Last day of winter

On this sunny glorious day we bid farewell to what has been a fair and kind winter, well at least in Queensland. The cold was just enough to want us to cook heart warming casseroles and soups but not enough to stop us from having lunch on the deck with the warmth of the sunshine on our backs. 

My window box is looking purplelishous - 

When I was at the plant nursery I came across this Begonia and I knew as soon as I saw this plant that I had to have it. Totally exceptional with leaves that differed in colour and had a lustre of the finest Indian silk. When I looked at what it was called I laughed - It was called " Indian Summer".

Do you not wonder at what nature offers up to us and how ? I do. 

Here is to the start of a splendid Aussie springtime. 

Pricilla cafe

A note popped into my mail box. It was from a little neighbour of mine. She is 6 - in her own hand written invitation she was setting up a cafe at her home to raise money for Pricilla aged 6 also - but an orphan living in South Africa.

With the help of her mum and her grandmother, they baked the goodies and printed a menu. Everything sounded delicious and there was a lot on offer.

She was dressed in a lovely indian style top, with pink leggings and barefoot. She had a big pad and pencil and she took down everyone's offer and then headed off to the kitchen. We sat around eating the most delicious cakes, and drinking frothy coffees, teas and hot chocolates.

I took a few pictures- here she is taking an order- and behind the baked goodies. Kids raised the Aussie way, caring, kind, doers and shakers - aged 6. A lesson for us all.

En plein air

On my run yesterday I saw a young man had set up his easel and his paints and was busy painting the bridge which I pass every day. I ran past with a quick nod but on my way back I stopped to talk to him, admire his painting, and ask a little about him. He lives locally and normally heads off to the bush to do most of his paintings but has now decided he would try something closer to home. 

Today I saw him again, this time painting the reverse side of the bridge and it made me realise that there is art in everything we see, it is just our minds that compartmentalise images more readily perhaps than we want them to. 

So I ran back, took a picture of him, said this was for posterity, I can boast that I met the young Dylan Jones, painting on Ithaca Creek. His name of course conjures up something Dylanesque, something totally delicious and creative. In the words of Dylan Thomas " The function of posterity is to look after itself". Asking why he was called Dylan is clearly for another encounter.

So here it is, the bridge, our resident painter en plain air, and his take on what to some may look like a concrete structure. There is art, there is form, and there is uniqueness in everything we see. If you want to explore Dylan's work go to http://www.dylanjonesart.com/cv.html

This blog is dedicated to my ailing but apparently svelte friend Lucy Bolton, another fine painter. 

The bigger picture

I have only been resident in Brisbane for just over two years and while I feel I know some parts of the city, the state is still an unknown quantity for me. 

Queensland is large - 1,727,000 square kms. 

Queensland has 5 of Australias 11 World Natural Heritage Areas. 

Surprisingly more than half of Queensland's population lives outside the metropolitan area of Brisbane. 

As city dwellers we live in a built up environment but we are a little spoilt with our surroundings, lush tropical vegetation, some exceptionally beautiful birds, botanic gardens and parks all over the city and an abundance of green spaces. 

Go further out and the story is radically, shockingly, starkly different.Most of the central west part of the state is in the grips of the worst drought since records began. Queenslanders may have recollections of other droughts in their history or when they were growing up but I do not, so when I saw a small announcement in the paper about an exhibition on drought I went along - 

The title - "Drought - what next" on Display at Brisbane City Hall until the 28th of August. 

Some answers, all unpleasant, come to mind, ruination, dust and dirt, bareness, suicide, destitution of farming communities and graziers.  

The city has just enjoyed two weeks of the country coming to town with EKKA the state's agricultural show. So much of all that is on display at the show comes at a huge price because of the effects of drought. 

The area of Longreach will run out of water completely in four months. It is into its third year with no rain. One woman who came to talk to city women made an impassioned plea about the state of the countryside for which she received a standing ovation. Among others she had this to say :

"The droughts.... are an unrelenting all consuming whirlpool, silently drowning all hopes and dreams,productivity and plans for future generations and pride, while sapping everyone's energy and finances."

I went along to see the exhibition and I was frankly shocked at the extent of the problem. The question in my mind though is what do you do - pray for the rain like the Indians do? Give financial support to those businesses and farms that are no longer viable?  

Isn't this where issues such as climate change come into view and isn't this where Australia will be hoping to feed its population from? Worrying signs and even more worrying implications. This is a fragile continent, more so than its happy go lucky- no worries exterior, leads us to believe. 

In the words of the immortal Manuel "QUE?"

"It's all Greek to me" - is strangely enough a phrase that has the opposite meaning for me to what is intended. You see I speak Greek and it is all very clear and understandable to me.

But engage me in Cricket Speak or Tradesmen Speak and I am at a total loss for words or comprehension. This comes after ahem, yes excuse me for mentioning this, Australia losing the Ashes. My husband got so excited about it he interrupted what I was watching to immediately go to the live recording of the Cricket. Well for solidarity I watched and strained to catch those connecting words of English, the "and" and "the" which might make sense of wickets and stumps and leg over wicket and scoring centuries and sixes. I thought ducks were birds and fishing - well fishing, but apparently they are well known cricketing terms. As for trundlers and Yorkers, out spinners and rabbits all I can say is they are as perplexing as a Jaffa, which I have always eaten in the past. 

This interesting linguo parallels the equally baffling construction terminology which I am having to deal with at the moment, doing some renos (Aussie for Renovations) in the house. The Tradies as they are affectionately called here,  arrive at the house, slip off their heavy duty boots at the door and all seem so lovely and friendly. I just wish I understood what they were saying. 

Cilla

I woke up this morning to the news that Cilla Black has died. She was only 72. I know there will be tributes and commemorations from all over the world for this singer and chat show host. I want to add what she meant to me. She came from Liverpool, which was my home for 8 years, she called everyone Luv, was not a great beauty,  but was warm and funny and lovely and I have to say she provided me with some memorable Saturday evenings at home watching her show, where I would sing along to her opening and closing song which I adored. My parents were often out on a Saturday night at an official function of one sort or another and after watching my mum dress, gloves, hand- bag, jewellery to match the outfit, I would wave them good bye and be allowed that rare treat of a TV dinner. Our TV was a sizeable piece of furniture with wooden concertina doors and buttons to control the sound and brightness on the right hand side. 

The shows were just so much fun.One of the things I remember well was always wondering what she would come out wearing.  She changed many costumes throughout one show and I loved  her long legs and how well she wore them. Later, she became the hostess for Blind Date and who couldn't enjoy the screen going back to reveal squirming girls and awkward boys with the occasional love story blossoming between the contestants. She was a darling woman and my youth was part Cilla and part Tom Jones. I know he is still going strong, but I am sad to have lost her as she was such a part of my growing up. Little did I know, when watching her shows all those years ago,  I would end up living in her home town, a place full of lovely warm people just like her.