Hanging my washing on the line, as most Sundays go, I saw how our orchard had flourished! The unusually freshly cut lawn encouraged me to seek the fruits (not of our labour) for taste testing.

Before now, venturing away from the concrete beneath the clothes line has been a daunting prospect as our lawn has been getting increasingly jungle- like. And my imagination holds me to believe it was the home of snakes and such species. 

This prospect no longer an issue, I got my ikea container and took to the mandarin tree with kitchen sheers. Then I found we also have an orange tree and began to prune that tree of its fruits too! I also stole mandarins off the part of the neighbours tree that is hanging over our fence because they weren’t so hard to reach for a smallish person. 

I’m quite in awe of this whole fruit-tree-in-my-backyard situation. I can go out there at any time and pick fresh fruit and gobble it. For free! Far out brussell sprout that’s super cool!

time

Einstein said time and space were as one which makes spacetime exist in a four dimensional world. Haven't quite grasped that. I don't really know if time exists as anything other than a man-made theory which exists to keep things relevant and in order. What exists is moments of order; nows. The only way time is detectable is between the relationships things have to each other, rather than absolute time; in which Einstein proved Newton was wrong anyway- through relativity. It's quite astonishing that a clock on the wall or a watch on one's wrist or merely devices that keep order. The most accurate time isn't even measured through ticking, but instead by measuring the isolations of super-cooled atoms which keeps time within one second to every 3.7 billion years. Very accurate.

The above is all research and factual information. (Probably fairly obvious unless you think I'm studying Quantum Physics at university.) This information does however allow the realisation of just how complex time is. In life I suppose this sort of information isn't usually very relevant. It won't change the order in which things happen or the schedule we run to. And it won't change the control that time has over us entirely. It appears that time has a grip that assumes our age, emotions, bodies, and relevance in life.
While that all sounds as if time has quite a choke hold on us it also gives everything relevance.
With time passed memories either fade or stay, people come and go and experiences become plentiful.

gardenvale road

I like to have time on my side in the morning. I like stopping to smell the roses- actually our street doesn't really have any roses to inhale. It has lots of various foliage and that is also quite a pleasant.

please get behind these x

http://www.facebook.com/events/250012185098059/?notif_t=plan_user_joined

http://www.facebook.com/GetWellPoon

http://beckymaynard.co.nz/index.html

SO GROOVY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ctAbqx2sOc&context=C48faeb0ADvjVQa1PpcFONFBV8vkIjitneC3Z2TCKZEu58WhJpalM%3D

the view

The problem with the view at the last time of entry was not the view, but rather where I was looking at it from.

Since migrating (west? i'm not great with compasses) the view doesn't have the height the old one used to, but instead it has a beach 15 minutes away.

Space is plentiful. That's probaly the main thing.

a view

Even though the sun is shining, there's a breeze that brings my hairs to a stand and gives me a shiver. Not in a spooky way, it's just the weather.

As I look out to the city, the high rises silhouetted a midst the hazey distance, I wonder what it is about this city that just hasn't quite won me over. It's not by a lot, but rather the smallest amount that irks enough to keep circling my head.

Whatever it might be, I would rather explore this metropolitan jungle trying to find out, than never seeing a thing.

As it goes for many things. While you cant fail if you don't try, it's no fun not trying at all. And thus far I get more answers doing than thinking. Perhaps a combination of the two.

Writing it ll down contributes fairly well too.

judgement

After much thought and battle with the word judgement, I've decided the word has a bad conatation that lives alongside it. In fact it is the one getting judged.

Many people seem to be scared of being judged. Scared that how they are judged might define them. Easy to forget you have a say in the matter yourself.
What's also forgotten is the good words, the compliments and the praises are also judgements, and these are worthy of memory. Alas! (Shakespeare moment) Humans remember what upsets them more than what makes them happy, at times.

And people can say they don't judge until the cows come home; but they do. And that doesn't always have to be seen as such a bad thing, in the end it's just one's opinion isn't it?

snippets

The snippets of lives we get let in on accidentally is a continually funny, odd, bewildering and quite-by-chance thing. From what people are wearing tonight, to how VCE went, holiday plans, and relationship woes, it is surprising how much you find out about a complete stranger, accidentally.

Public transport gives most of us this privilege..
It is fairly odd what you end up knowing about someone that you don't know from a grain of salt. And it's even stranger knowing that some of those things wouldn't even be told to those whom they do know.

It makes you think about the conclusions you draw from the little/lot of information you get from them. I suppose it all depends on context. Context is a largely important part of any piece if information you get. But if you don't get context with information you're hearing it's like reading a novel from the middle to the back to the front and back to the middle again; you can get a fair idea of what someone's trying to get at but some things just don't quite add up the way they would have if you started at the beginning.

I usually tend to wonder when I come across the snippets just what the other people around me are thinking too. Maybe they're thinking what i'm thinking. Maybe the'yre not. They might not care. And the MX is fairly interesting, so that becomes a factor I suppose.

In wondering all of that I then ponder how people sum each other up depending at what stage in life they have met. That person on the train being short with their child might be having a shit day, and everyday aside from this one they would win the world's best parenting competition. So you judge them on how they are exactly when you hear them or see them, which might actually turn out to be a completely warped view but you are left with it because it's what you saw. Or maybe they are an impatient person and today is the like any other day.

You'll never really know. But it gets interesting when you turn the whole theory back around on yourself and think about that.

Living the dream

When I look around me, it doesn't matter how long I have to wait for the train. Or if it's via the city loop. Or the fact people get on the tram faster than you can manage to get off. Or how expensive rent is for a matchbox minus a living room. Nor does it matter the fact that rather than seeing the light of day you're encased in a studio. The bruised knees recover, and the dying feet live to see another day.

Because that is all trivial.

What I do think of everyday is how lucky I am. I'm living the dream.

I don't care if it's not sparkly all the time, you'd get sore eyes anyway. And a few tears are shed along the way, some of them can be for joy. It doesn't matter if i'm broke from Jetstar and McDonald's.

This all comes with any lifestyle you live, so you may as well do it with the one you dream of.

lemon madelines

Sometimes when life throws you lemons, and they taste a wee bit sour and make you wince and cry quite a lot, you just have to make madelines.

Instead of the lemons being harsh and tart, they are soft and spongey and gooey and crunchy all at the same moment. They are the dessert that you have after one out of twenty eight dinners per month.

They are pricey, but then again priceless.

And in a city where so much seems to makes you think about a decision that instead you want to be sure of, they are the metaphor for the person that makes you feel like yourself.

This is the first time I have had lemon madelines and it is the start of quite a wondrous love affair.

green grass

Sometimes I wonder whether or not you should do something just because you have a natural way towards it. To get to a decent level at anything, then obviously it takes more than just a little talent. You love it and so you give the time to it that's needed. But why is it, when you make a decision to go somewhere and actually start something, that you can only think about what you left behind. And you can only think about what the place is not, not what it is. I used to sit in politics lectures thinking I can be doing more than this, I can use my body for more than merely sitting here. Now sometimes I stand at the barre with my hair slicked, and I think I can use my brain more than this.

So why does the grass always seem greener? Why are there so many things to study and have groovy jobs in, why is there this need to do them all now? It's obviously quite impossible to do it all now. You'll end up being jack of all trades, and master of none. But even knowing this, does not keep the frustration at bay.

Sometimes I'm just not quite sure what trade it is I yearn to master.

You were always hungry

When the black furry creature you carried around on your shoulder for his kitten life gets sick and isn't around any more to snuggle, what else is there to do but be a teary mess every time he pops into your head?
You wish that you told him you loved him more (but I think he understood that well enough when he used to claw his way up the back of my legs.)
I used to wish he wouldn't sit purposely on my pile of clean, ironed clothes when he would jump on my bed.
I used to wish he would snuggle for longer, but he was always hungry.
I used to wish he wouldn't dig his claws in when he was purring like a crazy kitty.
I used to wish his fur didn't cover the white lounge suite, coating my clothes in it.
Now I just wish I could have been there to hug him goodbye.
I wish he would come to sit on my bed wherever he pleased.
I don't care that he was always hungry, I would be grateful for the short snuggle I could get before he started wriggling towards his food bowl.
I don't mind if his hair had covered all the furniture in the house and we were to reside in a black furry igloo.

So when it's something you love, there's no point wishing it was even a little bit different. Because it seems like in the end none of that matters. What matters isn't the fur on the couch, or the scratches down my legs, the numerous messes I cleaned up that should have been in the garden, or the shortest snuggles in the world, it's colossal amount of love you have despite this.

I just love you Teddy. I'm not a crazy cat woman, I'm just crazy about you.

America

A hate filled and deliriously happy society shown on the front page of every Western news paper is disgusting. Watching the David Letterman show making jokes of a death "live from hell", is far from right. Why are people entertained by this?