth dark flames flicker at time's own root,
Round them the rising forests of the years
alter the climates of forgotten earth
and silt with leaves the strata of first birth.

Only the antique cycads sullenly
keep the old bargain life has long since broken;
and, cursed by age, through each chill century
they watch the shrunken moon, but never die,

for time forgets the promise he once made,
and change forgets that they are left alone.
Among the complicated birds and flowers
they seem a generation carved in stone.

Leaning together, down those gulfs they stare
over whose darkness dance the brilliant birds
that cry in air one moment, and are gone;
and with their countless suns the years spin on.

Take their cold seed and set it in the mind,
and its slow root will lengthen deep and deep
till, following, you cling on the last ledge
over the unthinkable, unfathomable edge
beyond which man remembers only sleep.

[Judith Wright, "The Cycads"]

Experiment

Here is my first attempt at using RinsAWay, similar to Solvy. The idea is that you place fibres, scraps of fabric and other objects on the soluble plastic, cover it with another layer of plastic to keep it all in place, then stitch through all the layers to create a kind of fabric. As in the photographs here.

1. The soluble plastic comes on a roll -- you just cut off as much as you need.








2. Next you place the fibres that you want to turn into fabric on the plastic sheet, then cover it with another layer of the plastic. These fibres are the ends of threads I used in my Moon Rock embroidery. I saved them all in a zip-lock bag as I was stitching.






3. Place the sandwich of soluble plastic and fibres in an embroidery hoop to hold it firm.








4. Most people machine stitch through the layers, using a free-hand motion. My ancient sewing machine doesn't have the required darning foot attachment and the tension is a bit suspect, so I chose to hand stitch in a spiral pattern. It was more time consuming, but fun. Next time, I might try a more intricate pattern, more decroative thread and smaller stitches. Or find someone who has a better sewing machine I can borrow.



5. Lastly, I ran the assembly under cold water and dissolved the plastic layers. The resulting lacy mesh is pretty, but quite fragile. It also required several rinses to fully remove the soluble plastic residue, which got all over my hands and the sink. Eewww.

Going the tonk

Last night we sprawled limply under the ceiling fan in the living room and watched Marto and Roy going the tonk at the Gabba*. I have no idea of the etymology of that phrase -- going the tonk -- but I have decided that it is my favourite phrase of the summer.

The Voice of Reason thinks that "tonk" is the sound of leather against willow, while I contend that it is a close approximation of the sound of a ball hitting the corrugated-iron roof of the Members' Stand at the SCG. The Dude just likes to say "tonk" over and over again, because it sounds so onomatopoeic.

Anyway, it got me thinking about going the tonk myself. Here's a short list of things I'd like to go the tonk on this summer:

Peter Costello
My next-door neighbour's radio at 2am
John Howard and his son, Richard "I met Senator John McCain"
4WDs
The Unlocking the Mystery of Life DVD
Cockroaches (that reminds me, I have to book the pest guy)

* Translation for non-Aussies: "We watched Damian Martyn and Andrew Symonds, two of Australia's top cricketers, hitting a cricket ball into the stands for six runs at the Woolloongabba sports venue in Brisbane."

Now I've done it...

At Linda's suggestion, I've created a flickr group for the science and nature embroidery. I prowled around some other flickr accounts and found a few more images for it, then emailed the owners of those images to ask them to join the group. I hope the word will spread and there will be an interesting response.

Fingers crossed.

Science-based stitchery

Check out kaysusan's yeast embroidery over at Smockery.

Kay's response to my Moon Rock embroidery (see my earlier series of posts), made me wonder if there are others out there who have attempted embroidery inspired by scientific images, from the microscopic to the macroscopic. When I recently visited the National Museum of Australia in Canberra I was enthralled by the six-metre long tapestry depicting the Milky Way (here's just a section):















I am not only thinking of abstract images but also of naturalistic images such as birds, butterflies and frogs (Maureen 3 stitched a beautiful frog on a bullrush for a Round Robin I was in a couple of years ago, for example -- I think it was the dragonfly one, but I can't remember whose block it ended up on).

Anyway, I thought it might be fun to get together a gallery of science and nature embroidery. The only criteria would be that the main subject of the embroidery should be of a scientific or naturalistic nature. If you've got something you could share, pop a comment on this post. You could either include a link to the image on your blog or, if you don't have your own blog, just let me know that you've got an image and I'll contact you by email and post the picture here. Any takers?

What kids know about science

A post on the Tangled Bank blog carnival had me in stitches: What your kids know about science. You'll laugh out loud.

Dragonfly eye candy

Summer, and dragonflies...

Sharon has posted a gorgeous photograph of a winged visitor to her Canberra garden at in a minute ago.

And Linda has completed a beauteous crazy quilt wallhanging which, I am proud to say, I had a small hand in (my contribution was the almost invisible silver dragonfly towards the top of the centre block). Check it out at Chloe's Place.

Inspiration

Although the current exhibition of works of one of my favourite Sydney artists, Grace Cossington Smith, has been on at the Art Gallery for nearly two months, I have only just managed to find the time to see it. It was, however, worth the wait. Many of the paintings I had already seen before in other exhibitions and galleries, but there was one that I found mesmerising: Sea Waves, a simple study of the ocean at Thirroul, a pretty little seaside hamlet south of Sydney (famous because DH Lawrence, Bret Whiteley and various other writers and artists have lived there at times).
Of course I was also spellbound once again by The Lacquer Room, a painting that I have loved for a long time -- I once decorated my dining room in colours and furniture inspired by it. The series of images of the Sydney Harbour Bridge being built are quite breathtaking: Grace Cossington Smith really captured the general sense of awe and disbelief that was prevalent in Sydney in the 1930s as this marvellous structure was erected. Would the arch meet in the middle? Would the city ever be the same? In hindsight, obviously "yes" and "no", but you can imagine at the time the doubt and fear in the minds of many Sydneysiders, especially when you see Grace's paintings.
I've been fishing around for another embroidery project, similar to the moonscape which I enjoyed stitching so very much. The Sea Waves painting inspired me -- which will come as no great surprise to those of you who know my obsessions -- and at first I thought that I would reproduce it in stitches: but later (thinking about it on the bus) I felt that I should choose a seascape that was more personal. Though I like Thirroul very much, it's not my favourite beach. Diamond Beach, on the other hand, comes close.
Here is the page of initial notes from my visual journal. Stay tuned for more images of the work-in-progress.

Christmas moon

This photo was taken at Sydney Airport, 2.30am on Christmas day. The moon had just risen over the buildings on the horizon.

Bah! Humbug!

Well, maybe Christmas is not so bad after all, thanks to Santa's little helpers, the Maltesers...

















Saint Ness...





















The Glamour Girls...

















and Wonder Boy, henceforth to be known as the Dude.

Moon Box

Step 1: Punch holes around the edge of the box lid with a large needle.










Step 2: Baste padding to reverse of embroidery.










Step 3: Stitch embroidery to box top with strong thread, keeping the fabric stretched as you stitch. Run a gathering stitch around the excess fabric to draw it up.










Step 4: Add a wide ribbon (not very successfully) to cover the edges of the fabric. This is the step I am least satisfied with -- the ribbon is a bit wrinkly. I may need to rethink this. My stepdaughter, the Drama Queen, suggested using a narrower ribbon and wrapping it around several times, which is one option. Only I am not going anywhere near Bondi Junction on Christmas Eve, so a trip to Spotlight will have to wait until after the festive season.










Step 5: Fill box with moonstones (thanks for the idea, Maureen).

Moon Rock 6

For those of you who have been interested in my moon embroidery, I apologise for the lack of updates in recent weeks. I have been working on it, but my trip to China interfered with my ability (and time) to upload images. And, of course, one is not allowed to do embroidery on planes any more, even if one has one of those groovy safe thread cutters with the blade inside a metal disk, because sharp, pointy needles are sooooo dangerous (although Amanda Vanstone can do a lot more damage with an HB pencil). But now my moonscape is finished: at least, the embroidery part of it is finished.
















Here is the original image (from a document released by NASA/JPL) for comparison:





















I have washed the embroidery in mild detergent, stretched it in the hoop again, and found an appropriate round cardboard box to attach it to. The next step is to stitch the embroidery to the box lid, pad it and then find some ribbon or braid to trim the edge of the lid and hide the excess fabric. More photos to come!
I will also accept suggestions as to what I can keep in the box when I have finished it.

Shanghaied

I have finally uploaded a selection of the best photos from our trip to Shanghai and Hong Kong to my flickr account. If you're interested, check them out. Then you can say you've already seen them, when I try to force you to sit through the whole boring slideshow!

Diamond Beach

Oh, don't you love summer! I've just spent a couple of days with my mum at Diamond Beach. Spectacular weather, spectacular walks on the beach, and spectacular star-gazing (actually planet-gazing: we looked at a brilliant crescent Venus and at Mars) at night through Terry's new telescope.

Down at the beach the tide was out and the sandbar was making the waves do crazy things, such as this amazing crossover manoeuvre:
















After dark, all the pretty lights came on, including the ones in the sky. Here's a picture of Venus and some Christmas lights across the road from mum's house.

Congee and other delights

I couldn't tell you about my trip to China without raving about the food. The congee, of course, was plentiful -- especially in Hong Kong, where the best I had was at the Sweet Dynasty restaurant in Canton Road, Kowloon (weekend breakfasts) and next door at the Chinese Kitchen (weekday breakfasts).
Wonder Boy valiantly persisted in eating most meals with chopsticks, only occasionally begging for a fork to cope with particularly slippery comestibles. We made a pact to try everything -- well, almost everything. (I draw the line at thousand-year-old eggs, which I have tried before and really can't bring myself to eat: they're an acquired taste that my life is too short to acquire.) So we ate such ordinary things as duck, goose, pork and beef as well as the more exotic offerings: Yangtse River hairy crabs, eel, snails, jellyfish and, yes, dog. The Voice of Reason prefers to refer to the dog meat by its name on the English version of the menu: pierced meat (it was served on bamboo skewers with a kind of red sauce).
All-time favourite foods in Shanghai were easy to choose: for snacks, you just can't go past steamed dumplings: six dumplings for about four RMB (80 cents). Wonder Boy and I tried hot coconut milk tea at Renmin Square. Sounds weird, but it tastes like ambrosia. We soon discovered that you can buy this beverage, as well as a chocolate version, from street stalls for three RMB (about 50 cents). It is sweet, hot and you drink it through a really wide straw so you can suck up the jelly balls from the bottom of the cup.
Favourite foods in Hong Kong were harder to find. We were heartily sick of noodles in broth after four days in the city, as this is the staple diet. We did discover a seller of tooth-shatteringly-cold coconut milk just outside the Temple Street Night Markets, and went back more than once for this refreshing drink. There were also street stalls selling hot coconut milk tea, to our delight. The congee, I have mentioned, was wonderful but unfortunately limited to breakfast time. On our first day we sampled the famous Hong Kong afternoon snack of toast smeared with condensed milk that may become a bit of a favourite source of after-school sustenance for Wonder Boy. It is also necessary to mention the mango pancakes at the Chinese Kitchen: mango-flavoured pancakes stuffed with mango pulp and sweetened cream and served cold.
It wasn't until our final day, however, when we visited the 10,000 Buddhas temple at Sha Tin, that we ate the dish that got my vote for the best meal in Hong Kong. Halfway up a mountain, a tiny plastic-walled hut in the temple grounds serves vegetarian meals such as deep-fried salt-and-pepper field mushrooms (and shark's fin soup !! -- must be vegetarian sharks). It was worth every one of the 400-odd steps to climb up there for the mushrooms, and the descent was also necessary to burn off the calories because I ate so many of the blessed fungi. Luckily I am better at using chopsticks than the VoR, so I was able to purloin the lion's share of mushrooms off the plate and wolf them down while he fumbled with the cutlery.
We saw lots of McDonalds restaurants in China but didn't set foot in a single one (no, I tell a lie, we did peek into the one on Victoria Peak to check out the menu -- they were selling tubs of sweet corn, which all the local kids were eating). We ventured into one of the ubiquitous KFC outlets, too. In Shanghai, I had noted that KFC sold steamed dumplings (twice the price of the street vendors, though, so we didn't bother to try them) but in Hong Kong we experimented with the chicken, corn and macaroni broth for breakfast. It wasn't nice, and I had to go and wash my mouth out with congee afterwards.

We're back!

This morning we arrived on a red-eye flight from Hong Kong to a hot Sydney summer day, with wonderful Australian clear blue skies. How do we get the sky so blue down here? Even on the best day in China the few blue patches that could be seen through the smog of Shanghai or Hong Kong were pale grey by comparison. And my beautiful peppermint gum tree in the backyard has never looked so green!

I didn't realise just how homesick I was.

Communism at work

I've just spent a few days in Shanghai where the traffic has to be experienced to be believed. I have always thought Sydney drivers (including myself) were aggressive, selfish and at times downright rude. But a Sydney driver would get nowhere in Shanghai! The first thing I noticed was that pedestrian crossings, despite being controlled by traffic lights, mean absolutely nothing. Even with a little animated green walking man showing, you take your life into your hands when you step out onto a pedestrian crossing. Horns sound constantly, warning you to get out of the way of the oncoming cars, buses and trucks. And you can't bluff them by stepping out in front of them to make them stop -- they just swerve around you, hand on the horn.
Travelling in Shanghai taxis is something else I don't want to do again in a hurry. Merging from two lanes into one is like that scene with the Knight Bus in the Harry Potter movie: the cab driver squeezes his car through the tightest of gaps to get one space ahead in the gridlocked traffic -- I swear, if I hadn't held my breath we might not have made it through in a couple of cases. The Metro was a much better way to get around.
The most amazing thing was that we didn't see a single car or pedestrian accident in all our time in the city. The only vehicle accident we saw was on our way to the airport when we were leaving, when a truck had lost its load on the expressway.
I believe the Shanghai system of road rules (or lack thereof) is a perfect example of the result of communism. In Sydney, I often complain that certain drivers think they own the road, and act accordingly. In Shanghai, everyone thinks they own the road.
Now we are in Hong Kong and I am happy to report that vehicular and pedestrian traffic is more like what we are used to dealing with, although we were in Mong Kok this evening -- the most populated place on the planet -- and there were roads that were wall-to-wall pedestrians: I doubt a car could have got through the crowd if it had wanted to.

Rules of cricket (for Pierre)

You have two sides, one that's out in the field and one that's in.

The side that's out in the field tries to get the side that's in out.

Each man in the side that's in goes out, and when he's out he comes in and the next man goes out.

When they are all out, the side that's out comes in, and the side that's been in goes out and tries to get the side coming in out.

Sometimes you get men still in and not out.

When both sides have been in and out, twice, including the not outs, that's the end of the game.

Taronga Park Zoo

I have not posted for a week because I've been busy entertaining my American guests, who flew back to upstate New York yesterday. One of the things we did was visit the zoo to acquaint Pierre with all the Aussie animals (and a few exotics). Pictures, for those interested in a) animals; b) Sydney; and c) my family, are in my flickr album. Click the button in the sidebar.

Papal bull

I laughed out loud over at the Fafblog this morning.

Yesterday's moon

Near side (with Venus):

















Far side:

Humpty Dumpty

Yesterday I went to Stroud for my beautiful niece's 2nd birthday. My sister had got out mum's old Women's Weekly Birthday Cake cook book to create a cake for her daughter, who had picked out Humpty Dumpty. So the three of us sisters all pitched in to help decorate the cake according to the picture:

We spent ages leafing through the book and remembering all the birthday cakes and who had had which over the years. There was the piano cake (with white chocolate and licorice keys) that I had one year, and the ghost that Alli had with eggshells for eyes, the swimming pool (with jelly water) that Cali had for her pool party.
Audrey loved Humpty Dumpty, but when we recited the rhyme she cried when we got to the line "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall". So this Humpty was carefully placed on a high shelf where he would not meet any irreparable end!
And here is the birthday girl, trying on Uncle Pear's hat and still with a little tear in her eye after the nursery rhyme incident:

Moon rock 4

Embroidery update. I got quite a lot of stitching done in the car on the way to Stroud (two and a half hours' drive) and back again yesterday.
Today's featured crater is Korolev, the small yellow one near the centre. Sergei Korolev designed the rocket that launched Sputnik I.

Moon rock 3

Day Three.
How fast I am scooting through this embroidery! The problem is, the Voice of Reason returned from his four-day business trip to Adelaide today, so I won't have as much time to sit up 'til very late watching my choice of videos while I stitch.
Today's featured crater is the Hertzsprung crater, the nice big yellow one just leaving the main sequence at upper right. The three smaller craters above it are called something like Katich, Ponting and Terry Alderman (or I might need glasses). I don't think they would actually name craters after Australian cricketers. Hmmmmm. Kevin wants to give the moon a name: how about Richie Benaud?

Hey, I think I know that guy...

Firefighters posing in their underwear... who'd have thought it?

This kind of thing was a daily occurence at No 27 Station. Just ask the VoR.

Moon rock 2

Here's the progress on my moon embroidery. I've just about finished the purple area, although I might scatter a few more purple knots around the edges. I've only got one two-strand length of variegated purple thread left for a bit of extra shading, so that was good planning (or luck)!
Topographically, I think this purple patch must be the remnant of a fairly large crater (I read it as lower than the surrounding areas) with lots of smaller, more recent craters scattered over it. The large purple crater at the top right of this area is the Apollo crater, commemorating the historic missions to the moon. The purple oval at the lower left is called Schrodinger -- I don't know where his cat is and whether it is alive or dead -- and the pale blue oval just above it is the Planck crater, which is, however, not 0.0000000000000000000000000000000000016 metres long.

Moon rock 1

Last night I made a start on the project I first blogged about ages ago. The project was inspired by the embroidered pebble paperweights on the UK embroidery guild website and by a colour-coded topographical map of the far side of the moon from a document released by JPL (NASA). See my earlier entry for links if you're interested.

The photograph shows the page of my visual journal with a printout of the topographic map and the beginnings of the embroidery. I decided to stitch in some of the major craters in padded satin stitch before beginning the French knots. I used three strands of embroidery cotton for the satin stitch and some of the knots. Other knots are worked in two strands. Mostly I am doing three wraps, but occasionally four or five to vary the sizes of the knots. Oh, and the fabric I'm using is salvaged from the Voice of Reason's almost-new shirt: he left an uncapped pen in the pocket, with dreadful results, but the cotton fabric was too good to consign to the rag bag. (Cherie and Peggy, I told you I'd make good use of it.)
The moon map doesn't look like much yet but I have high hopes for it. It's a little big to be a paperweight (I traced it directly from the map -- it's about 15 cm diameter) but I think it might make a nice padded lid for one of those round trinket boxes. If I really like it when it's finished, I might even frame it!

I don't like dogs.

I don't even like puppies, no matter how cuuuuute you think they look with their big eyes and oversized paws and their stupid little hats (or toys, or whatever).

I especially don't like dogs whose owners think that their dog has a right to walk up to me in a public place and start sniffing at any part of my anatomy. I don't like dogs whose owners think it is okay for me to have to cross to the other side of the footpath (or street), just so they don't have to give their dog's lead a little tug to get it out of my path. I don't like dogs whose owners say, "It's okay, he won't hurt you" as I back away from their slobbery mouths and gross tongues. Not to mention the dogs' mouths and tongues. I don't like dogs that suddenly start barking madly at me from behind a fence, when I am just minding my own business, walking down the footpath, not thinking that my ears are about to be assaulted by inarticulate, eardrum-bursting animal noises -- until I jump three feet in the air in surprise.

Have I mentioned that I don't like dog owners, either? I mean, it's hardly fair to put all the blame on the stupid animals.

And dogs are animals, not children: but even if you think they are like children, I wouldn't let my child run up to a stranger in a public place and start slobbering all over her and sniffing her in inappropriate places. Or start yelling at a passer-by over the yard fence. And then say, "it's okay, he won't hurt you".

The Voice of Reason says, "a dog is just one meal away from being a wild animal". Or, in my opinion, less than that.

UPDATE
I may have found a soul mate in Hemlock. See the diary entry for April 12th. Via Chase me ladies, I'm in the cavalry.

With apologies to Sam, Nelson Mandela, Sprocket and other dogs of my acquaintance whose owners I can also tolerate.

Sculpture by the Sea

At first I thought the creature above was a beche-la-mer but the catalogue claims that it's a diatom. Hmmm.
We braved an overcast sky and the worst Bondi traffic jam since the City to Surf to take a walk along the cliff tops and enjoy the annual Sculpture by the Sea show. As well as enjoying the art, we also enjoyed the company of our newly arrived visitors from the USA, my sister and her husband, who can be seen catching a wave on the Tamarama clifftop below. (They don't look too jet-lagged!)


Below is a photo of one of my favourite artworks. (The photo is upside down, so that the lettering is right-side up. That's why it looks a bit weird.) What I especially liked about it was the elderly woman in a pink bikini, who swam her lesiurely laps of the pool (paddling along on her back, without getting her perfectly coiffed hair wet at any time) oblivious to the hundreds and possibly thousands of art-loving onlookers staring down at her as they passed.


Or perhaps not oblivious? Whatever, I hope I'm like her when I get to that time of my life! (I doubt I'll look that good in a bikini though.)



Click on the flickr button in the sidebar to see some more photos of the artworks.

A theological argument against ID

The Sydney Morning Herald is running a series of feature articles this week reporting on the growing controversy about teaching ID in NSW schools. You can follow it on the SMH website if you don't read that newspaper. The articles so far seem to me to be presenting "both sides" of the argument in a rational manner: the claims of ID supporters are routinely answered and refuted by scientists in succeeding paragraphs, not left to stand unchallenged.

The best analysis I read this morning, however, was an opinion piece by a professor of theology at the Australian Catholic University. Arguing from theological principles, he disclaims the validity of ID:

Much depends on what its proponents mean by the term "intelligent design". If they mean that the universe as a whole displays a profound intelligibility through which one might argue philosophically that the existence of God is manifest, their position is very traditional.

However, if by intelligent design they mean that God is an explanation for the normal course of events which would otherwise lack scientific explanation, then this is opposed to a traditional Christian understanding of divine transcendence. In seeking to save a place for God within the creation process, the promoters of intelligent design reduce God to the level of what the early theologian Thomas Aquinas would call a "secondary cause".

This is just a more sophisticated version of so-called "creation science", which is poor theology and poor science.

There are some assumptions in the full article that I would take issue with, but it is worth reading. It supports the assumption that looking for a "God of the Gaps" to fill holes in human knowledge is self-defeating: using faith to excuse and explain ignorance is forming a creator in your own image, for selfish purposes. If Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, metaphysicians, astrologers or those of any other mystical persuasion want a prop for their faith, they are not ultimately going to find it within the limitations of intelligent design. (Not that I have met with or heard of anyone but Christians -- and followers of the Flying Spaghetti Monster -- attempting to promote ID, which puts the lie to some of the claims of impartiality and universal relevance of the "designer".)

If you do believe in a designer, creator, god, or transcendent supernatural being/force of any description, Intelligent Design is not the way to prove its existence. Choosing faith in a God of the Gaps will only lead to your god and your faith diminishing as your understanding of science and nature increases. Of course, if you are happy to let your brain stagnate at its current level of scientific knowledge, your god will at least always be what you understand at this moment. But if your understanding of your god is to remain unchanged, you might as well just slit your wrists now. If you were designed and put on this planet for the sole purpose of knowing the designer better, and you're not going to advance your knowledge at all from this point, then the purpose of your existence is at an end.
As is the purpose of the existence of ID. At a dead end.

Be a man

This community service announcement is brought to you by the Southern Cross Crazies Nowra retreat. If you are a real man, get a prostate cancer checkup. Thank you.

And now for today's blog entry. After the National Retreat in CanBra last year, where we were challenged to create embellished bras to raise money for breast cancer research, this year's focus for the fundraiser challenge was on raising money for prostate cancer research and public education. Although there are currently no male members of the Southern Cross Crazies (Hi, Tom!), many of us have friends and family who are men, so we still care about them.
Instead of bras, the instructions were to make and/or embellish a pair of men's underpants. Once again, the imagination and stitching skill of the participants were unbelieveable and we had a hilarious time as the underwear was paraded around the room. The fundraising part consisted of voting for one's favourite pair of underpants by coin donation. The underpants that raised the most money were declared the winners.
Today I have images of the first, second and third place winners. The entire parade can be seen on flickr (click on the flickr button in the sidebar to check them all out and go to the Nowra set of images). We are looking into posting hi-res images on a website soon, if you want to see the embroidery close up, so stay tuned for the details.
And now... drum roll, please... the winners are:

Third Place: Maureen III's Cod Piece

Maureen's wicked sense of humour once again came to the fore this year with a three-dimensional interpretation of a traditional male undergarment. She had a lot to live up to after her Maurdonna bra construction, but she never disappoints her fans!

Second Place: Maureen IV's Crown Jewels

The front of this pair of cotton jocks is encrusted with jewels and treasures and surmounted by an applique crown and an ermine shawl -- very regal. Maureen wanted to highlight the need for men to take care of their crowning glory. She also said that she would have added more of the handmade beer-bottle-cap buttons (contributed by her husband) but she didn't have time to drink any more.

First Place: Florence's Crazy Pants

Florence's bra was much admired last year and now hangs in her local hospital's oncology ward. She plans to donate the matching pair of undies to the same institution. Lavishly embroidered and decorated with jewels and feathers, it's no wonder this pair received the most votes.

Bond, Chesty Bond

Hugh Jackman reportedly turned down the role of James Bond in the upcoming movie, much as he turned down the opportunity to be the in-house underpants model for the Southern Cross Crazies' Prostate Cancer fundraiser. In Mr Jackman's absence, we turned to another Mr Bond as his replacement: Chesty himself, to be precise.* Delivering their near relation to the green glades of the Shoalhaven were those gorgeous Bond girls, Maureen and Catherine, who unearthed this Aussie original in an op shop.
Mr Bond was the ideal model, tractable and complacent through approximately 20 changes of underwear. I am not sure how well Mr Jackman is endowed, but ol' Chesty didn't even bat an eyelid when assistance in that department was required (in the form of pieces of fruit) to help him fill some of the larger pairs of jocks.
More photographs of the weekend are available on my flickr account, where I will soon be adding the long-awaited underpants photographs. Stay tuned for further developments.

* Those of you who don't know Chesty Bond should go here. On the Bonds website, Chesty seems to have been made redundant by Pat Rafter.

News from Nowra

Oh, whiter than the surf was she
That breaks those coasts along;
And redder than the coral tree
That grows by Gerringong;
And graceful as the springing palm
On Illawarra hills;
And sweeter than the meadow balm
By cool Shoalhaven rills.

E.J. Brady, "Keira"

On Friday afternoon I drove my car down the hill from Nowra and rounded the bend that brought me out of the tall trees on the ridge and into view of the lush Waterslea paddocks on the banks of the Shoalhaven river. What a breathtaking sight, and a great precursor to a fantastic weekend!
It was the annual retreat of the Southern Cross Crazies. Those of you with whom I was lucky enough to share the past four days will be impatient to see more pictures, especially of underpants, and I promise I will get them up as soon as I can -- look out for further instalments over the next few days. Meantime, I have a lot of catching up on work to do today, so just enjoy these pictures.

Paean

I'm listening to Great Big Sea's hymn to summer:

Everything's gonna be all right when summer comes
The darkest stars will burn so bright when summer comes
We will open up our bodies to the warming of the sun
When summer comes

The words are not so very poetic on their own, but combined with the lyrical, folky melody and the gentle, raw voice of the singer, it makes me feel quite alive. The sun is shining through the window as I type this and I'm waiting for a subtle sea breeze to stir the leaves of the peppermint gum outside and answer the starlings that are twittering away in its branches. The native irises around the base of the tree have exploded with white flowers that come in waves every few days. Summer is already here, although the calendar doesn't recognise it yet.

The poignancy of Great Big Sea's song makes me realise how the coming of summer must seem even more miraculous to someone who lives in Newfoundland than it does to an antipodean. The frosts of winter, with plants and animals hibernating and dormant under a thick blanket of snow, must be a stark reminder of death every year, while the revitalising spring thaw must seem like an annual miracle. No wonder so many ancient civilisations worshipped the sun!

In the Australian climate, especially in Sydney, the contrast between winter and summer is not so stark. There are flowers and animals all year round, of some sort or another, and it never gets so cold and dark that the world seems frozen and dead. In Australia we always live among "the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky" (those are e. e. cummings words, but they fit) so summer seems less miraculous to us. Perhaps that's why Aussies are so typically carefree: we don't have that annual reminder of death to tell us that "She'll be right, mate" is not the answer to everything.

Those who live in the tropics must truly think themselves indestructible! No wonder they are so notoriously relaxed about time. I think that's why I love visiting Vanuatu so much: it makes me feel immortal. I can spend hours on end every day swimming around the reef and watching the denizens of that underwater civilisation going about their business: an eternity passes in every moment.

An aside: I wonder if Bruce is still running the restaurant on Hideaway Island, and if his daughter Alison is still bewitching the guests to worship her. She was five and Wonder Boy was eight last time we went: she was such a tiny thing but she would call him into her presence like a monarch when he came down the steps to the beach: "Come," she would command, with her impish smile, leading him away for some game of collecting broken coral, or chasing hermit crabs, or splashing in the shallows and examining giant blue starfish that looked like velvet but felt surprisingly hard and brittle. He looked so big and pale and grown up next to the dark, quick, lithe child, but he would follow her around like a faithful puppy. (End of aside.)

Another thing I love about Vanuatu is the genuine reverence for nature. Last time we were on Hideaway Island, a baby coconut palm just 20cm high had sprung up a couple of metres from its parent, right in the middle of the path between the steps and the jetty. Instead of digging it out or snapping it off, the island's inhabitants simply stepped off the path to skirt around it, and built a little coral wall to protect it from being accidentally damaged by passing traffic. There was no sense of being inconvenienced or outraged by the chance intrusion of nature: no need to bend nature to human will. Just acceptance.

Now that is a true recognition of immortality. To acknowledge that a palm has as much right as you have to be in that place, and may be there when you are gone: not to claim any privelege on the earth because of the species to which you belong. To know that everything is part of a continuum of existence, and to live fully in the moment. To quote cummings again:

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

Terror Australis

Last night the news reports said that the Federal government claimed to have discovered a new and credible threat to Australian security, giving this as a further reason for rushing their appalling anti-terror legislation through parliament. Apparently (I have been told by a reliable informant) this threat is neither new nor imminent: in fact, NSW Police have been working on the case for some time, and officers at high levels are dismayed at the way the government is seeking to use their ongoing investigation as a political football. That's all I'll say, because if the legislation does go through I won't be able to protect the identity of the source of my information or myself.

At the same time, I finally received an answer to my email (it was a copy of what I wrote here) from my local Federal representative, Tanya Plibersek.

Thank you for contacting me about the proposed anti-terrorism laws. It is important to note the legislation has not yet been presented to the Parliament by the Howard Government, so I have still not seen a finaldraft. It is disgraceful that the government plans to introduce laws which it expects Members of Parliament to vote on immediately, without even having time to read the legislation. It is undemocratic and it undermines my ability to do my job on behalf of my constituents. Like all members of the ALP, I have grave concerns about the legislation and I am determined to see a number of changes in the Bill from the time it was posted on the internet by ACT Chief Minister Jon Stanhope.

Federal Labor has been calling for strong safeguards on any new anti-terrorism laws since before the meeting between the Prime Minister and the Premiers on 27 September.

Kim Beazley has called for safeguards such as:

* A sunset clause for the entire legislation to ensure these new powers will not be permanent and will need to be revisited by Parliament for them to continue (and that susnset clause to be shorter than the ten year one proposed by the Prime Minister for just one section of the legislation);
* Meaningful judicial review of the substance of claims, not just on points of law, and an independent oversight and appeal process for control orders and preventative detention;
* parliamentary oversight to ensure the use of the powers is accountable to Parliament,
* expanded resources for watchdogs like the Inspector General of Intelligence and Security to investigate any abuses of the powers,
* new watchdogs like a national Public Interest Monitor, and
* an independent statutory body to oversight the Australian Federal Police.

Federal Labor and the Premiers have successfully forced some of those changes in the draft legislation and we are hopeful we can force more. We are determined to keep up the pressure by exposing the flaws in these laws.

Kim Beazley has also called for a proper parliamentary process so this legislation can be debated in the community and we have said we will look to move sensible amendments to reflect commonly held concerns about issues like the sedition provisions.

Kim has also made very clear when a final binding agreement between the Premiers, the Chief Ministers and the Prime Minister is reached, the Federal Labor Caucus will examine the Bill and make a final decision. Kim, like many members of the community, genuinely believes (based on intelligence briefings) that Australia is at more risk today from terrorist threats than we have been at any time in the past.

That is at least in part due to this Government's negligent foreign affairs policy, including our wrong-headed, foolish decision to follow America into the debacle of the Iraq war. Kim has written to the Prime Minister restating Labor's concerns about
the Bill and calling on the Prime Minister to put politics aside and work in the national interest, so that strong safeguards can be attached to extra powers to protect Australia from terrorist incidents. I have attached a copy of the letter for your information.

We are asking the Prime Minister to make the required changes to the Bill, allow proper time for debate, and then turn his mind to the practical measures highlighted by Labor, which will make a real difference to prepare Australia for the threat of terrorist attack: measures like increased intelligence resources, better security at
airports etc.

For your information, I have attached a number of recent media statements from Federal Labor addressing these points, as well as a copy of Kim Beazley's letter to the Prime Minister.

Thank you for taking the time to write to me. I agree this is very important legislation and that our future as a decent democratic society depends on not giving away the rights and freedoms we hold dear.

I post it here without comment, because I promised to do so, and I haven't had a chance to digest it and decide on my response to it yet. On first read, she seems to be saying, "don't trust the Liberal Party, trust the Labor Party" but I am inclined to do neither in the current political climate.

I intend to be myself

Reading DH Lawrence after Jane Austen is something of a leap, leaving the refined drawing rooms of one -- where passion is always expressed in proper sentences, no matter how deep it runs -- to enjoy the untamed physicality of the world with men and women who barely restrain animal sensation behind fin de siecle propriety. Yet there are not so many differences between the two, because the characters in both are well-realised portraits of human beings with feelings and thoughts that must be subdued to social expectations. But that's an essay for another day.
I hadn't read The Rainbow since I fell in love with Ursula Brangwen while I was studying the book at university. Or rather, since I recognised echoes of myself in Ursula Brangwen while I lived through her university studies in the book. (That is the test of a good book: if you can recognise yourself in the protagonist. And I believe DH Lawrence is one of the few male novelists who can do a really good female protagonist.)
Having been recently involved (see this blog entry) in a discussion of whether there is a separate "spiritual" existence above and beyond humanness, or whether the feelings of "goodness" and "transcendence" are explainable by purely physical phenomena, I read this section in the penultimate chapter of The Rainbow with some delight:

...she was fretting over a conversation she had had a few days ago with Dr. Frankstone, who was a woman doctor of physics in the college.

“No, really,” Dr. Frankstone had said, “I don’t see why we should attribute some special mystery to life—do you? We don’t understand it as we understand electricity, even, but that doesn’t warrant our saying it is something special, something different in kind and distinct from everything else in the universe—do you think it does? May it not be that life consists in a complexity of physical and chemical activities, of the same order as the activities we already know in science? I don’t see, really, why we should imagine there is a special order of life, and life alone——”

The conversation had ended on a note of uncertainty, indefinite, wistful. But the purpose, what was the purpose? Electricity had no soul, light and heat had no soul. Was she herself an impersonal force, or conjunction of forces, like one of these? She looked still at the unicellular shadow that lay within the field of light, under her microscope. It was alive. She saw it move—she saw the bright mist of its ciliary activity, she saw the gleam of its nucleus, as it slid across the plane of light. What then was its will? If it was a conjunction of forces, physical and chemical, what held these forces unified, and for what purpose were they unified?

For what purpose were the incalculable physical and chemical activities nodalised in this shadowy, moving speck under her microscope? What was the will which nodalised them and created the one thing she saw? What was its intention? To be itself? Was its purpose just mechanical and limited to itself?

It intended to be itself. But what self? Suddenly in her mind the world gleamed strangely, with an intense light, like the nucleus of the creature under the microscope. Suddenly she had passed away into an intensely-gleaming light of knowledge. She could not understand what it all was. She only knew that it was not limited mechanical energy, nor mere purpose of self-preservation and self-assertion. It was a consummation, a being infinite. Self was a oneness with the infinite. To be oneself was a supreme, gleaming triumph of infinity.

Here Lawrence has captured the transcendental experience of human thought and feelings, without turning it into an external deity. For the algae on the microscope slide, existence is a Platonic "thing-in-itself" and Ursula finds in that a consummation between the physical world and the infinite.
I have never felt consummated by an algae (although I remember being mesmerised by the light from my little microscope shining through the rainbow colours of skin cells on a slide I had made when I was 10 years old), but that is the kind of transcendent human experience I feel when I listen to music, or read poetry. It's the kind of experience that turns people to seek God as an explanation for their thoughts and feelings and, according to Lawrence, it doesn't really matter whether or not they find a religion that satisfies them, or some more pure unification with the gleaming triumph of infinity.
As someone said during last week's discussion (in an email), "the whole is greater than the sum of the parts". The meaning of this quotation, however, depends on the definition of greater: the whole of human consciousness may be "greater" -- beautiful, transcendent, infinite -- but yet not "more than" -- that is, it may still ultimately be explained by a combination of finite chemical reactions without needing recourse to a deity to fill in the gaps of understanding.

To be myself is a supreme, gleaming triumph of infinity. Thrilling!