ART SUNDAY - COLLIER'S "GODIVA"

“Modesty is that feeling by which honorable shame acquires a valuable and lasting authority.” - Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero)

On this day, Lady Godiva is said to have ridden naked through the streets of Coventry in the 11th century. She was pleading with her husband (Leofric, Earl of Mercia) to relieve the poor people’s plight by cutting their taxes. He, exasperated by her constant admonition, promised to do so only if she, well known for modesty, would ride through the city streets, naked. Godiva took up the challenge, her long flaxen hair her only covering during her ride. It is recorded that she went unobserved, the city folk remaining locked inside in gratitude. Incidentally, “peeping Tom” as an idiom is explained by a certain Tom of Coventry who secretly peeped at Godiva and was struck blind. Godiva’s husband kept his end of the bargain and chastened, he helped the poor of the town. Sporadically, on this day, Coventry has paraded a young woman (sometimes clothed, others naked!) through its streets.

John Collier, an English Victorian Neoclassical painter and writer (born 27 January 1850 - died 11 April 1934) has painted this subject (1898) and I present it to you for Art Sunday today. He was the younger son of Sir Robert Perret Collier (a distinguished lawyer and MP), and was educated at Eton. After being introduced to Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema (a well known-artist of the Preraphaelite group), he studied at the Slade School of Art, London, under Edward Poynter. He then moved to Paris where he studied under Jean-Paul Laurens and then went to Munich.

Collier sent a steady stream of portraits and subject pictures to the Royal Academy from 1870 until the end of his life. As a portrait painter he emulated the mature work of John Everett Millais, but his glowering statesmen and confident captains of industry are reminiscent more of the dourness of Frank Holl's portraits. Collier also revealed a much lighter side, especially in his theatrical portraits. The best of these is Herbert Beerbohm Tree, Ellen Terry and Madge Kendal in 'The Merry Wives of Windsor' (1904), which evokes the gaiety and lavish exuberance of the Edwardian stage. His contemporary fame rested on such works as the Prodigal Daughter (exhibited RA 1903) and a Fallen Idol (exhibited RA 1913); recording the tragedies of modern life, these works were felt to be equivocal and were called 'problem pictures', although Collier claimed that their meanings were perfectly clear.

Despite his rather unexciting and flat use of paint, Collier’s strong and surprising sense of colour created a disconcerting realism in both mood and appearance, and his writings on art encourage the strictest and most literal imitation of nature.

HORSEY BIRTHDAY!

“When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.” - William Shakespeare, Henry V

The first day of August in the Southern hemisphere is regarded as the universal birthday of all horses. In the Northern Hemisphere, it is on January 1st. Most registries here in Australia make August 1st the official birthday for all horses to simplify record keeping and to help keep classes even for competitions. For example, for thoroughbred race horses, if a horse is born on July 31st, then for racing purposes, it would turn 2-years-old 366 days after it was born. A horse born on August 1st could wait another year before having to compete in the same races. So, the game for thoroughbred horse owners is to make sure that their foals are born after August 1st, but as close to that date as possible. Horses born closer to the deadline often have a development edge over other horses. This is especially important for some of the big races like the Kentucky Derby, which is restricted to 3-year-old horses.

Of course, there are also mistakes and some foals don’t get reported to the registries on time. If a farm foals a baby in late July, there’s a big incentive to cheat a bit and wait a week or so to report that it’s been born on August 1st.

Here is a “Gallop” from the operetta “Orpheus in the Underworld”, a comic take on the tragic myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. This piece is also called the “Infernal Can Can” as it is danced by demons in the Underworld. However, for me it has always had horsey overtones!



And seeing we are talking about galloping horses, you can’t go past some good galloping music like the second part of Rossini’s “Wiliam Tell” Overture (or the Lone Ranger theme, if you are less classically inclined!).



And as the Lone Ranger has taken us galloping to the USA, how about watching some horseracing at the “Camptown Races”?



So, to all horses today, Happy Birthday!

READY, SET, 5' CHOCOLATE CAKE!

“Twill make old women young and fresh,
Create new motions of the flesh.
And cause them long for you know what,
If they but taste of chocolate.
” - James S. Wadworth

For the last day of July, which also happens to be Food Friday, I give you a recipe that was sent to me by a friend. I must confess that we have not tried it out. If you decide to try it, be prepared for it to be a flop, or who know it may turn out to be the best chocolate mud cake you have ever eaten! If any of you do try it out, please tell the rest of us if it’s all that it purports to be!

5-MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE

Ingredients
4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract and your favourite tipple
1 large coffee mug

Method
Add dry ingredients to your largest mug and mix well.
Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.
Add the chocolate chips (if using), vanilla extract and a drop or two of your favourite tipple, then mix again.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts (high power setting).
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.
EAT! (this can serve 2 if you want to feel slightly more virtuous).

If you’re feeling very very naughty, cover liberally in Bailey's Irish Cream, or smother with ice cream!
And why is this the fastest mud cake recipe in the world? Because now you are only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake at any time of the day or night!
Have a great weekend!

A HEINOUS CRIME

“Murder most foul, as in the best it is, But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.” - William Shakespeare

The news story that’s presently making me shudder is the case of Darlene Haynes, the 23-year-old Massachusetts pregnant woman who found dead in her apartment with her fetus cut out of her womb and taken away. This is one of the most gruesome of murders that I have heard about for some time and once again it makes me question the kind of civilisation we are evolving (devolving?) into. It brought to mind the horrors of the fall of the Roman Empire and the inhumanity and savagery that characterised the degeneration of what was the most advanced society of its time.

Apparently the dead woman (who also had another child, a one-year-old daughter – who is well and with relatives) had been having problems with her 24-year-old boyfriend. Neighbours have just come out of the woodwork (claiming their 5 minutes of fame…) to say that the couple had been screaming, shouting and crying from the dead woman’s apartment, but no-one had “wanted to get involved”. Yet another of our society’s signs of chronic illness…

When I bring the scene of the young woman’s death in my imagination, I shudder. The killer murdering her and then slitting open her belly to tear out the fetus is something that is grossly monstrous and wildly inhuman. The baby could have survived, but one wonders whether the murderer would have wanted it to live. The thought that such people live amongst us is a sobering one. Society is silently complicit in that it allows more and more criminal activity in our midst. Punishments for even serious crimes may remain particularly lenient and even for heinous crimes such as the one we are considering here, the sentence in terms of years in gaol is considerably reduced after a few months inside…

Where as a society have we gone wrong? How can we stand such inhumanity? How can we hope that rehabilitation will occur in gaol? There, crime abounds also. Drug use is rife, violence, even murder, is a common occurrence. What punishment is deserving of the murderer describe here? Can such a person be ever rehabilitated? And the corporal punishment question raises its ugly head once again. But what to do in such cases of heinous crimes?

“It is the deed that teaches, not the name we give it. Murder and capital punishment are not opposites that cancel one another, but similars that breed their kind.” - George Bernard Shaw

heinous |ˈhānəs| adjective
(of a person or wrongful act, esp. a crime) utterly odious or wicked: A battery of heinous crimes.
DERIVATIVES
heinously |ˈheɪnəsli| adverb
heinousness |ˈheɪnəsnəs| noun
ORIGIN late Middle English: from Old French haineus, from hair ‘to hate,’ of Germanic origin.

Jacqui BB hosts Word Thursday

DAYS OF WASTED YOUTH

“In youth the days are short and the years are long; in old age the years are short and the days long.” - Nikita Ivanovich Panin

I was reading some of the journals I had written a few decades ago (how writing that sentence made me feel so old!). Amongst the angst of youth, the dreadful pronouncements of immaturity, the zeal of inexperience and the earnestness of my teens, it was interesting to find some glimpses of insight, and seeds of wisdom, sown randomly amongst the incunabula. It was amusing and melancholy; nostalgic and sad; humorous and embarrassing, all rolled together to form a rather strange feeling of uncomfortable familiarity, but also of the unknown. My youthful thoughts were staring at me through a glass of time far removed and a place not of here. I could see the younger me within the mirror of my mind and I was enclosing within me several incarnations, nested in each other like a Russian doll. Ah, those old journals are like a time machine, and oh, so revealing!

Here is a poem, coming from a time long ago and from a place faraway. It was written in Greek, but translated now into English, putting that extra twist of time/space travel on the spiral of my life…

Puberty

There, banshees shriek
Liars, murderers abound.
There, eyes’ crystals dull,
Dreams fantasies are killed,
Sweet memories are deadened.
There, bright, exotic faeries
Rejoice in rainbow orgies,
Sinners, transgressors of all sorts
Congregate, cry, waving arms
Like dancing skeletons.

There, pink flesh will undergo
Sterility, necrosis, sepsis.
Mind dies a slow death
And thought begins to limp,
As brain is injured and is doomed to die,
Unprotected to the wounds dealt
By time’s bloody sickle.

There, skulls gape and cackle
Because they find their sorry state
Infectious…
Witches with purple nails
File them into pointed talons
And the rasping sound
Cuts my heart to shreds.
Wild ogre women,
Shred yellow breasts;
Shed scales from scurfy skin
And vomit up their entrails.

There! I want to go there,
To that chilling and magic world.
But just before I cross the wretched threshold,
I must pause, look back,
For I’m leaving behind a place of innocence
To where there is no return…

Jacqui BB hosts Poetry Wednesday

YOUR RIGHTS AS A READER!

“It is what you read when you don't have to that determines what you will be when you can't help it.” - Oscar Wilde

Have you ever started reading a book and even from the first chapter you start losing interest, each sentence drags and the words fall heavily on your eyes like lead plummeting into water? Have you persevered, reading phrase by painful phrase trying desperately to suppress yawns? Have you made yourself persist like doing penance, promising yourself little rewards like a chocolate bar if you finish reading the chapter? I certainly have and have doggedly gone on trying to finish the damn thing, even though I can predict that the ending will certainly not be any better than the beginning…

There are books that we open and find hard to put down once we start reading the first few paragraphs. Some books are like long deep draughts of water down a parched throat. Some books light our way like a burning brand in the middle of the night. Others provide nutrition for our souls, our heart, our emotions. But there are also books that we carry on our backs like a heavy load, like a millstone around our neck. The latter kind of book we sometimes read out of obligation, at other times because it comes highly recommended, or maybe it is one that we read to fulfil some requirement of our education. In other cases it is because we may have bought it or borrowed it from the library and we feel that it would be a “waste” not to read it…

Well, if you have found yourselves in this situation, rejoice! A certain French author by the name of Daniel Pennac has come to our rescue! He has formulated a “Readers’ Bill of Rights”, which will save us precious time, reduce guilt and safeguard our choice to seek alternative reading matter that will be far more enjoyable! So form now on, if you find your attention slipping from reading that boring book, if you start yawning or napping instead of turning pages, if you read and re-read the same sentence over and over, remember your rights:

Daniel Pennac’s Reader’s Bill of Rights

1. The right to not read
2. The right to skip pages
3. The right to not finish
4. The right to reread
5. The right to read anything
6. The right to escapism
7. The right to read anywhere
8. The right to browse
9. The right to read out loud
10. The right to not defend your tastes

Happy reading!

MOVIE MONDAY - MANUAL OF LOVE

“The magic of first love is our ignorance that it can ever end.” - Benjamin Disraeli

I had a day trip to Brisbane today, so it was an early morning start and then after a full day of meetings and tying up of some loose ends, it was an evening flight back home. It does take it out of one, going up and down on the same day, but at least one is able to sleep in one’s own bed again. The weather in Brisbane was fine and sunny reaching a very pleasant top of 23˚C. The subtropical winter of Brisbane is very mild and explains why many retirees choose to live in the North.

At the weekend we watched a pleasant 2005 Italian comedy directed by Giovanni Veronesi, “Manual of Love”. This is no Oscar-winning movie and it has no pretensions of being particularly intellectual or deep. This, I think, is an advantage and explains why it did so well at the box-office in Italy. It trots along at a good pace, has some endearing characters in it and generally the acting is very good. The plot revolves around four interlocked stories, linked together by the theme of love. The four episodes are titled: Falling in Love; The Crisis; The Betrayal; and The Abandonment. They outline four possible scenarios in a love story and while one could take a very cynical view of such a theme, the director handles the stories sensitively and with good humour.

Linking the stories are modest amounts of narrative, where one of the characters is recording CD tracks of “The Manual of Love”, a self-help book which is referred to throughout the four stories. Once again, this narrative device could prove to be intrusive and disruptive to the flow of the plot, but it is done with restraint and complements the action on the screen. The four phases of love depicted are presented as possibilities, rather than inevitabilities and the viewer is left to fill in some the gaps in quite a gratifying way.

This film apparently did not travel well, even though in Italy it was quite a hit. I think it may have disappointed critics who expected deeper meanings, steamier situations and more drama mixed with the comedy. We found it unpretentious and quite enjoyable. It is a film that is light and amusing with some quite memorable scenes. Rather than belly-laughs, it delivers giggles and there are some poignant moments in it also.

Even though I would not recommend that you go out of your way to find it and watch it at any cost, my advice is that if you come across it, then by all means watch it, and enjoy it as the light-weight, bit of fluff it is. It is of course in Italian with English subtitles, which can put some English speakers off, but we are quite used to subtitles and don’t mind them at all (in fact, we even have them on with some English language films as often the diction and sound recording aren’t the best! Subtitle options are another of the advantages of DVDs).

ART SUNDAY - EVELYN DE MORGAN

“We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance.” - Marcel Proust

For Art Sunday today, Mary Evelyn De Morgan, née Pickering, who was a late-Victorian artist living and working in a period marked by enormous changes. Born mid-century in an England ruled over by Queen Victoria, she lived to see a series of changes climaxing in 1914 with the collapse of established world order. It was amidst this atmosphere of increasing uncertainty and anxiety that De Morgan came to maturity and developed her personal and artistic philosophies. Throughout her career as a painter, she used literary allusion and allegory to express her strongly held views on contemporary spiritual, social and moral issues.

She was born in London the daughter of upper-middle class parents and the niece of Rodhamn Spencer-Stanhope. She joined the ranks of the later Pre-Raphaelites who took their inspiration from the more romantic paintings of Rossetti and Burne-Jones. Her early ambition to paint was discouraged by her parents but later she was permitted to become a student at the Slade School and in due course to study in Italy, in Rome and in Florence. As a young woman she exhibited Ariadne in Naxos at the first Exhibition of the Grosvenor Gallery in 1877.

Her mature style, which is distinguished by a precision of detail and a fondness for mythological subjects, was derived in part from her first artistic mentor, Roddam Spencer- Stanhope, with whom she frequently painted and visited with following his permanent departure for Tuscany in 1880. She was also much influenced by Edward Burne-Jones who was a close friend of hers. Her painting was admired by a circle of fellow-artists. Evelyn Pickering married the potter William De Morgan in 1887 and lived with him in London until his death in 1917. She died two years later.

The painting above is “Earthbound” of 1897. It belongs to the suite of allegorical subjects and with typical Victorian, heavy-handed, moralistic imagery the message is clear “you can’t take it with you, no matter who you are…” The freed spirit flying upwards into the light of the upper right is not encumbered with riches or high position. The king clinging to his riches is earthbound and does not respond easily to the call of the angel of death. Nevertheless, once his time is nigh, no matter how tightly he grasps his gold, it will not save him, but perhaps it may drag him downward to the depths of Tartarus rather than upward into the heavens.

THE SWANS

“A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.” - Chinese Proverb

A Greek song tonight from Aristophanes’ play “The Birds”, first produced in 414 BC. Ancient Greek plays had much music, solo and choral songs in them. This of course was the inspiration for opera in Renaissance Italy.

Manos Hadjidakis (1925 – 1994) was one of the great Modern Greek composers who wrote “serious” music as well as many popular songs. He wrote the incidental music and for the songs in the play.

Maria Farandouri is a well-known singer who worked with Mikis Theodorakis primarily. She also collaborated with other composers and musicians (eg John Williams). Her rich husky voice is perfect for this song.



The Swans

So the swans on the banks of the Hebrus,
Tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx,
Mingle their voices to serenade Apollo,
Tio, tio, tio, tio. tiotinx,
Flapping their wings the while,
Tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx;
Their notes reach beyond the clouds of heaven;
All the dwellers in the forest
Stand still with astonishment and delight;
A calm rests upon the waters,
And the Graces and the choirs in Olympus
Catch up the strain,
Tio, tio, tio, tio, tiotinx.

WINTER BREAKFAST

“Hear! hear!” screamed the jay from a neighboring tree, where I had heard a tittering for some time, “winter has a concentrated and nutty kernel, if you know where to look for it.” - Henry David Thoreau

Today was a very cold morning. When I woke up and heard the weather report on the 5:00 am news bulletin, it was 3˚C, with the wind chill factor bringing the temperature down to almost freezing. It wasn’t much better an hour-and-a-half later when I was catching the train. Today was the sort of morning when breakfast has to be a substantial meal, with something piping hot and fragrant. Warm toast with lashings of butter and that wonderful smell of toasting bread filling the kitchen hits the spot. Alternatively, pancakes with honey and cream are good, or if completely spoilt one may indulge in handmade doughnuts (prepared by someone else of course!). But these latter foods are more of the weekend indulgence variety, rather than the ordinary weekday fare when time is at a premium.

Winter mornings are a wonderful experience. The prolonged darkness of night that lingers until later in the day and the bright stars overhead, made all the more bright by the crispness of the cold air are a sight to behold. Walking in the morning twilight, watching one’s breath cloud up and feeling that tingle of the cold on the face is a bracing, invigorating feeling that prepares one for the rigours of the day ahead. Snuggled up in a warm coat, with a scarf wrapped around the neck and gloves warming one’s fingers, walking to catch the train makes for a vibrant start to the day. Then, at work, discarding one’s overclothes layer by layer and luxuriating in the heated comfort of the office, watching the city come alive and the milky whiteness of winter morning gradually dispersing the wintry twilight is a good thing to experience.

For Food Friday today, some versions of a winter breakfast recipe for a wintry weekend morning tomorrow. “French Toast”, which is not really French nor is it strictly speaking toasted. Most French toast recipes have in common bread slices dipped in an egg batter mixture and pan-fried. The first such recipe seems to have originated in Rome. Today, just about every country around the globe has their own version of this classic breakfast food. And if you want to eat this in France don’t look for French Toast (Pain Français Grillé?) on the menu because the French refer to it as “pain perdu” (lost bread) or “pain doré” (gilded bread) depending on whether you are pessimist or an optimist.

It is said that French toast recipes evolved when even staple foods like bread were expensive and every bit of it had to be used up – even stale bread. The cooks of old found that dipping stale bread in a mixture of eggs and milk helped rejuvenate it. They then cooked it in a pan and served it up, much like our modern version. Another French toast recipe was reserved only for the wealthiest people of the olden times because it used expensive white bread, exotic and costly ingredients like vanilla, cinnamon and sugar.

Classic French Toast
Ingredients
• 8 slices of bread
• 2 eggs
• 1 cup milk
• 1/4 cup flour
• Butter
• Icing sugar

Method
Mix together the eggs, milk, and flour and pass through a strainer. Dip slices of bread into the mixture and fry in the butter on both sides in a hot frying pan. Before serving, sprinkle with icing sugar.

Oven-Baked French Toast
Ingredients
• 8 slices white bread
• 3 tablespoons softened butter
• 1/2 cup maple syrup
• 1/2 cup milk
• 2 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• Icing sugar for dusting

Method
Spread butter over each slice of bread, coating both sides. Place on a baking tray and bake for 10 minutes at 175˚C. Remove from heat and allow to cool slightly. Beat eggs in a large bowl. Stir in milk, cinnamon, salt, maple syrup, and salt. Place bread slices in a lightly greased casserole dish and top with the egg mixture. Bake until nicely browned, approximately 30 minutes. Dust with icing sugar and serve.

Savoury French Toast
Ingredients
• 4 eggs
• 1 cup of milk
• Spices and herbs (as desired)
• 1/3 tsp dried mustard
• Olive oil for frying
• Grated cheese
• Parsley for garnishing

Method
Mix the eggs and milk very well. Mix in the dried mustard, your favourite herbs and spices with the eggs and milk and beat until well-blended. Preheat your pan with a little olive oil to a medium temperature. Quickly dip each side of the bread into the egg/milk mix and place in the pan. Cook until the bottom side is golden brown; flip and cook the other side. On the top, sprinkle a little grated cheese and let it melt.

Cinnamon French Toast
Ingredients
• 4 eggs
• 6 slices thick bread
• Cinnamon to taste
• 2 tsp vanilla
• 1 cup milk
• Cooking spray

Method
Beat eggs in a large bowl. Add milk, vanilla, and cinnamon, and beat well. Lightly coat a large skillet with cooking spray, and heat over a medium fire. While the skillet heats, soak bread in the milk mixture, turning to coat both sides evenly. Cook bread over medium heat until nicely browned, approximately 4 minutes per side.

One of course may alter these recipes in a variety of ways. For example using raisin bread, brioche, cake or panettone instead of plain bread, buttermilk or cream instead of milk. Allspice and nutmeg instead of cinnamon. A variety of sauces and fruits to accompany the bread, etc, etc.

Enjoy your weekend!

CYBER-BULLYING AND SUICIDE

“There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide.” – Albert Camus

Last Friday night a 14-year-old schoolgirl in Geelong (a city 75 km southwest of Melbourne with a population of 161,000) committed suicide. She is the fourth student connected to a Geelong high school who has taken her own life in the last six months. This is frightening not only because of the age of the girl and the associated suicides at the same school, but also because the suicides appear to be connected to the internet and “cyber-bullying”. The unfortunate girl, Chanelle Rae killed herself hours after receiving a pernicious message on the internet.

The girl’s mother said her daughter was having “trouble” with some friends from school. After spending some time on the internet on Friday evening, Chanelle Rae went to her mother and said she had received a message that made her “want to die”. Mother and daughter spoke about it, the mother spending an hour with her and then after the mother thought the issue was resolved, left the daughter alone. When the girl’s father came home about an hour after the discussion of his daughter with his wife, he found the girl dead in her room.

I cannot imagine the plight of these parents, cannot comprehend the magnitude of the anguish they must be feeling in the wake of this disaster. To be speaking to your daughter one minute, to believe that you have discussed with her problems and resolved them (or at least lightened the perceived burden she was carrying) and then to find her later dead in her room must be one of the most horrific of experiences. The way in which the girl was reduced to the psychological state that drove to self-harm is also an alarming and chilling reminder of the pervasiveness of the internet and how it is affecting our everyday life.

Chanelle Rae’s mother is on the record as saying: “I can guarantee you if she didn’t go on the internet on Friday she’d still be alive today…” I find this statement as indication of a particularly abominable and deleterious use of a technology that is meant to make our life easier and more pleasant. How true of most inventions, one may say: We split the atom and unlocked the marvels of the atomic age and limitless energy, only to quickly harness that power into the destructive atom bomb. We discovered the wonderful therapeutic effects of narcotics, only to turn them into the drug menace that kills so many people around the world. We set satellites upon the heavens to enable the information revolution and help in our communication, but also perverted their use to enable them to function as spy machines and as a means to enable star-wars warfare. We use the internet as a tool, as entertainment, as a boon to communication and knowledge acquisition, only to also find in it the perfect medium for terrorism, bullying, pornography and every form of deception tat human mind can devise.

Are we so flawed, we humans? Do we suffer from a species-wide form of dissociative identity disorder that condemns us to perpetual expressions of our split personalities? Are we so dualistic in our collective psychology that we must forever fight within us a battle of good versus evil and find that the balance is so finely poised that we can tip so easily either way?

How easy it seems to be to give in to this gnawing, poisoning demand of evil upon our weak mind. When one reads the newspapers, watches television, listens to the radio, it seems that as a species we are becoming ever more likely to choose evil over good. Some of the news that I hear every day disappoint me more and more, and revulsion, horror, disgust, abhorrence and outrage overcome me. We seem to be more and more like the proverbial lemmings, stampeding towards the precipice that will seal our collective doom. It’s depressing stuff. Enough perhaps to drive some of us to suicide…

And yet, as humans we have redeeming qualities. We still create, we love, we can perform remarkable acts of self-sacrifice, heroism, altruism. We overcome adversity, we master our suffering and conquer disaster, transform tragedy into hope, defeat despair and transmute it into joy. The truly special human being is not the one to whom evil is unknown, not the one who lives like a hermit removed from the temptations of the world. The true hero is the one who battles the degeneration and vileness that lies within each one of us and has the strength to overpower them in order to do good, to be good, to resist following the easy path of depravity. To be able to choose to do battle in order to stay on course and follow the rocky, winding and steep path of integrity, dignity and virtue. Funny how we tend to hear those last three words less and less nowadays…

Cyber-bullying |ˈsībər-ˈboŏlē’i NG| noun
The use of information and communication technologies to support deliberate, repeated, and hostile behaviour by an individual or group, that is intended to harm others.
ORIGIN: From Greek kubernētēs ‘steersman,’ from kubernan ‘to steer’ and probably from Middle Dutch boele ‘lover’. The original usage was as a term of endearment applied to either sex; later becoming a familiar form of address to a male friend. The current sense dates from the late 17th century.

Jacqui BB hosts Word Thursday

A SEA POEM

“The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.” - Isak Dinesen

A poem tonight which is transcribed from an old journal I used to write in, before blogs and the internet! Funny how the keyboard and screen has now all but replaced paper and pen… I must admit though that pens, pencils, crayons, markers, paper of all sorts are never far away from reach on all of my desks (including at work!).

Afterimage

Seashell, sun-blond with crimson sound
Tears lonely air apart, rips silence;
And on a sea-blue negative
Records the gift of thirsty air.

The rosy cockle speeds through pink light years
To impale itself through black irises
Engraving an everlasting memory,
On marble slabs of my mind.

Sea murmurs, as if a lullaby singing,
In cool palaces of unstepped on ocean depths,
To put to sleep infant tritons
While Amphitrite smiles enigmatically.

The sea, pearl-embroidered, calls to me
Its sweet voice echoing in my empty heart
While my salt-water blood flows slowly
In veins of dolphin body.

Salt, sweetness, coolness, fire of flesh
Are kneaded with sun, and sea and sounds of waves,
With green darknesses in depths of eyes
Illumined by a flash of love, but for a moment.

Now drops of salty sea roll down my cheeks
To water my infertile desert.
The memory is with me, nonetheless
Even if the sea has long dried up.

I open up the locked chest of my mind
And there, I find your afterimage
Containing all of you in it,
Just as the seashell carries within it all of the sea.

In clenched fist I hold tight the conch,
A fragment of sun shines in my gaze,
My blood is salty and sea-green
My thoughts mirroring the has-been,
On my retina your blue-green afterimage
Burnt indelibly.


Jacqui BB hosts Poetry Wednesday, so visit her site for more poems!

ON HEAVENLY CONTEMPLATION

“I don’t believe in astrology; I’m a Sagittarius and we're skeptical.” - Arthur C. Clarke

Tonight, I turn my eyes to the heavens as there are several stories in the news lately that concern heavenly bodies. First there was the 40th anniversary of the moon landing of the Apollo 11 mission on the 20th July 1969. As the astronaut Neil Armstrong climbed down from the landing module and set foot on lunar soil, he uttered the famous phrase: “That’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind”. Edwin Aldrin soon followed and the two astronauts bounced about on the lunar surface with its gravity one-sixth that of earth’s.

I remember clearly that momentous event as I watched it together with half a billion people around the world on television. That was in fact watched on our first television set, bought especially for that purpose (well, it was a good excuse, anyway!). It was an amazing experience, especially for me, a young impressionable child watching history being made and witnessing the beginning of a brave new age of space exploration. Seeing the realisation of mankind’s dreams and the making of science fiction into science fact.

The second astronomical event of note, looming ahead, is the eclipse of the sun soon to occur. On Wednesday, 2009 July 22, a total eclipse of the Sun will be visible from within a narrow corridor that traverses half of Earth. The path of the Moon’s umbral shadow will begin in India and will cross through Nepal, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Myanmar and China. After leaving mainland Asia, the path will cross Japan’s Ryukyu Islands and curve southeast through the Pacific Ocean where the maximum duration of totality reaches 6 minutes 39 seconds. It will be the longest total solar eclipse in this century. The next longest total solar eclipse will happen on June 13, 2132.

This astronomical event has already begat numerous astrological discussions and predictions, especially in India, where astronomical observations and their astrological interpretation are seriously and widely pursued. Indian astrologers are of the view that the solar eclipse will usher in changes. Astrological predictions indicate that there are chances of massive floods or other disasters associated with water. Some astrologers are of the view that Capricorns, Cancers and Leos will experience some bad effects in the wake of the eclipse. Other astrologers are even more pessimistic and predict that there are chances of war and other politically related problems.

Some astrologers maintain that since the eclipse is taking place in Cancer, people governed by this sign should be careful while driving and avoid undergoing surgery for the time being. The period is not considered auspicious for Cancer, Libra, Scorpio, Capricorn and Pisces. On the other hand, the eclipse will be beneficial for signs like Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Leo, Virgo and Sagittarius. It is obvious that different astrologers will give conflicting predictions regarding the eclipse…

On July 28 and 29 the Southern Delta Aquarids Meteor Shower will be visible. The Delta Aquarids usually produce about 20 meteors (“shooting stars”) per hour at their peak. The shower will peak this year on July 28 and 29, but meteors can usually be seen from July 18 to August 18. The near first quarter moon will set early, providing an excellent viewing experience after midnight. The radiant point for this shower will be in the constellation Aquarius. Best viewing is usually to the east after midnight.

On August 6 there will be a penumbral lunar eclipse. This eclipse will be visible throughout most of the Americas, Europe, Africa, and western Asia (for a full list of astronomical events, refer to: http://www.seasky.org/astronomy/astronomy_calendar_2009.html). All of this activity in the heavens, is of course happening every year, but maybe we are paying a little bit more attention to it this year as 2009 is the International Year of Astronomy!

On Heavenly Contemplation

Don’t waste precious time gazing at stars,
Or plotting conjunctions of Venus with Mars.
Too many earthly woes and cares abound,
Our lives with thorny misery surround.

If cause of your misfortune search ye to find
Look not through telescope, nor planets mind;
Thoughts, actions, deeds must you probe
And find solutions for our troubled globe.

With outstretched hand seek that of brother,
A kindly deed will find a keen reception.
Render not ill to self or to another,
Do good, give kindness not deception –
How harder such a course, and not the other!
Easy to scan the sky, blunt our perception…

MOVIE MONDAY - THE MUSIC TEACHER

“Revenge is always the weak pleasure of a little and narrow mind.” – Juvenal

We watched Gérard Corbieau’s 1989 film “Le Maître de Musique” (The Music Teacher) at the weekend. This was a sumptuous French film for classical music lovers and although the plot was thin, the music and cinematography more than made up for it. Corbieau’s other forays into cinema have explored music and arts and his famous 1994 “Farinelli” and his “Le Roi Danse” also adhere to the genre.

In this film, the ageing Joachim Dallayrac, a famous and brilliant concert singer retires from the stage and retreats to his countryside mansion. He takes on the talented Sophie in order to teach her the singer’s art. He also brings Jean, a petty thief, into the household because he hears him singing and detects a wonderful voice. The relationships that develop are complex and involve as well as Joachim his partner, Estelle, Sophie and Jean. After rigorous and harsh training, Sophie and Jean manage to attain a standard that pleases their teacher. The two young singers are then invited to participate in a singing contest staged by Prince Scotti. Scotti himself was defeated in a singing contest by Dallayrac and Scotti is acing for revenge. Scotti’s protégé is set up to exact this revenge through the way that Scotti has organised the contest.

The music in the film is absolutely marvellous and performed well. It is also well chosen and underlines the plot. For example, Gustav Mahler’s (1860-1911) lied “Ich bin der welt abhanden gekommen” is associated with the teacher. The lyrics translate as: “I am lost to the world with which I used to waste so much time. It has heard nothing from me for so long it may well believe me dead… …I live alone in my heaven, in my love, and in my song”. In the climax of the film, “Sempre Libera”, the wonderful duet from Verdi’s “La Traviata” is used to great effect, sung by Sophie and Jean, who up till then have not sung together.

The cinematography of the film is one of its strengths and beautiful scene succeeds beautiful scene, with glowing colours and exquisite visual composition. I can easily imagine, however, someone who doesn’t like classical music finding the film tedious and boring. We certainly enjoyed it and would recommend it to fellow music lovers.

You may like to visit Dangerous Meredith's blog, who has also posted some films she has seen and recommends...

ART SUNDAY - VIDA PEARSON

“Earth laughs in flowers.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

For Art Sunday today, a linocut print by a contemporary Australian artist, Vida Pearson. She was born in 1957, near Wonthaggi in Victoria, Australia.She spent 3 years at the North Adelaide School of Art between 1982 - 1984 majoring in printmaking and drawing. She has been a professional artist/printmaker since 1985. Vida has won over 100 prizes in art competitions. She exhibits regularly with several galleries and usually has a solo exhibition every couple of years.

The main thrust of her work is hand-coloured linocuts of birds and flora - particularly Australian banksias, grevilleas and eucalypts, which are particularly suited to this medium. She goes on field trips regularly within Australia and overseas to source new material and inspiration. A trip to Antarctica in 2004 was probably the most exceptional and inspirational of these trips for her. She also works in watercolour and pastel when the subject matter calls for it.

The linocut above is of a native Australian flower, perhaps the most magnificent one, the Waratah (Telopea speciosissima). Robert Brown (1773-1858) named the genus Telopea in 1810 from specimens collected in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney. Sir James Smith (1759-1828), a noted botanist and founder of the Linnaean Society in England, wrote in 1793: 'The most magnificent plant which the prolific soil of New Holland affords is, by common consent, both of Europeans and Natives, the Waratah. It is moreover a favourite with the latter, upon account of a rich honeyed juice which they sip from its flowers'.

The generic name Telopea is derived from the Greek 'telopos', meaning 'seen from afar', and refers to the great distance from which the crimson flowers are discernible. The specific name speciosissima is the superlative of the Latin adjective 'speciosus', meaning 'beautiful' or 'handsome'. 'Waratah', the Aboriginal name for the species, was adopted by early settlers at Port Jackson.

Telopea is an eastern Australian genus of four species. Two are confined to New South Wales, one to Tasmania and one extends from eastern Victoria into New South Wales. Telopea belongs to the family, Proteaceae, which is predominantly Australian and southern African. The Waratah is a stout, erect shrub, which may grow to 4 metres. The dark green leathery leaves, 13-25 cm in length, are arranged alternately and tend to be coarsely toothed. The flowers are grouped in rounded heads 7 to 10 cm in diameter surrounded by crimson bracts, about 5 to 7 cm long. It flowers from September to November and nectar-seeking birds act as pollinators. Large winged seeds are released when the brown leathery pods split along one side.

The species is fairly widespread on the central coast and adjoining mountains of New South Wales, occurring from the Gibraltar Range, north of Sydney, to Conjola in the south. It grows mainly in the shrub understory in open forest developed on sandstone and adjoining volcanic formations, from sea level to above 1000 metres in the Blue Mountains. Soils within its range tend to be sandy and low in plant nutrients. Rainfall is moderately high. Waratah plants resist destruction by bushfires, a natural element of their habitat, by regenerating from the rootstock. Flowering recommences two years after a moderate fire.

The Waratah is a spectacular garden subject in suitable soil and climate; it flowers prolifically and tends to be long-lived. The Waratah occurs naturally in at least ten national parks in the geological formation, know as the Sydney Basin. Brisbane Water, Dharug and Macquarie Pass National Parks are among the areas where this species is conserved. Waratahs are cultivated north of Sydney and in the Dandenong Ranges, Victoria. They are grown in Israel, New Zealand and Hawaii for the cut flower trade. It was introduced to England in 1789 but cannot survive English winters out of doors except in the south-west coastal regions, and it rarely flowers in glasshouses. It is also cultivated in California.

Enjoy your week!

BACH ON A SATURDAY NIGHT

“If a composer could say what he had to say in words he would not bother trying to say it in music.” - Gustav Mahler

Tonight I feel I need to just listen to Bach and then have a long sleep. Glen Gould playing the Prelude from English Suite no 5 is just right.

A MATTER OF TASTE

“Success without honor is an unseasoned dish; it will satisfy your hunger, but it won’t taste good.” - Joe Paterno

I suppose it would be remiss of me not to mention on this “Food Friday”, the finals of the Australian MasterChef TV program. Although I do not watch the show, it is very hard to escape the publicity it generates. Last night saw the elimination of a Melbourne contender and it is now a battle between the last two remaining contestants, NSW mother-of-three, Julie Godwin against Po Ling Yeow, an Adelaide artist. Apparently 2.36 million viewers tuned into the show last night, giving Channel 10 a ratings buzz. This is the fourth consecutive episode where MasterChef has won the ratings battle with competing channels.

The moral of the story is that food-related content sells. It sells on TV, in bookshops, on radio, in newspapers and magazines, on the internet. Food is such an integral part of our culture and of our life that it is an inescapable component of our existence. People apparently not only enjoy eating food, they also like to read about it, watch it being prepared, listen to people talking about it. We are all willing to experiment, try out new recipes, taste new dishes and tempt our jaded palates with new and thrilling combinations of ingredients.

The plethora of cooking programs on TV is matched by the countless cookbooks that are published every day, it seems. It is not by chance then, that the Australian MasterChef challenge centres around the contestants cooking recipes they would love to include in the first cookbook they will have published after their victory… Do you detect a marketing spin-off, here? Could this lead perhaps to a future TV cooking program where the winning contestant will continue the success generated by the publicity around the program?

I occasionally watch as a podcast the cooking program “The Cook and the Chef”, with Maggie Beer and Simon Bryant respectively. This program for the most part makes me cringe. I find the chef revolting as he must touch everything with his fingers, even when he doesn’t need to. His palpatory adventures apparently give him a high. The absolute revulsion is to see him eat the cooked food with his fingers (often getting burnt in the process, or having goo running down his wrists as he gulps down the food he tastes). I was expecting him to eat soup with his fingers in one of the episodes. I find most of the recipes he gives uninspiring and his manner is annoying, his mannerisms irritating. I guess you can say I am not a Simon Bryant fan.

Maggie Beer, as the cook, is much more sensible, although her association with the chef is contaminating her gentility! She used not to touch ingredients and food, but lately she is getting as bad as Simon. Maggie’s recipes tend to be more appealing and they do not depend so much on the effect a chef strives for. Lately I have gone off the program in a major way and will not watch it in the future, I think (for the reasons stated above, but mainly the disgusting handling of everything and the non-washing of hands – I haven’t seen them wash their hands once!).

I have blogged before about TV chefs, so I’ll stop myself promptly here. My palate has become quite jaded and I will not stomach many more of these programs or swallow any more of these unpalatable celebrity chefs. I like good food (increasingly of late, the simpler the food the better; the fresher it is of course, the more appealing I find it), but my life doesn’t revolve around it and gastronomic indulgences are not my style. In terms of your own taste, bon appétit to you if TV cooking is your thing!

TO FLIRT OR NOT TO FLIRT?

“If you're a gifted flirt, talking about the price of eggs will do as well as any other subject.” - Mignon McLaughlin

I had an extremely busy day today, with a workshop that involved staff from all of our campuses that are visiting Melbourne for two days in order to resolve some issues and plan ahead for the next semester. It was an intense day with much happening, presentations, discussions, work groups, activities and then dinner out for about 40 people. This dinner provided a good opportunity to relax and to talk with colleagues on a social level rather than a professional one. These social activities are a good way to build the teams and to relate to people that one works with.

Dinner was at Max’s restaurant in Hardware Lane in the City. This is a great restaurant with a good menu and wine list, reasonably priced and with great service. Although the food is down to earth, simple and not adventurous, it is done well and with style. We were served very quickly considering there 40 or so of us and we all enjoyed it immensely.

Another reason for the dinner was that we were saying farewell to a member of staff who is leaving our organisation and going back home to the USA. He has been with us for three years and as his contract is up (and his family wants to go back home) he thought it best to go back. He was an excellent professional and a good co-worker and he will be missed.

We gave him a couple of Australian art pieces as a farewell gift and we had the regulation speeches. In his speech he said how much he enjoyed living in Australia and how he would miss the place. One thing he said he would miss a lot would be the “flirting”. He said that a lot of the innocent flirting that went on in the workplace in Australia would lead to serious trouble in the USA and possibly people could get sued. That is so sad…

Flirting if done well is such fun. Max O'Rell said, “flirtation in attention without intention” and this is so true. It is a mark of high civilisation and the playfulness that is implicit in it is harmless. As I said, it must be done delicately and there is an element of innocent humour and good natured fun that underlies it (especially so in the workplace). Now to be sued for that, is completely crazy, in my opinion.

flirt |flərt| verb
1 [ intrans. ] Behave as though attracted to or trying to attract someone, but for amusement rather than with serious intentions: It amused him to flirt with her.
• ( flirt with) Experiment with or show a superficial interest in (an idea, activity, or movement) without committing oneself to it seriously: A painter who had flirted briefly with Cubism.
• ( flirt with) Deliberately expose oneself to (danger or difficulty): The need of some individuals to flirt with death.
2 [ trans. ] (of a bird) Wave or open and shut (its wings or tail) with a quick flicking motion.
• [ intrans. ] Move back and forth with a flicking or fluttering motion: The lark was flirting around the site.
noun
A person who habitually flirts.

DERIVATIVES
flirtation |-ˈtā sh ən| noun
flirtatious |-ˈtā sh əs| adjective
flirtatiously |-ˈtā sh əslē| adverb
flirtatiousness |-ˈtā sh əsnəs| noun
flirty |ˈflərdi| ( flirtier |ˈflərdiər|, flirtiest |ˈflərdi1st|).

ORIGIN mid 16th century: Apparently symbolic, the elements fl- and -irt both suggesting sudden movement; compare with flick and spurt . The original verb senses were [give someone a sharp blow] and [sneer at]; the earliest noun senses were [joke, gibe] and [flighty girl] (defined by Dr. Johnson as [a pert young hussey] ), with a notion originally of cheeky behaviour, later of playfully amorous behaviour.

Jacqui BB hosts Word Thursday

MOONTIME

“Time is the fire in which we burn.” - Delmore Schwartz

Time is an elastic concept. It’s made of mist and moonbeams, sunrays and shadows. Time crawls, time flies, time cheats us and rewards us. Time mocks us and is deadly serious in its dealings with us. Time alters our perspectives, shifts our judgment, changes our emotions and wreaks havoc with the way that we view the world. Time laughs with us, and at us. It can dry our tears or evince a flood of them where there was only pure joy just before.

This poem was written more than twenty years ago, when times were different for me and when the end of the world threatened to engulf me. Tears, pain, agony were mine then, and now I can barely remember the depths of the despair that I felt; the reminder being these words scratched on an old notebook. Time heals the wounds of the heart and dulls the pain of our soul. Our mind conspires with it and what was madness then, is only a sweet nostalgia now.

Nocturne in G Minor

In the serenity of sweet night
Which glides on softest skin like a caress,
I seek you still…
And when the moonlight calls out to me,
To bathe in its beams anew,
I cannot bear it, I must remember you.

But how can I find you?
How can I run to meet you
Now that my heart has lost its compass,
Now that there are no signs from you?
I seek you still…
And reason screams, and warns against it!
I must not repeat the same mistakes it tells me.

And yet, I search for you,
Your image faint and delicate,
Wandering like a lone firefly
In the dark fields of my mind.
I seek you still…
How can I not remember you,
How can I not desire you more than ever?

You left, and I promised I’d forget you.
I said it would be hard, but I would do it
Even if I had to reforge myself in steel.
And yet, each evening of the full moon
When that shining orb of ours rises,
It’s then that I miss you most.
I fail to keep my promises and I admit,
I love you even now,
I remember you evermore,
I seek you still…

Jacqui BB hosts poetry Wednesday

VIVE LE QUATORZE JUILLET!

“The love of one’s country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border?” - Pablo Casals

Happy Bastille Day! July the 14th is the day on which France celebrates its National Day. It commemorates the day of the storming of the Bastille, which took place on 14 July 1789 and marked the beginning of the French Revolution. The Bastille was a prison and a symbol of the absolute and arbitrary power of Louis the 16th's Ancient Regime. By capturing this symbol, the people signalled that the king's power was no longer absolute and that power should be based on the people and be limited by a separation of powers.

The Bastille only held seven prisoners at the time of its capture, however, the storming of the prison was a symbol of liberty and the fight against oppression for all French citizens. The revolution in France upheld the Republic’s three ideals: Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity for all French citizens, a symbolism duplicated in the nation’s tricolour flag. It marked the end of absolute monarchy, the birth of the sovereign Nation, and, eventually, the creation of the (First) Republic, in 1792. Bastille Day was declared the French national holiday on 6th July 1880, on Benjamin Raspail's recommendation, when the new Republic was firmly entrenched.

For the wordy types amongst you (me included!), Bastille is an alternate spelling of bastide meaning “fortification”. Bastide comes from the Provençal word bastida meaning “built”. There is also a French verb embastiller with the meaning “to establish troops in a prison”.

To celebrate the day in a suitably French manner, here is something delicious to drink:

CHAMPAGNE PUNCH

Ingredients
1 large pineapple
2 oranges
5 passionfruits
1 apple
1 punnet strawberries
6 tablespoonfuls icing sugar
1 cupful brandy
2 bottles of Champagne

Method
Peel and clean the pineapple, chopping into small cubes and put into a large bowl. Juice the oranges and add to the pineapple. Wash and hull the strawberries, leaving them to drain. Half them and add to the bowl. Peel the apple and chop finely into the bowl. Add the passionfruit pulp to the bowl and stir in the sugar until it is dissolved. Stir in the brandy and put the bowl into the freezer, until almost frozen solid. Break into chunks, put into a punch bowl and pour the chilled champagne over the fruit mixture. Vive la France!

France is a Western European country with shores on the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea. It has an area of 544,000 square km and a population of 60 million. Its terrain is varied with high plateaux, mountain ranges and lowland basins. Its climate is mild ranging from typical Mediterranean in the South, to mild and wet further to the North. Agriculture is favoured by both land and climate making France one of the major European exporters of wheat, barley, sugar beet and wine. Manufacturing is the other major employer with rich reserves of oil, gas and coal assisting greatly the economy. French perfumes and other luxury goods are a major income earner while tourism is also a major industry. Paris is the capital city with other major cities being Lyon, Marseille, Bordeaux, Lille, Grenoble, Rouen, Nantes and Toulouse.



The painting above is by an anonymous painter and depicts the storming of the Bastille.