The Great Southern

Another lovely weekend in Albany, this time for my Mum's 81st birthday.

On the Big Day, Lily and I took Mum and Dad to the Porongurups, where we were stunned by the silence among the tall karris ...

... and enjoyed the cool greens, and the occasional shower.

Fantastic.

After a picnic lunch we stopped here for afternoon tea.

Can you see the enormous red-flowering camellia beyond the palm fronds? It's over 60 years old, about 3 metres high and absolutely covered with blooms.

Someone obviously planted it in the perfect spot.

Right out the back, next to the orange tree, there was this fabulously simple structure, which I photographed — with Dad sitting in it "to give you an idea of scale" — thinking I might like to build one in my backyard, when we eventually get a house.

I'm imagining a long table instead of two small ones, and lots of Christmas lunches and summery dinners there. (My idea of summer is obviously tempered by the recent months of winter ... of course, a third of our real summer will be too stinking hot to want to sit outside at all, even in a rustic dining pavilion!)

Dad, who is supremely handy and has built at least four houses from the foundations up, reckons it wouldn't take a lot to build, and so long as it was demountable, it wouldn't need planning permission. Good one.

:: The flar at the top of the page is, I think, a kunzea. A native flower, blooming everywhere right now, much to the delight of the bees. And the golden wattle is looking amazing.

We all know ...

... that old Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle ... but did you know, had you any idea, that Schopenhauer was such a misogynist arsehole?

Click to get a bigger image, and start reading halfway down the left page ...

In case you can't see a bigger image when you click:

Schopenhauer's disparaging view of women [writes author Christopher Janaway], concentrated to most corrosive effect in his short essay, On Women, has earned him some notoriety. To what extent it should single him out from any of his contemporaries and predecessors is debatable ... What is not in question is the vehemence of his rhetoric on the topic:

Only the male intellect, clouded by the sexual impulse, could call the undersized, narrow-shouldered, broad-hipped, and short-legged sex the fair sex; for in this impulse is to be found its whole beauty.

Throughout their lives women remain children, always see only what is nearest them, cling to the present, take the appearance of things for reality, and prefer trivialities to the most important affairs. This it is the faculty of reason by virtue whereof man does not, like the animals, live merely in the present ... In consequence of her weaker faculty of reason, woman shares less in the advantages and disadvantages that this entails.

There are few compensating virtues. Schopenhauer ... is convinced that they [women] cannot reason very well, and have shallow characters. Their interests are 'love, conquests, ... dress, cosmetics, dancing'; they regard everything as a means to winning a man; dissimulation is inborn to them 'just as nature has armed the lion with claws and teeth, the elephant and boar with tusks, the bull with horns, and the cuttlefish with ink that blackens water'.

And: 'Generally, speaking, women are and remain the most downright and incurable Philistines.'

(From Schopenhauer, by Christopher Janaway, published by Oxford University Press)

Just thought I'd share that with the sisterhood.

Incidentally, those are not my scrawlings and scratchings. This entire book, from the library, is full of it, with notes in margins and all this stupid underlining. A lot of it is in what seems to me to be a mature hand. The work of one of those respectable older persons, I imagine, who deface public property and then spend the rest of their time whingeing about skateboarders or indolent youth.

There is so much to dislike in and about these two pages, isn't there?

I'm off now to bake a cake.

Farther up the wall

The gorgeous Maggs plied me with cups of hot frothy coffee and played lots and lots of Harry Nilsson today as I got on with the mural. This one's almost finished, save for a bit of a touch-up here and there.

I also have to floralise (my own word) the remaining big white discs. I've been waiting for colour inspiration, and I'm thinking bright, bright orange or hot, hot pink. Then there are to be a few bugs and critters in the low grass and foliage for kids to find while they're waiting for their mums or for Maggie to cut their fringes.

I'm very relieved to report it's been a hit so far with Maggie's clients, especially one young woman, who thinks a mural like this may be perfect for her children's library ... and who has taken my card ... (much excitement at this prospect).

:: At home this weekend there'll be more knitting, and quite a bit of sewing, and generally doing nothing more strenuous than walking the dog. Bliss!

The noddies

Okay Chris! You in the back there, mate! Now, while Tone's talking to camera, you stand right behind him and stare at the hair on the back of his noggin and we want you to really, really stare at it, okay?

Just keep staring at that hair, mate. It's Tony's hair. You lerrrrv it, okay?

And every now and again, just nod and smile a little, okay? We love that little frown, mate, but we really want you to nod. Tony will want you to nod.

Now, Chris, when that other lady wants to talk after Tony, you just shuffle over a bit and make room for Big Tone, cos he's gonna wanna look at her hair, and so are you, got that?

Now you all stare at it ... you really wanna stare at it ... nod and smile ...

Now, Shazza! While Jules is talking, right, you just smile straight at the hair on the back of her head, okay? And you can smile, don't forget to smile!

And don't forget you really really love what she's saying, so nod. We want you to nod. Julia will want you to nod. And stare ... don't stop staring, okay?

My three grads

From our wonderful celebration lunch yesterday.

Lily was unable to go to her graduation ceremony in Olympia, Washington, to get her cap and gown, so I made her a mortar board in Evergreen's dark green, which she wore all day!

Will (right) is next in line for one from a college or uni — his cap is from his high school graduation in California.

Simon's is the only authentic Australian one, for his B. Comm., from Curtin.

I am a very proud mum.

Another week

I think our state's daily newspaper has given up on grammar and the apostrophe. Unless fury is a verb ...

:: Meanwhile, at our quality suburban weekly, I have just one more issue to go until Sir comes back. If he comes back, that is: he's doing a whole lot of nothing on Santorini at the moment ... what bliss.

:: I'm knitting a lacy scarf.

This is in gorgeous wool that was spun and dyed by Suse, who is the absolute bee's knees when it comes to lace-knitting.

I'd thought about knitting a shawl, but I am very much a scarf sort of a girl, and I can't wait to finish this one. Perth has been so extremely cold this winter (3 degrees forecast for tonight).

More photographs of the scarf when it's done and blocked.

:: We have a big happy lunch scheduled for Sunday: Lily has graduated and we're celebrating!

Dem bones

I boiled up a couple of chicken carcasses yesterday, to make soup for today. It's a big footy day for Will and David (Dockers v Melbourne), and they love to come home from the oval to a bowl of good, hearty soup.

So there I was this morning, having strained the stock, picking over the bones to remove the best bits of the meat for the soup pot.

And trying not to think about whether the bits I was discarding (for the dog's bowl) would, in fact, go into commercially-made pies for human consumption.

To take my mind off that, I wondered whether in a past life I'd have been one of those little old Ancient Greek crones who rooted through the remains of freshly-slain chooks to see how the lads were faring in Thermopylae.

I figured that would probably have been my fate — the wizened, warted and moustached old dear — rather than being one of the tall, skinny ones who got the glam gig at Delphi and consorted with Heroes.

Anyway, that led me to wonder if, in the bones of the poor old boiler I had in my hands, I could foretell the fate of the Dockers at Subi this arvo.

But there was a distinct lack of oracular mistiness and scoreboard auguring.

And that led me to thinking about dead chooks as an Ancient Greek precursor to the interwebs.

And that reminded me of a conversation I had with my best friend Laura the other day.

We were in the car and I was parking on Rokeby Road, and she said to me: "Did you know you can use your wee to get wi-fi?"

And in a nano-second I thought, I must get Laura out more often, and away from whatever earth-mothery influences are driving her to such weirdness ... but then the double-I spelling kicked in and I realised my error.

The soup looks good!