Little pecks of powder...

My daughter is a contrast of traits, a kaleidescope of girly girl and rough-and-tumble and feisty and sweet..

For instance, she adores makeup.

Which is a bit strange, because I wear minimal colour on my face.

And yet, she is obsessed by the little palettes of aqua and lavendar and hot pink powders which people so love to give kids as gifts these days.

(That sweeping statement includes me by the way - if I have to endure miniature make-up artists, so do all my friends!).

My Dad quotes a quaint ditty which goes something like this:

Little pecks of powder

And little pots of paint

Make a gal's complexion

Seem just what it ain't!

I was a tomboy, all obsessive over horses and being Dad's right hand man when I was little. So while it bemuses me a little, I admit that deep down, I kinda enjoy that my daughter likes girly stuff.
It's reassuring somehow.

She is totally her own little person.

But it's always important to keep in mind that Violet has an older brother.
A sweet, mostly-gentle, loving older brother...

An older brother who's not that much into makeup.

Or Barbies.

You want to know what he IS into?

Really, really into?
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.
.

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Football

(especially the Wallabies, our national rugby team)

Nintendo DS games

Riding his horse Lacey

and....

the most important ....

Transformers!

Meet Violet, Transformer Girl.

Cool relief...

It's been pretty hard not to focus on the horrendous toll that bushfires have taken on Australia lately - and I realise my last couple of posts have been (necessarily) a bit hot and heavy... you'd be forgiven for thinking that nothing has been going on around the ridges here.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

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Last week Dash's tiny school attended a local swimming carnival. We had been looking forward to it, as Dash had taken a few lessons over the school holidays - and while he is no SuperFish (yet) he shows some promise. Of course, he is built like a grasshopper, and practically skims over top of the water which gives him a bit of a natural advantage! I wasn't sure if we would be able to convince him to try his very first race the length of the 25 metre pool.

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It was hot and humid and a wee bit emotional, as the day also marked the last day that four of his closest schoolmates attended before heading off on new adventures (and to new primary schools). To be honest, I think it hit home with the mums more than the kids (although the older ones certainly 'got it').

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So with a little lump in my throat, I give you:

The Swimming Carnival...

or more accurately:

The 25 metre Backstroke Race from the Swimming Carnival

Dash's new teacher, Miss P calms his nerves before our little swimmer hops in the water...

Take your marks...

And he's away and going well... with some seriously good support on the sidelines!

He's feeling the pinch a little, and those arms are starting to take a little more effort to lift out of the water...
He's fading... keep those arms going Dash!

Yay!!!!

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Hope this little snippet somehow brightened, lightened or cooled your day.

I know it did mine.

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On a more serious note, for those looking to do something to help out those tragically touched by the bushfires in southern Australia, I have posted some contact points near the top of the sidebar of this blog. International visitors should go through the Red Cross site provided. All support - from messages to money - is desperately needed. Do what you can. I will be.

Damnation...

When I tapped out yesterday's post asking y'all to keep in mind the terrible conditions in the south of our great nation, I had no idea of the enormity of what was happening. Of what would happen. No idea at all.

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When I heard 40-something people had perished this morning, I felt physically ill. I checked the blogs of those I knew were down there in the fires' paths, and came away concerned for a couple of them. Again and again I was taken back to my own experiences amongst such fires. Although the fires I covered were a little less destructive in terms of human life, they gave me a terrible appreciation of the potential scope of destruction. As each news report has come in, the weight of Australia's worst ever fires is settling, heavy and ominous. Tonight the death toll stands at 84. Police expect it to exceed 100. Unthinkable. Unbelievable. Unbearable.

...

This afternoon I finally heard Gem was OK and her family had survived the inferno. She made time to post even in her post-shock state, saying:

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I am so close to tears at every second.

I feel like I am grieving but I should be rejoicing as we came through unscathed - physically.

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She has also since posted an amazing series of photos here of how she and her husband faced down the fires. It's worth a look.

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For a moment, as I look at her blog, I think I understand. I don't of course, not really. I can imagine the smell of the smoke and ashes, the stinging of eyes as you look over the remains of buildings you once knew, the surreal look of the should be familiar landscape around. But I cannot imagine the feeling of knowing your neighbours have lost everything they own. Of knowing cherished pets and animals have perished. I cannot imagine the community shellshocked from losing members in an instant. I cannot imagine how you lift yourself to face the next day, as surely these people and communities will.

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And most of all, I cannot imagine the kinds of minds that begin this kind of madness. That justify to themselves that this is some kind of sport, lighting fires 'for fun'. I watched as a forensic psychologist methodically explained the behaviour, and felt no closer to understanding. I don't think am a particularly vindictive being, I cannot help but think there must be some kind of special damnation for those responsible for this entirely uneccessary carnage.

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What kind of soul does this?

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I wrestle with this crippling, unanswerable question.

And cast it aside.

My thoughts tonight are instead with the survivors, and the families of the victims.

May the rains come.

May your communities hold firm and rebuild.

May dreams rise from the ashes once again.

And may this never, ever happen again.

Hellfire...

My thoughts tonight are with Gem and all those experiencing horrendous temperatures (I have heard reports of almost 50 degree Celsius) and terrible bushfires down in the southern part of this country: New South Wales, South Australia and Victoria. To the north, floods are inundating towns and homes.

I have not heard if any lives have been lost in the tropical deluge (and I fervently hope they are not), but news reports say that the sky-rocketing temps down south may have taken up to 30 lives already and fires have killed 14 so far - this shocks me completely. I cannot imagine enduring that kind of heat day after day. My heart is with those dealing with it and the fallout from such scorching heat. It has been warm at here Granite Glen, but 34 degrees is positively balmy compared to the thermometre readings our fellow Aussies are feeling.

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While I have shared with you our use of fire (controlled burning) as a tool here, I do understand how truly frightening and dangerous bushfires can be ... in my previous life (as a news photographer) I covered many such blazes in the Riverina region of New South Wales and around the thickly timbered hinterland of the Sunshine Coast. Wild fires can move quickly and can wreak utter devastation in minutes. They leap roads like they aren't there, crackle through tree-tops like rolling orange waves, and roar through undergrowth like freight trains. Anything caught in the path of this fiery fury is left charred, smouldering. ...

It can be up to the whim of Mother Nature (with her choice of wind direction and precipitation) what gets scorched and what stays untouched. I have seen terrible things, watched others lose everything they own. And worse.

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My father is a firm believer that regular, regulated fires prevent the threat of bushfires, clearing the undergrowth of fuel before it builds too much and provides the means for a really hot fire that does real long-term damage. His favourite line is: Common Sense Must Prevail.

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I have heard both sides of the "to control burn or not" argument, and understand the points made by those who attest to the need for matter to sit and rot and provide nutrients. But when news like those currently dominating our headlines becomes an annual event, you have to wonder if my old man doesn't have a bit of a point?

Wherever you stand, join me in praying for those facing the hellish fury of bushfires and the energy-draining force of serious Summer heat tonight. And pray for the morons who (police suspect) deliberately lit some of the fires responsible for such terrible carnage.

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Somewhere in my prayer will be a line I say often:

Dear God, let it rain.

And please, send it where it needs rain the most.

School blues...

Last week was back-to-school time for Dash.

It's been a less than ideal lead-up to this annual event, with some big news the previous week that his main buddy, Mada and his family were leaving the district. The full effect of this news is that not only will Dash's bus and playground mate be gone after tomorrow, but also both his year two classmates - one is Mada's sister Emmie, and the other Dash's cousin Rose will no longer attend. (That's right, Dash will be the only Year Two student at his one teacher school!).

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It's huge news that was just beginning to hit home as we waited for the school bus on Day One of the 2009 school year...

Someone was not a happy camper.

Violet of course, was oblivious to the dark undertones of Dash's Day One, and was all grins and bubbles of anticipation for her first day back at Kindy. She is desperate to go to Proper School with Dash, but Kindy is a pretty good Plan B!

Dimples and poses.
Sunshine and Roses.
Gloom and Doom.
Luckily the rhythm of his school day, and the impact of the delightful new teacher who has replaced Mr C, have helped erase (almost) the scowl from Dash's dial.
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We tried the 'waiting for the bus' photo again this week...

Thank goodness...
Now that's more like it...
A double rainbow!

Amphibian Graffiti

I love nice cars. In another life, I might have been a bit of a rev head. I love the latest Land Cruisers and Lexus and Audi convertibles, as a girl I had posters of Lamborghinis plastered on my bedroom wall ! (I have an eye for expensive things... sadly, not the wallet to follow through!) And even though our Prado has seen better days, I do love it's styling and still take a bit of pride in it (when I have the energy to wash the vivid red dirt from it's surfaces and orifices).

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So I waited with great interest when Mr Incredible's brother and family arrived up for Christmas in his spanking new BMW four-wheel-drive. I'm not sure it had ever seen a real dirt road before and despite serious efforts by pretty much every member of my family to convince him to "give it a real go", "take it for a bit of a bush bash" and let them "go for a spin", his baby stayed snugly in the carport their entire stay here at Granite Glen. Locked. My father failed to conceal his extreme disappointment. He always wanted a something a bit flash like a new expensive Volvo, but could never convince my practical Ma to convert from her love affair with the Ford Falcon station wagon. I take after my father in all kinds of scary ways!

I'm ashamed to say that I was therefore delighted to notice evidence that the shiny ice-blue Beamer's bush visit didn't go totally unrewarded (or unmarked) by it's sojourn into the Queensland sticks...

Now normally I'm not much on the wonders of Kermit or anything slimy ... but this was such a fabulous example of Amphibian Graffiti!

Doncha think?

Well done my little green friend.

My brother-in-law was quite good-natured about the slippery scrawl, but has since thought to mention how difficult red dirt is to remove!

Yar.

Tell me about it!

Meltdowns and more excuses

I am not sure if you have noticed, but I have been a bit, er, distracted for the past couple of weeks. Sure, I am still coming down from my Christmas loaves-and-fishes effort, the whole back-to-school thing is all over me as usual, and the branding has really knocked the proverbial (and literal) stuffing out of moi, but something else has been worrying away at my creative juices as well.

Something evil.

Something chip-driven.

(If anyone said 'my backside', I'm not laughing!)

It's my laptop.

(OK, this is Jeanie's laptop fairly schmicko notebook, mine's in the background! The one with the blank screen - illustrating my point entirely.)

The laptop which my husband often accused me of loving more than he, as it took up residence welded to my lap every evening post washing-up.

The laptop on which I fiddled with photos, whipped up a few words, and hurled spontaneous blog offerings together upon. Then foisted them on an unsuspecting world. (Well the few scattered souls who dared to peek into my blog anyway! Hello you lot.)

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That laptop.

Which died a slow and tortuous death a couple of weeks ago.

Taking with it into computer heaven goodness knows how many photos (most backed up, some not) and... sob... my Photoshop.

Apparently I can live without Photoshop.

But not happily.

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Yesterday the Gods smiled on me and I smiled a toothy Bush Babe grin back at 'em. Because with some judicious investment in the correct locations, much patience and my ever-loving tech-minded Mr Incredible's skills as a computer technician, I came back to life.

New desktop.

New Vista.

New Photoshop CS3.

The blood is once again pumping through my veins.

And while you could say that I am driving this thing, I am still finding the gears, so to speak.

CS3 is divine, but a little out of control. And Vista. Don't get me started!

I have tools. Will travel.

Or at least get your photo orders happening.

I Promise!

Now, if you are wondering what the heck any of these photos has to do with this post, I shall 'splain. Just because you haven't seen many up-to-date photos lately, doesn't mean I haven't been busy with my trusty Nikon.

Busy, baby!

So each of these pics has a story.

A story to be told in the next week or so.

Little quirky stories.

Which one would you like to hear first?

Anything grab you?