jumping aground

"A what?" I hear you say with a politely perplexed tone of voice.

"An EP! There's more on them than on a single."

"Pardon?" you say as you scratch your head and wonder if you've missed some new whiz-bang electronic gizmo. "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"It's what we used to listen to music on. EP stands for Extended Play. They're a bit like a USB...sort of. Or perhaps a better description is a portable music device, kind of like an iPod, but they only hold about 8-10 minutes of music...And you need a record player to listen to them on."


You can see how this is going to go. Parents living in the dark ages. The time of the dinosaurs. Blah, blah, blah. How did you survive etc. Gosh, singles and EP's were better than 78's! So portable! The freedom to play the music you wanted to hear when you wanted!!


We had some great music way back then. Just look at what I found in the boxes of mum's diaries that have been in the roof :-)  (I blogged about them more seriously here). Somehow these gems must have been tucked away amongst her diaries when we were packing the house. Whoohoo! 


Now, how to listen to them?



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Still having formatting problems. Sigh.


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Aunty Rene 1957
Isn't she great! I love that she's so proudly and confidently adopting a new mode of transport and maybe even flouting convention by doing so. Yet she still looks so "proper" and "no nonsense" with her straight back and thick warm coat and gloves. No dangerously flowing Isadora Duncan scarf for her!

I imagine Aunty Rene to be a strong, feisty woman, determined to make her own path in the post war English countryside when money was short and family life challenging. I know too little about her, and never met her, but she's influenced me and inspired me to embrace new technologies - even when they seem alien and unfriendly.

And although one of my blogging buddies (some of you know Roberto of Roberto's Report) suggested that it's never to late to become a bikie chick and follow in my aunt's footsteps that's one mode of transport that I'm unlikely to adopt!

Who inspires you?

Thinking of all those affected by bitter, divisive conflicts both past and present in far too many nations of the world. The service men and women as well as their families: husbands and wives, children and loved ones - they cross all cultures, religions and ethnic groups.

This song seems appropriate:

Last year for the A-Z Blogging challenge hosted by Arlee Bird (here) I really wanted to do something about climate change. But it was too hard, too complex, and to be honest, too darn depressing. But the idea has been playing on my mind all year, niggling and asking for my attention.

I don't particularly want to spend time reading weighty books and research papers about environmental degradation, pollution, waste, greed, the melting of polar ice and all the things mentioned in the cartoon below. But if I'm going to live according to my core values it's something I need, and choose, to do.

• one of my vital core values is to connect with and spend time in the natural environment. I'd like future generations to have the opportunity to enjoy it as I do. 
• another is to be part of a community, to connect with, and be part of something bigger than my own little space in the world. It'd be great to connect with others doing their bit to make a difference.
• a third core value is to do with education and personal development. I like to extend myself. I enjoy being educated, informing, sharing and trying to explain concepts clearly. 

If I'm going to live comfortably with myself, I need to embrace my values and move in a direction where I act on them, even though it may be difficult. I'll try to ignore the demons of "Nothing's going to change", "I'm setting myself up for disappointment because no-one's interested anyway" and  "Who do you think you are? Getting too big for your boots if you think you can have an effect".

To help me through, I'll apply the principles of ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) and mindfulness meditation and make space for the feelings of anxiety and self-doubt, possibly make friends with my demons and breathe deeply into any discomfort.  (Information on ACT here.)

Rather than leaving the preparation to the last minute like last year, I've been thinking ahead, mulling over how to present the whole depressing schemozzle so it’s not a major turn off.

Pilfered from Burrowers, Books and Balderdash here.

But, first, I needed to drag myself out of the chasm of despair and fear that envelops me when I think about climate change and the destruction of our eco-systems. So I took some time off to relax, be inspired, blow away the cobwebs and re-energise. And it was fun!

This path is high above the surrounding plain.  The white rocks that litter the path were once at the bottom of an ancient sea. Mutawintji NSW

I wonder if this River Red gum had been graftedby a local aboriginal group years ago to create a specific shape? If you look closely at the top of the photo you can see where it has created another loop and the light is glowing through. Hattah Lakes, Vic.

Trees have grown along fault lines where water has trickled. To get a sense of scale, I'm the little splodge on the right looking over the amazing landscape. Mutawintji NSW.

My first visit to China was in 1979 (or thereabouts) when the freedom for the populace to dress as they wished was still some way off. Heating in stores was rare to non-existent and I remember being intrigued by doorway draught stoppers - they appeared to be entire skins from a bull or ox. They stopped the bitter wind blasting in to the Friendship Stores, (the main places for tourists to shop) but did nothing to keep out the cold.

This photo was taken in Yangshuo where Colonel Sanders is dwarfed by the karst mountains. In the centre foreground,  a neatly dressed lady is meandering along on her bicycle with a sturdily attached umbrella. 


On the whole, vehicles of all types including those with motors and human powered ones appear to share the road and show tolerance towards each other.

Chinese music was the only type allowable, and propaganda announcements in trains were strident and intrusive. Neon lights were also rare, and Europeans were such a novelty that crowds gathered around to stare. To some extent, that still happens, but not so much in the major cities, although my husband was stopped frequently, even in Shanghai, for people to ask if they could have their photo taken with him - perhaps a taste of what it's like to be a celebrity! Amusingly, on the subway, people - young, older, men or women - would attempt to surreptitiously take his photo on the latest generation phone, which I found highly entertaining. I figured if ever I 'lost' him I'd just look for turning heads and whispered comments and follow the stares - I'd be sure to find him!

Why? Beards are hard for Asian men to grow, and my husband has a full beard, gone grey over the years which is seen by some to be a sure sign of wisdom.

A number of familiar western products are in the picture above. Others might have a familiar shape and colour, but be a uniquely local brand.

Sometimes as I trailed along behind my husband, taking photos, peering into laneways or daydreaming, an older man or woman would catch my eye and gesture as if they were stroking a beard, smile widely and give the thumbs up. I'd wink and smile - feeling very much like I was basking in reflected glory.

Of course back in the 70's and early 80's when China began opening up for tourism again after many years closed off, there was no advertising for Western products - in fact there was little obvious advertising at all, few neon lights in Beijing, and not overwhelming in Shanghai - the pace of change is something that really intrigues me. The things which were shunned so vehemently and seen as a corrupting influence have been embraced in the cities, and are commonplace and desirable.


I think this is my favourite shot. The young lady, beautifully made up, wearing ultra short skirt and vicious stilettos, is checking via mobile phone where to meet her friend before she heads into KFC - the ultimate in fine dining?


Change ... How do you view it? A blessing, a curse, somewhere in between, or something entirely different?
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Not signs as in OoooooooooooowwwwwwwwwooooOooooooo it's a sign about my destiny, mysterious kind of stuff, but the more mundane (or possibly not) billboard ones.

Pepsi billboard seen in Guilin.

Posters have been invaluable in the relatively recent era of Chinese History. During the time of Mao they were produced in their thousands to inform and mould the minds of the populace. The Shanghai Propaganda Poster Art Centre (link) has saved and displays hundreds of posters from that time. The posters provide an idealised account of the era, and gloss over the often dreadful experiences of everyday people.

I remember being taught some Chinese History at Primary School and hearing about the Great Leap Forward. But to see posters from that time and know that intellectuals were deemed enemies of the state and banished to remote, harsh areas to be forced to do manual labour and that famine was rife, shows that either our teachers were blind to what was really going on, or sanitised the reality to make the classes 'suitable' for Australian children. (No matter that their Chinese counterparts were living in misery unable to share their knowledge and lots of children had no access to education.)

Many posters show happy, smiling agricultural and industrial workers. The wording translates awkwardly, but the meaning is clear "March towards the top science" "More pigs for more fertilizer to obtain high yield grain". Communism was often depicted as like a happy garden with brightly clad, cheerful young women working in farmyards with not a speck of mud or dirt around - sanitised and glorified.

The wording on posters from the time of the Vietnam War makes fascinating reading, such things as:
"Support US black people's justice struggle", "Firmly support US people against US Imperialism invading Vietnam". It was a comparatively stable period politically, and artists were looking outward and able to express themselves more freely.

Given the sometimes acrimonious relationship with America, I find the billboard for Pepsi intriguing. The combination of a traditional propaganda poster - the strong, proud young people, oozing vitality, looking towards and saluting a glorious future - but clearly and unashamedly promoting an American product.

If you're visiting Shanghai and are interested in how propaganda posters were used during the Cultural Revolution, or if you simply enjoy poster-art, (the Shanghai Girl posters are a wonderful step back in time) do visit The Shanghai Propaganda Poster Art Centre. It's time well spent.

Where have you visited that you'd recommend? Why? What did you learn there?
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Uneven sandy steps, well sheltered by dense tee tree hide the descent into Bushrangers Bay. I emerge suddenly onto rocks and the cold, yellow, gritty sand of the exposed beach.
Ozone is force fed into my stale air-conditioned lungs, stultified by recent work in gloomy buildings with sorrowful folk, the blustery wind whistles through my gold hoop earrings to energise my sludgy brain. Turbulent green waves crash, screaming their objection, obliterating all other noise and sending salt spray onto the washed out tussocky grass that clings precariously to the cliff edge, now battered by the increasingly steady wind.

Shadows cluster and obstruct the sun, which minutes before had been so welcoming, sapping the meagre warmth. T-shirt and shorts had seemed so sensible earlier; now, goose bumps are my body’s response to the afternoon chill. Seaweed, dried crispy brown, tumbles down the sand dune, gathers momentum, skitters, then flies back into the ocean to be pummelled relentlessly and finally disintegrate.
An hour or so respite, focusing on the senses, helps release the grip of fragmented snippets of conversation circling around my brain*.

Relive hearing deep male voices, tight with stress, unnaturally quiet for big blokes who work with steel and fire and water.

Confused voices, in pain; lost in a tangle of raw emotions they barely understand: grief, sorrow, loss, frustration and barely controlled anger and fear.
Redundancy is rarely nice - may evolve over time to something good, but I can’t help but think of the families in my community desperately trying to make sense of, and come to terms with their new reality.

270 people made redundant from a major local employer. I wonder how this will this play out over time for the men, their families and my community, and am grateful for the dramatic beauty and refuge of Bushrangers Bay.


*I'm assisting with the services provided to employees of BlueScope Steel (link) Hastings who have recently been made redundant.

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This thing titled Twitter, was tempting in two thousand and ten, but I turned away;
no tolerance for tawdry tittle-tattle.
Seemed to be for tools and temptresses, trumpeting their tantalising treats to toadying troops with trite remarks and toxic tirades - transformed tranquillity to a need for tranquilisers and therapy.

Time passed.
No longer trivialised.
A twinge of envy for the aficionado’s ability to tweet trillingly, tapping out taut messages like a timpani.

Will I be able to traverse the tricky, twittery trail without falling into a trap?
Training wheels attached!
Now to transform this trajectory into tentative, tweety things.

***
A Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more, no less.

Magpie - sharing joyous harmonies

Pelican - can be awkward, but is quirkily attractive

The goal was to head to Brisbane from Melbourne to attend the “Happiness and its Causes” conference in early June. I find the conference title a bit twee and schmaltzy, conjuring up images of falsely cheerful games show hosts with toothy smiles, but the calibre of the presenters was good so I thought I’d give it a go.

Flying would have been convenient, but lacking excitement (hopefully!) and so the brilliant idea to drive a thousand and something kilometres, and explore new (to us) National Parks on the way was hatched. A couple were somewhat off the beaten track, where the amenities included pit toilets, a river for water (with strict instructions for all water to be boiled), and not much else … no power, no internet, no electronic connection, nothing. Perfect spots to rejuvenate flagging spirits! I'll share that later on.

Two private camping grounds offered free wifi, but frustratingly it didn’t work at all at one, and at the other you had to be sitting ‘just so’ for it to work. Visualise me huddled at an awkward angle, beanie and coat protecting me against a brisk sea breeze, perched at a wooden picnic bench, bush turkeys at my feet, with the ocean in the distance, a lighthouse on the headland and dense bush surrounding the not very large campground - it was glorious.

From this ... Thurra - no electricity, no internet, no running water

To go from that to a conference in a city, even one the size of Brisbane was a bit of a contrast – all chattering excitement and enthusiasm and radio broadcasting and high tech communication and security.

There were monks, and other religious people, professionals, retirees, actors, TV personalities, in fact people from all walks of life – nearly 2½ thousand of them, all there to learn something new, or seeking insights or reassurance or to share their own experiences.

... to this: Brisbane Convention and Exhibition Centre.

Anyhow… It’s finished, my conference handouts are dog-eared, scrawled with notes and I’m almost ready to begin sharing that aspect of my trip with you over at traverselife. I’ve also vigorously patted myself on the back for resisting the temptation to purchase a mountain of books from the extremely well stocked bookstore.

I  now have a window of almost two weeks with good, reliable internet connection, then I’m off exploring again on the way home. So I’ll only be around for a while before I’m out of range for a few more weeks – the aim is to travel inland on the way back, through some of the desert and arid country. In the meantime, it’s good to be back and see your warm comments wishing me well.

Thankyou all ☺

I've been quite perplexed about the seriousness with which some people seem to have taken the end of the world predictions. Perhaps that's overstating it though, as I had no idea anything out of the ordinary was expected to happen last weekend and I've only more or less caught up with the whole kerfuffle this week.

I read something on FB about people wondering which time zone something they referred to as Rapture was referring to ... New Zealand? Eastern Australian time? or where the prediction was coming from which seemed to be the USA. My friends seemed to be idly wondering which calendar was being used for the prediction as well. there are quite a few in use after all - it was all a little perplexing.  If I'd spent more than 2 seconds thinking about the so-called prediction, I would have come to the conclusion that it was all a bit sus.*

Anyhow, it was my hubby's birthday and we were going to celebrate, end of the world or not!

You may wonder why I am so sanguine about THE END OF THE WORLD which I'm sure will be accompanied by dramatic and extremely atmospheric organ music.

My mother was born in 1916 and used to tell the following story.

As a little girl she remembered being dressed in a new white frilly Sunday Best dress. Except it wasn't Sunday, and she wasn't used to having new clothes. Mostly her clothes were hand-me-downs from her older sister. She was absolutely delighted and wanted to twirl and dance, but the atmosphere was sombre. Her older sister helped her with her new socks and shoes, brushed her hair till it shone, then tied it with a bow.

The whole family, sisters, parents, aunts and uncles, grandmas and grandpas, many neighbours, farm workers and mill hands all dressed with extra care. Those who could afford it were wearing new clothes. They then proceeded with great solemnity to trek to the highest point of the highest hill near their small village in Norfolk, England.

Hymn sheets were passed around, prayers said, absolution made. Then they raised their voices to heaven and waited for the light of Jesus to carry them to heaven.

They raised their voices to heaven again and waited   and waited   and waited

I often think they must have felt a little awkward when they finally came to the realisation that nothing was going to happen and they'd need to pick up the hymn sheets, go home and get dinner for the no doubt confused and possibly squabbling children.

Some people had apparently sold all their belongings including houses and all their goods and chattles. I wonder what happened to them? Did the preacher apologise, put them up, feed them and help them find their feet again afterwards? I don't understand the motivation other than an abnormally greedy desire for power and the enjoyment of having gullible people fawning over your empty words.

I remember my mother saying that their particular preacher continued to change the dates and claim that the next time was the right date. Some parishioners believed him, but there were less and less as time went on.

My mother's family never went up to the top of the hill again. They emigrated to Australia instead. I think they were right to be skeptical after being duped once, and I'm confident mum would have smiled at the latest doomsday preacher.

A good spot to hang out and wait for the end of the world.

* suspect or suspicious

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*

Forced into a box
wooden
pine

Too small for me

Watching with disbelief image after image:
me standing, then forced to crouch, later kneel.
Resisting the relentless force, succumbing, energy waning,
exhausted
fighting the inevitable.

Finally wrestled into a tiny, hurt, painfully, uncomfortable thing.

Lid slammed on.
Nails hammered, angry and final.
The unseen force deaf to my weak pleas
now whispered from the suffocating dark.

My dream pinpoints with clarity
a forceful wakeup call to the mental anguish experienced in my workplace,
professional skills stifled constantly.

The choice to leave not easy
the healthful, long overdue decision is tough.


A Drabble is a story told in 100 words. No more, no less.

A river of stones is a project started by Fiona &Kaspa to encourage people to engage with the world through writing. In 2011 they invited people to join them in writing a small stone each day during January.