One More Day...

One draft, almost finished.
One chapter per day.
Two chapters to go.
Last day of term.

Why, why, why?

Attention Please

***UPDATED***

Evie is running a poll over at her blog, Evie Puppy Cadpig. She would appreciate your help in choosing a new background picture for her blog, and as she doesn't get a huge amount of traffic (well, just me really), she has asked me to ask you to pop over and help her out.

***Big thanks to everyone who's voted, you have made a little girl very happy.***

Worlds Collide

 It happens when I'm discussing the Bulldogs' chances this season at a Centre for Youth Literature event and people nod politely.

It happens when I'm listening to the sports radio station and they're reviewing the film of The Hunger Games and the commentators go, 'Huh?'

Not the same game. Apparently.

Aluminium Anniversary

It's ten years today since Michael and I tied the official knot. Apparently this means today should be celebrated with a gift of tin and/or aluminium. What does that mean? Saucepans? Tin/aluminium is the traditional marker, but in the US it seems 'tin' has been upgraded to 'diamond.' Whoah! That's quite a leap. I guess ten years these days is like a hundred years in olden times... or something...

This is what I looked like on my wedding day:

NOT!!! Ha ha ha. In fact I find the whole wedding industry and all its addentant stressors quite bemusing and slightly obscene. Mikey and I got married in the registry office at the Queen Vic building, with just our parents and our 8 month old baby as witnesses. Then we had a lovely afternoon tea at a swank hotel, organised by Michael's sister. It could hardly have been more low-key. I wore a favourite dress from Jigsaw, Mum gave me some roses to hold, we didn't take many photos because Alice started to cry.

The next night was our wedding celebration. We booked out a local cafe and had a party with about fifty friends and family. It was a great night, as far as I can remember. And then we went home and life went on as before - with the baby we'd already had, in the house we'd already bought, living together as we had done for the previous four (?) years. Nothing really changed.

But I'm glad we did it. I like being able to say 'my huzzband,' in an ironic voice, even though it's not ironic at all but a simple statement of fact. Some of my friends are married, some are not. Some, I don't even know whether they are or not, and it doesn't make a scrap of difference.

But I think if people want to do it, they should be able to -- in a garden, in a church, on a boat, sky-diving, in a fancy dress or in the nude, straight or gay. It's about love, people. A ritual about love. How can there be any harm in that?

Happy anniversary, Mikey. Love you. xxxxx

Evie's Crazy Science Lab

I'm not quite sure what it demonstrates exactly, but it's fun: take a bowl of milk, add a drop or two of food colouring. Then dip a toothpick in detergent and poke it into the mixture, and watch what happens!*

I wish we'd had activities like this when I was at school.

* Bonus points for doing it while Mythbusters is on.

12th March

2012 (aged 45)
The hunt for high schools starts next week: information nights and open days. Which school will be right for her? Which school is she right for? And how are you supposed to tell?
2001 (aged 34)
Everybody gobsmacked by the news that K (Michael's sister) is having TWINS! So pleased that Alice will have a gang of her own and won't be totally swamped by the big boy cousins... More than halfway. 21 weeks today. The obstetrician says if I haven't stopped being sick by now then I never will. THANKS.
1998 (aged 31)
I've taken to swanning around the house in silk trousers and an embroidered jacket and have a yearning for beading and brocade - a kind of 1920s exotica.
1997 (aged 30)
D is keen for New York. He rang at 11.30 last night -- "Why are you in bed? What's wrong with you?" He was excruciatingly chirpy.
1996 (aged 29)
At moments like this - quarter to 11 after a solid couple of hours work, sun shining in and feeling motivated - I don't give a RAT'S ARSE about Sony imports - sack me, ease me out, bully me around I DON'T CARE it's not real, it doesn't matter. Only this matters, the words on the page.
1994 (aged 27)
A milestone in my brilliant career - a little one! Someone wrote to me, asking for a short story to put in their magazine - never heard of it mind you - still, they pay money!
1992 (aged 25)
Breakfast with AR. Hm... Did get a croissant which is better than not getting a croissant I guess...
1987 (aged 20)
Trammed and trained and bussed out to Monash, had lunch in the Union with F and all her crowd, A & E & S & K & Bill Shorten. Got home at 6. D in playful mood, tried to set fire to me. Told everyone's tarots.
1986 (aged 19)
Put up posters for Conservation Club in sneaky and illegal places round uni...Student Club meeting. Roped in as Play Rep. O throwing his weight around. Small fuss over whether a female could be Male Sports Rep... Dressed up as Soviet Socialist for S party... Drank Kahlua and white wine & OJ with F. C & P arrived about 10.30, went up to my room and drank Kahlua & milk with frozen milk. Suddenly F, J, E & CS arrived! Chatted to CS, think I was mistaken. Fairly sloshed by now. About to go down when A brought PH up (in Army uniform) to stop him flattening O!! Monash people left, had D&Ms with PH who then left never to be seen again... Massive D&Ms with C & P by candlelight (tres atmospherique, says P), C & P smoking like chimneys, drank two bottles of cider. G arrived with Joy Division tape then went to bed. Opened Baileys & drank 1/2 the bottle. P finally went to bed, C & I strolled around the crescent talking drunkenly. Went to bed at 3.30am.
1985 (aged 18)
Went to my first ever tutorial - Philosophy. Dead loss tute, all sat mute, in fact it was fute-ile. Formal dinner (chicken and shaving foam cheeseCake). New Pres. of USSR is Mikhail Gorbichov (Gorbachev)
1980 (aged 13)
The debate was marvellous!! We lost, but I only got one point less than Athol's third speaker (she got Best Debator). I'm so happy! It is nice to do something well!!
1978 (aged 11)
Daddy went to Hagen, but came back. I meant to wash the dolls clothes, but it was too wet. I rode and read my bike and books. I didn't do anything really today, did I?
1977 (aged 10)
I stayed in bed till half past 9.  Mummy cut down branches. I made a ship. I typed a letter to Rowena. Hilly & I had a big fight. I'm sorry.
1976 (aged 9)
It was sport. Yuk! I made lanterns. Made a book list. Tomorrow night I am staying at Mireille's.

Treasure Boxes

Last week, Pip's mum alerted me to an offering on Gumtree - a collection of books and magazines about PNG, free to a good home. The family had spent a few years in PNG at around the same time as we did, in Madang and Rabaul*, and this was what was left of their father's collection, after the rest of the family had taken what they wanted.

There was one box of books, travel guides and coffee table books full of gorgeous pictures, and copies of the PNG national airline's in-flight magazine from the 1980s, all of which I was very happy to have. And there was also a box of odds and ends: 'I'm not sure if you'll want this,' said the mother doubtfully, but it was raining and the kids were waiting out in the car, so I said, no, no, I'll take the lot.

I'm really glad I did. There was a nice big map, an album of newspaper cuttings, and some files of odd letters and memos from the father's time working for one of the big trading companies: a job application from a local student, written on butterfly notepaper; a list of pay rates for local workers; a letter explaining why a policeman was late paying his bill (because all his 'gears' had been lost when he was transferred to a different post); complaints about late shipments and incorrect bills.

There could be nothing so evocative of the low-tech world of the 1970s -- letters that are scrawled in biro or typed on a clunky typewriter, carbon copied and filed in a manila folder. I wonder where the writers of those letters are now.


* a town that no longer exists - wiped out by a volcano, just like Pompeii

Workshop

A friend walked into our house the other day and said, 'Whenever I come here, there's always stuff being made.' I must confess I have become so used to being surrounded by works-in-progress, scraps of fabric, glue and craft sticks that I hadn't really thought about it, apart from tearing my hair out at the perpetual mess.

But it's true. At the moment we have crystals growing on saucers on the floor in front of the TV, seedlings sprouting in jars in Rex's tank, and a half-finished zoo enclosure on the coffee table. Recently Alice made and furnished a 'burrow' for some of her smaller toys, including tiny handmade books, sheets and curtains dyed with food dye, clothes for the toys and an elaborate water-tank and dipper system.

Last night Evie made a bird feeder from a toilet roll covered in silver foil, and a birdhouse from a box that had contained grapes, which she then rushed out to hang from the trees. Meanwhile, Alice was making bread, joyfully thumping the dough - but plain bread is boring, so this became nutmeg, lime and orange bread. (Which, I must say, is actually bloody delicious - sort of hot-cross-bunnish, but without the sultanas.) The 'sauce' which was to accompany the bread was less successful (flour, sugar, nutmeg, lime juice), but hey, for every hit, there'll be a few misses.

I just have to keep reminding myself that the flour on the floor, the newspapers all over the table, rag box spilling in the corner -- in short, the general chaos of our living space -- really is worthwhile. Who knows, maybe that's the thing I'll miss the most when they're all grown up.

Beautiful Thing

I knew that the shortlists for APA Book Design Awards had been released, but I didn't realise until the weekend that Josh Durham had been nominated for Crow Country in the category of Best Designed Children's Fiction. Ngarra Murray drew the powerful crow on the cover, but Josh is responsible for the rest.

I reckon it's at least partly because of the crows that perch on the chapter numbers inside - clever Josh!

But I mean, come on -- isn't it just the most beautiful cover ever? (Okay, I may be slightly biased...)

Completely Sherlocked

Sherlock Holmes was my first literary crush (I'm not counting Captain Cook (who was, after all, real) and his disturbing attractive white breeches in my Ladybird book of the same name).

At first glance there's not a lot to recommend Mr Holmes as an object of desire. There's the casual drug use, the total lack of interest in women (or anyone, really), the constant smoking, the insufferable ego, the chronic untidiness - he must have been a pain in the neck as a housemate.

Ah, but the searing brilliance of his mind makes up for everything. And we all know that the cold, distant types merely present a challenge - because if they give even the slightest hint that they care, that hint is worth infinitely more than some soppy emotional type declaring their undying love and throwing roses at you. As Dr Watson says,

It was worth a wound; it was worth many wounds; to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.

Swoon! I shudder to think of the effect that this must have had on my later romantic life. Indeed, my first real world sort-of relationship was with a boy who bore quite the resemblance to Holmes -- super-smart, but cold and distant. Which is why it was only a sort-of relationship. But ah, the arguments were fantastic.

In recent years I've enjoyed Laurie R. King's Mary Russell books, featuring Holmes as Mary's partner in crime-solving, and later, life. But fun as these books are, somehow I could never quite accept Sherlock as a married man, demonstrating ordinary marital passion. Also he is, you know, old. And Sherlock Holmes for me is like a Time Lord; he never ages.

But now I've been seduced by Sherlock Holmes all over again. Sherlock, the new adaptation by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, with Benedict Cumberbatch as Holmes and Martin Freeman as Watson, is as genius as Sherlock himself. I've come to this much later than everyone else, I know, and I've only seen one episode so far, but that was enough for me to fall, and fall hard. Irresistible.

16th February

2012 (aged 45)
Noticed that the producer of Outland is Andrea Denholm, who I think I went to school with in Goroka. If it's the same one. There could be millions of them. Outland reminds me of living with B in Budd St -- loving science fiction and being queer. It seems like a long time ago.
2008 (aged 41)
Evie: Alice is a genius. (pause) And I am a genius too.
2007 (aged 40)
Alice: I like the baddies best. Because sometimes I feel like I'm a baddy.
2001 (aged 34)
This time next week we will know if Sachin is Charlie or Alice. I'm sure it's Alice and Mikey is convinced it's Charlie. WE SHALL SEE.
1997 (aged 30)
Have to break it off with AS but how? J thinks I should sink the knife in immediately. B & L think arranging a short date (drink/coffee) then breaking it to him. D isn't interested. B thinks I should see him in the company of others to ease tension. C thinks I should count my blessings and not be so ungrateful and anyway he'll probably lose interest because I'm not so great!! No chance of getting a big head while she's around, that's for sure...
1996 (aged 29)
Sony classical guy raving about the latest signing: "For an unknown kid from Melbourne, events have certainly gathered an inertia all of their own in the last 18 months."
1994 (aged 27)
As G. becomes more of a loser, he gets more interesting.
1993 (aged 26)
C, looking at a picture of Andrea Dworkin: I don't think this means I'm a victim of the patriarchy or anything, but I just think people should take a bit more pride in their appearance.
1986 (aged 19)
One week till college!!!
1985 (aged 18)
Ginned to the max. Watched cricket all day. Greg Matthews got three wickets. The Ds came; joined them for dinner, drinks and deep conversation, most surprisingly, on sex.
1983 (aged 16)
Prepare a little chat on the beginnings of drama
Do a wee bit o' maths maybe p'raps
1981 (aged 14)
I am writing this, very romantically, by the glow of a candle. Actually there's a power blackout but who wants boring trivialities like that? I am a refugee in a strange land, writing a journal no-one will ever see...the heiress to the throne of our deposed country. Everyone in my family was killed, and I only just managed to escape... Ah, who would give that up for Monday morning tomorrow?
1978 (aged 11)
Goroka. We were burgaled last night. A man shone a torch in Mummy's face, and she chased him down the hall! He took beer, money, and our radio. He got in our spare room window. I'm very glad Daddy's back! Andrea lent me a book.
1977 (aged 10)
Mt Hagen. Leanne and Lyn had a fight. We wrote stories. Oh, Mary, it's a funny world! See you tomorrow.
1976 (aged 9)
Mt Hagen. First day at school. Mrs Jordan said I'm a marvoulaous girl. We played dressing up. I was a mouse.

Overheard: Two Ten-Year-Olds Talk Politics

A: It's sad about Julia Gillard.
M: Yes, it's a shame, because she was the first woman. And she's been really mean to the Greens.
A: It's such a pity when someone isn't as good as you expect.
M: Labor and Liberal are exactly the same at the moment.
A: Like tea and coffee...
M: Except tea and coffee aren't...
A: ... they're like a tea shop and a coffee shop who hate each other. Then one gets muffins, then the other gets muffins...
M: (sighs) I know what you mean.

Some Happy News

Crow Country has been shortlisted for the Adelaide Festival Awards for Literature. Yay!

The rest of the shortlists can be found here. Congratulations to everyone.

We're Ba-ack!

So, we had a holiday in Tasmania. It was brilliant. This is what we did:

Night Crossing

I take ginger pills, and no one is sick. No one sleeps, either, but that's okay, it feels like an adventure.
Best bit: Alice looks out at the night sky over Bass Strait at about 2am, totally covered in stars.

Day 1

 Stagger off the ferry at 6am. Drive to Launceston and stop at Cataract Gorge, a place of stunning beauty. Because we've arrived there so early, we have the place virtually to ourselves for two hours, and the girls splash like happy otters in the (unexpected) swimming pool.
Drive to Swansea, where we have lunch and visit their lovely little brand new museum. Drive on to Orford. Instantly go to the beach. Fabulous.
Best bit: Cataract Gorge.

Day 2

 Two visits to the beach. Play Jenga and Connect 4. Read books. Relax.
Best bit: the girls learn to body surf.

Day 3

 More beach. Evie and I sculpt a hippo out of sand. We're all sunburnt in different places, but we don't care. The weather is perfect, hot enough for swimming but not uncomfortable.
Best bit: trying to boogie board in the shallow, but quite fierce, waves.

Day 4

Say goodbye to Orford. Evie cries when we discover that yesterday's hippo has been washed away. We drive to Richmond, admire the cottages and the pretty bridge with ducks, and eat lunch there. Visit a nearby zoo where you can feed the animals from the back of a truck. Hands pecked by emus. Then on to Hobart. Our hotel has a swimming pool, and the girls have a long swim. Fish and chips with gravy for dinner! Amazing sunset.
Best bit: the cute marmosets at the zoo.

Day 5

 The girls spend the morning in the swimming pool (their swimming has improved out of sight). We explore Salamanca, and visit the Tasmanian Museum, and the Hobart Maritime Museum, which Mikey adores.
Best bit: we find some art we like and buy it.

Day 6

Port Arthur. The weather is perfect, the scenery stunning, the ruins impressive, the atmosphere melancholy. Last time I was here was two weeks before the shooting, which is hard to forget.
Best bit: the roofless church. I wish all churches were like this, open to the heavens.

Day 7

(Photo: Daniel Bowen, because we forgot to take any)
It's Saturday, so we dive into Salamanca Market. Best Market Ever. The girls happily spend their holiday money. Walk to Battery Point and stumble across the house that was on Who's Been Sleeping In My House? In the afternoon, have a lovely catch-up with an old friend who I haven't seen for about fifteen years, and his partner, who now live just outside Hobart.
Best bit: seafood dinner extravaganza!

Day 8

MONA!
OMG, MONA. You have to go. You just have to. It is extraordinary. Mikey thought the girls might last an hour. Four hours later, we emerge, blinking and shellshocked, into the sunshine. Just - wow.
Drive to Devonport. The drive is lovely. But let us, in all charity, draw a veil over Devonport.
Best bit: a waterfall that makes words out of droplets of water

Day 9
Day crossing. It rains. It's a bit rough. It's the first day the weather hasn't been perfect. Alice throws up before the boat leaves the harbour (though after this, admittedly, she is completely fine). I feel queasy for nine and a half hours. The girls play happily in the cabin, making cubbies, and constructing pirate ships out of biscuit boxes, totally shunning all the shipboard activities provided.
Best bit: I fall asleep for a bit. Coming home.

Abundance of Everything

This summer, with all the rain, our garden has burst into life again. Trees are thrusting out crowds of leaves, creepers shoot out tendrils, weeds sprout overnight, grass swarms up between the bricks, flowers erupt.

There are flocks of birds, chattering in the flowering gums, spattering my nice clean washing with their poo, swooping between the trees and sometimes smashing into our big window - blackbirds, wattle birds, rainbow lorikeets. In the evenings, swarms of mosquitoes lie in wait to ambush innocent ankles. Beetles, flies, slaters, mantises, snails are all more visible than in previous years.

And then there are the spiders.

Alice is terrified of spiders. And this year, they are EVERYWHERE. Some days it seems that every ceiling corner has its own resident daddy-long-legs. Tiny jumping spiders appear from nowhere. I've found a red-back inside a watering-can. Overnight, webs spring up inside shoes and across doorways; they drape themselves over picture frames. I have to carry out a nightly spider check before Alice can turn off her bedroom light. We're not even supposed to use the word 'spider' -- for some reason, she prefers the term 'black snake,' though personally, I know which I'd rather find inside my gumboot.

But I'm not complaining. After the last few parched years, it's lovely to be surrounded by all this eager, pulsating life. Even the black snakes are welcome.