tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18464725443304736972024-03-05T23:34:52.602-08:00One woman making a difference.Why bother to add your voice to the wave of information and opinion crashing through the universal mind of the World Wide Web?
To make a difference. That's why.Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-10900688143999455452016-11-04T20:07:00.000-07:002016-11-04T20:18:24.188-07:00ZZZ ... pardon me while I yawn<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Is philosophy a bore? Talk to any philosopher, (one that’s not
dead) and you may be simultaneously bored and offended. Who else can drone on
so long about one idea? Who else can manage to link all ideas in a single
sentence? – (a very long sentence..) What’s the point of all that thinking
anyway? Wouldn’t it be better just to get on with life and stop thinking about
it for heaven’s sake?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">But if there were more philosophers in the world, wouldn’t it be a
more reasonable place? Wouldn’t we be more likely to begin understanding a few
things? (What’s with all the questions? – Ah ha! ...we’re being little
philosophers ourselves..) Where philosophy thrives, so too do other expressions
of thought. Like art. And music. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Think of it.. our modern philosophers are often our musicians.
They sing their thoughts to us in poetic verse, shout it to us in prolonged
raving, croon it, whisper it, scream or yodel it – and we get it. Sometimes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Imagine. Imagine not being allowed to think. Ideas are as natural
to human imagination as breathing. Any authority which disallows personal thought
is in fact cutting off oxygen to human development. That’s tantamount to lobotomising
humanity; trimming off all but one philosophy of life, and that dreamt up by a
very small contingent of, (dare I think it), narrow-minded individuals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We might as well all be asleep..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-41479643018162401012016-10-08T23:08:00.002-07:002016-10-08T23:08:55.903-07:00Y ... You<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Can’t do without.. (fill
the blank).. That’s the tag line for how many commercials? We know it’s a lie.
It exists in harmony with the other favourite line.. Do What You Want.. It’s
Your Life, even though I seem to detect a clash there. Are we dependent or
independent? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I can. Actually, I can do
without a whole lot of stuff.. Papa’s pizza, mama’s Best Recipe’s book, XYZ
insurance, this gizmo, that gadget. Despite the advertising claims that I
really, really need those.. I don’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">But I do need You. My
Other. That main squeeze or BFF, the person who tells me I’m OK. You, I really
do need. We’d like to think it’s possible to be completely independent. But
humans can’t exist in isolation. We’re relational creatures. We form
relationships with our own species, other species, even plants and inanimate
objects. We’re part of a complex ecosystem, our every action affecting other
life. But it’s the People ones which count the most. The relationships we form
are like spider webs criss-crossing our existence. Perhaps they look messy, but
they are our lifelines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Purpose in life is found
along the lines of relationships we build. Opportunities arise with every new
thread, and no matter whether we try to preserve or break those connections,
our decisions reverberate outward, touching more lives than we even realize. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">I can’t. Actually, I can’t
do without .. You.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p></o:p>Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-25967345765323692152016-09-18T04:06:00.001-07:002016-09-18T04:06:46.743-07:00Exy<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">X. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Did you ever
stop to consider how important X is?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s the universal
unknown value.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And kisses,
don’t let’s forget kisses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And.. the X
chromosome is part of every human’s DNA, named X for mystery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That’s kind
of cool really. We all have mystery in our make-up, and that very thing is what
binds us together. It’s the X factor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So if we all
have this in common, how is it that we don’t know more about it? And wow, here’s
another thought.. women have double the dose. Double the mystery? The dudes,
they have the whY. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Somewhere in
there is a bunch of answers... all we have to do is solve the equation! X + Y = the solution to the riddle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(X really
does mark the spot.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 115%;">xxx<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-89032543558980737212016-06-17T06:12:00.000-07:002016-09-18T03:38:35.343-07:00THERE'S A WHOLE... <div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Whole. There’s a concept
for you!</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">WWW seems to suggest that,
doesn’t it? Those little letters are a claim of total inclusion – the world
wide web - as though the whole planet were wrapped up nicely together in
one mind, sharing knowledge and experience. But it’s not whole really, not the web
nor the world. The silent masses get on with their lives, many of them
oblivious to the frenetic workings of the internet, their voices not included
in the ‘all’ of it all.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">As for the planet, it grows
further from whole the more humanity encroaches onto every last ice floe and
ocean crevice. One has to wonder how much the system can take before some
critical point of imbalance occurs to plunge us into an end game scenario.
Wholeness is not on our agenda.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Personally though, despite
the sad bad news of worldly woe, we can still be whole, right? We can find
ourselves, satisfy ourselves, improve ourselves and please ourselves as long as
we don’t hurt someone else. Or are we incomplete until we look outside of
ourselves? They say everyone has a soul mate, someone who will complete them...
two loves make a whole. That’s what they say, but in the end won’t we still
have to leave the earth alone?</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">Perhaps what counts is the
heart. Being whole-hearted is a wholeness anyone, even half-wits, can achieve.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-78578390334123516622016-06-02T07:37:00.001-07:002016-09-18T03:47:09.042-07:00Tangerine Tarantino<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">*Warning: contains spoilers. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pulp Fiction
is a movie described as a cult classic, written and directed by Quentin Tarantino.
To my mind those were two reasons good enough to give it a viewing. I was
curious to see why the film captured the imagination and approval of the movie-going
public. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Watching a Tarantino
film feels a little like going to hear your favourite preacher. His sermons are
delivered from the hip, no punches pulled, and like any good speaker, he revisits
his key points from various angles. So it is in Pulp Fiction that the plot
progresses through a series of vignettes told in the personal struggles and
foibles of a string of characters. Like the frames of a comic book, events
unfold in graphic detail, blood spattered and liberally laced with dark humour,
full of villains and victims. Yet
despite the various individual dramas, there is a common thread weaving its way
through each tale, and the web is satisfyingly spun into a whole at the last
chapter with all loose ends neatly tucked away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">However bizarre
their personalities, Tarantino is intensely interested in the humanity of each
protagonist, careful to give them characteristics that will endear them to his
audience despite the fact that they are all brutally flawed. They are accurately summed up in the definition
of 'pulp' given in the beginning titles as "containing lurid subject
matter ..on rough unfinished paper." Vinny is a cold-blooded assassin and
hopeless drug addict, but also often soft spoken, an intelligent thinker with a
sense of humour, and most importantly, dedicated to his job and fellow assassin
Jules, and employer Marcellus. His charm and courtesy win us over despite the
fact that he's a 'bad guy'. We can't help but admire his loyalty and affability.
Then there's Mia, manipulative, crack head wife of the local gangster boss, who
is likeable for her sense of fun and seeming naivety. She is careless with
people in a manner reminiscent of Daisy Buchanan or Marylin Monroe, and in case
we don't get that, the similarly helplessly flawed, too soon deceased idols Monroe,
James Dean, Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley appear in the background as nightclub
entertainment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Having
established permission to take the film out of the grip of reality at any
moment via consistent injections of black comedy, Tarantino relieves the
pressure at key moments by crossing to the absurd. It is distressing to see Mia
become the victim of an overdose, her life further endangered by Vinny
attempting to cover his own ass rather than get her to hospital. Her life
unexpectedly saved, we find ourselves feeling stupid for worrying. Conversely,
in case we got too attached to Vinny, Tarantino wipes him out in an
unceremonious blunder with no fanfare or heroics to mark his pivotal role in
the film. He is as careless with the fates of his characters as...well as what?
Or who?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jules is a
hardened assassin without the refinement of Vinny. His penchant to quote scripture
as a priestly administration of last rites to his victims makes him Tarantino's
version of the avenging angel. As the film progresses, there is little to like
about Jules, until the moment of his epiphany. Narrowly escaping death when a
nervous kid shoots at him point blank and misses, he concludes that God's hand is
upon his life and determines to quit killing. The very next scene sees the situation
reversed for the unlucky Marvin who is accidentally shot in the face. Good karma
and bad karma apparently. Jules's redemption from devil to wandering prophet is
crowned with a final dramatic choice on his part to be the salvation rather
than the damnation of a pair of incompetent criminals. He recites once more his
favourite verse from Ezekiel, giving it some new interpretations, mouthpiece perhaps
for Tarantino's musings on the good and bad of humanity. His re-reading of the
scripture to assign the role of 'shepherd' to the gun, then himself, neatly
excludes the possibility of 'God' filling that role, and in fact leaves it as a
choice, albeit a noble one, for those humans with the capacity to be good to
take up or leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It is the
complexity of Tarantino's characters that enables him to draw contrasts that
beg questions like 'what is good?' Jules and Vinny compare the purity of animals,
recognizing that there's more to it than just dirt, "I wouldn't go so far
as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty. But, a dog's got
personality. Personality goes a long way." Some positives balance out the
negative. Butch the boxer is initially introduced as an unethical, self serving
thug with a temper and not much of a brain. Once again though, his tenderness towards
his girlfriend and exaggerated sentimentality over his father's watch tend to
mitigate his faults. He also experiences a point of crisis resulting in actions
we would have considered out of character, when he refuses to abandon a former
enemy undergoing violent abuse. Thus he chooses a 'good' or 'right' course of
action despite our expectations. It's another chance for the director to
demonstrate a belief in the possibility of human beings to choose good over
evil, or sacrifice over selfishness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In a film
overflowing with selfish hedonism, the overwhelming theme remains the inherent
ability of mankind to be the catalyst for salvation. Tarantino's take on it: Each
person, no matter how flawed has the ability to step out of expectations and
stereotype to be a force for goodness. Of course the opposite also holds true,
a point he illustrates in the character of Zed, a man who wears a sheriff's badge
and has a penchant for kidnapping and mercilessly using people, a hideous
portrait of human perversion dressed up as respectable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pulp Fiction
is an experience at times deeply distressing, at times touching and often
outrageously entertaining. Tarantino the orange robed preacher has done his
work well, leaving the world a film that displays the true art of a brilliant
director, as well as a cast of memorable, deplorable characters, and a good
dose of cynical thumbing of the nose at the idea of a caring Creator. In
Tarantino's tangerine world, the chance to play God resides in each man. What
an irresistible thought to leave with his audiences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-21114128891888299192016-05-30T08:00:00.000-07:002016-09-18T03:45:45.175-07:00V is for verbage<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">V is for verbage, and vitriol.. probably not the kind of thing you
were hoping to read. If that’s all I can come up with when I get the
opportunity to pay out my two cents worth, perhaps I should shut up? Talk is
cheap, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> .. Well no, not anymore. Talk will cost you. Especially if
you say the wrong thing, the wrong word, at the wrong time. No, you don’t get
to spill your verbage in our progressive cities unless you want to back it up
with your wallet and risk a criminal record. I’m sure we’ll soon be missing the
days when anybody’s two cents worth was worth just that.. when anybody had the
freedom to be an ass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Welcome to the New Age, but it isn’t what they promised us.
Comedians had better not be funny unless they stick to the script. If you’ve
got an opinion, keep it to yourself unless it’s shiny and happy. You can see
what’s going to happen, can’t you? All those bottled up opinions are going to
pickle nicely for a while in the dark but eventually that lid has got to pop.
We’re a society with a serious case of bloat.. the question is, will it come
out quiet and sneaky or blast a hole in our proverbial pants? We’re humans for
Pete’s sake! You can’t shut us up!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt;">I never thought I’d say this, but I’m for the trolls.
I’m for their rights. Yes they’re a pain in the ass, but the price of shutting
them up is a gag for us all. I have my two cents and I want the right to spend
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-27941740102989777952014-04-26T18:03:00.004-07:002014-04-26T18:07:24.272-07:00Singin along with the Stones"Really Satisfies!".. It's a great line. A mainstay of the commercial catch-phrase conjurers. But it's a lie, obviously. I've tested it myself. I bought the chocolate bar that Really Satisfies and five minutes later I wanted another one. Even the fizzed can of liquid that was all set to satisfy my thirst really actually only made me thirstier as the salt and sugar in it sent my body into a rush. ..I didn't read the fine print? ..the rider which advises that the satisfaction won't last? Where!? ..That's taken as read? Oh. I gave out my Moolah for food and drink and didn't get no satisfaction. Poor me.<br />
<br />
You know what else? I buy the clothes they tell me to, but still my wardrobe doesn't contain a darn thing when I'm looking for something to put on. I'm just glad we don't have to think for ourselves. They've got it covered! The fashion industry knows what we have to wear, the fast food industry knows what we have to eat, and the porn industry knows what we gotta lust after. And.. wait a sec. Do I detect a hint of sarcasm? Tsk. We aren't stupid, right? Just desperately unsatisfiable. Poor us.<br />
<br />
Really, who are the poor?<br />
Michael Hutchence, drippingly wealthy lead singer of wildly popular band INXS, universally proclaimed sex god, dies in the misadventurous pursuit of satisfaction. That's poor. Poor Michael.<br />
<br />
Do we even <i>know </i>what we truly need? Those who are poor in resources die of the subsequent lack. Are they any more poor than those of us who live in excessive abundance and die of the subsequent abuse? Are we any happier? We are both unsatisfiable.<br />
<br />
Poverty is relative, and is as much psychological as it is physical.<br />
Freedom from poverty must begin in the mind with a recognition of what is truly needed. And what is not.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PORTRAIT OF A RICH MAN<br />
http://i.imgur.com/qesVX59.png<br />
<br />
U is for un-satisfiable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-36715690282034903712014-02-11T19:45:00.000-08:002014-02-11T19:48:23.158-08:00T is for ...<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sometimes the road travelled comes to an abrupt end, and
if you still have a pulse, then it’s not a dead end, just a T-junction. Now
you’re faced with two choices, in opposite directions. Unlike a fork in the
road, neither choice in this case is a continuation of what you’ve done before;
both are new directions.. mutually exclusive ones. Will one lead to heaven and
the other to hell? That’s what I’m asking myself.</div>
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I wish there were sign posts. Even something like “Road
Less Travelled” would give me some clue as to the merits of either direction. </div>
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I consult my Better Drivers Guide. T junction: stop and
give way to traffic. Proceed with care.. I’d be grateful for some traffic. A
fellow traveller drawing alongside right now would be greeted with cordial
relief. </div>
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I look around for any shady trees under which may sit a
wise old guru ready to point out the way, but I am a lone grasshopper and must
make up my own mind it seems. Why isn’t real life more like the movies? If I
was the winsome starlet, the screenwriter would lend me some clever words, and
the director would produce a smiling monk doodling in the sand stage right..</div>
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Who am I kidding? I’d be likely to view any advice at
this point with suspicion, and probably stubbornly go in the opposite direction
to the one suggested. It’s tough being contrary. I’m glad actually, that there
are no pesky, well-meaning on-lookers poised with unsolicited advice. Yes, it’s
tough being contrary. Sometimes I feel like I am the human version of that
horse which is led to water but wont drink.</div>
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But back to the junction. How appropriate that it is
called T. T for think, T for trust your instincts, T for time to decide. Okay.
So let’s say I hang a right turn. For the sake of argument, we’ll assume I
don’t look back. We’ll assume I head out on my new direction without regrets. Because..
how will I keep my eyes on the new road if I keep trying to remember the
scenery from all the previous streets and alleyways? Isn’t it better to be
decisive and make the turn, rather than sit idling at the T?</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I took a wrong turn once. Even with the GPS directing me,
I took a left when I should have taken right. Then, every thirty seconds, that
machine kept telling me to perform a U-turn when safe to do so! And if I think
about it.. in life, when I go the wrong route, some little voice sounds off and
keeps telling me to make a you turn and get back on track..</div>
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I prefer forks. At least with a fork in the road you can
opt to just merrily continue doing a similar thing. Forks are so pleasantly
gradual. None of this coming to an abrupt halt out of the blue. T-junctions
that pop up right after a corner are the worst. You just come out of a
satisfyingly executed turn on a tricky curve at speeds way over the recommended
mph and suddenly BAM! A stop sign. A T-junction. Make up your mind. Do you know
the way or not?</div>
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I’ll confess right here and now. No, I don’t know the
way. That’s bad news considering I’m not willing to ask for directions. Time to
trust the inner compass. It points true North, and if I follow that instinct I
must eventually end up on top of the world. I’ll likely get cold feet the
closer I get, and quite likely encounter a number of T-junctions, but this
grasshopper is on the move, and that’s a step in the right direction.</div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-30937043512307995102013-09-10T16:58:00.000-07:002013-09-10T16:58:33.471-07:00Syria Sorrow<div class="MsoNormal">
Syria. Halfway across the globe but not out of sight. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my
lounge room, on my breakfast table: Syria, Sarin, send in the bombs. </div>
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Whose
children are those carpeting the ground? A mosaic of sadness. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sounds of
Syria today: screams, silence, prayers .. in Arabic.. but other tongues
yesterday. </div>
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A litany of laments the national anthem for ages, since Adam walked
Eden, perhaps under the same sun. </div>
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Syria, the very navel of mother Earth, fought over like the
prize of the harem. </div>
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Land between rivers, stained red with more blood than both
arteries can carry. </div>
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What babble have the rocks there heard.. in Assyrian,
Kurdish, French, Latin, Aramaic? </div>
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A land older than its name, newsboy catch-cry,
spread over the war-table and stuck with pins. </div>
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Sorry. </div>
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The world wants another
spectacle.</div>
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My prayer,</div>
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as Russian fingers march the map to meet American
fists, </div>
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as guerrillas mark off territory sweating the name of Allah or of Mammon; </div>
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is for a second bolt of light to strike those eyes considering the roads to
Damascus. </div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-61702231474727244902013-08-27T05:57:00.000-07:002013-08-27T06:00:30.225-07:00Are You For Real?<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m starting to wonder what that is. Real, I mean. A good
friend gave me a book recently, about philosophy and humour, and somewhere
between those two I may have lost my point of focus. Once you start messing
around with perspective and relativity, reality gets a little slippery and
starts swaying like Moses’ staff in the wilderness. Good ole Reality, something
that I’ve been brought up to believe is as solid as a nice cedar stick, becomes
all floppy and even makes funny hissing noises..</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dreams. Are they real? Are they, as serious dream analysts
say; prophetic, inner truths, issues crying out for attention? Or are they just
the runaway sleepy fantasies of our over-stimulated minds?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The swami walking on the bed of coals will tell you that
the mind can overcome reality. We’ll have to believe that his, at least,
certainly can, since the reality of those embers putting out plenty of heat
seems to have been safely ignored by his soles. (Don’t try that at home.)</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Will reality go away if we ignore it? Having actually tried
this myself, I can testify to the negative. My library fine stayed right where
it was despite a very valiant effort on my part to deny its existence. Blaming
that reality on someone else having misplaced my book did help soften the
harshness of my undeniably real financial depletion..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life is real, of that I am sure. My perspectives do seem to
turn on a paradigm, but each one settles into its own groove, the good bad and
ugly combining to decorate the reality of existence. Much as I might like to
believe the twilight fancies dancing in my REM rest, eventually I need to wake
up and embrace the real me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I blog therefore I am... :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitS1oGV_hgG5Fd7XrDd1Dnj8Je0Tnua33n8Hhyphenhyphen4M5wtvB5BHSQOG3vuFx78f_GsRbakDVvqYASIzcQBNiEQkI7F_9nlIrF0BcQdl1HL-FBlqbMeDkHv2bRVJT97_fDRPsQ_9XDxIuArlM/s1600/Sleeping-Beauty-Spence-L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitS1oGV_hgG5Fd7XrDd1Dnj8Je0Tnua33n8Hhyphenhyphen4M5wtvB5BHSQOG3vuFx78f_GsRbakDVvqYASIzcQBNiEQkI7F_9nlIrF0BcQdl1HL-FBlqbMeDkHv2bRVJT97_fDRPsQ_9XDxIuArlM/s400/Sleeping-Beauty-Spence-L.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping Beauty ~ Thomas Spence</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-39083847534357061722013-08-13T07:20:00.001-07:002013-08-14T02:54:26.423-07:00Q for Quest..or maybe Question?<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been running around. Like a hairy goat. Like a headless
chook. From one place to another, inside airports and train stations, and one
thing is certain. Wherever I go, there I am. It’s been an exciting half a dozen
weeks tripping on a holiday through Europe. Perhaps I thought the change in
scenery would cause some kind of commensurate shifts in my viewpoint of life,
or my personality, but I seem to have reached home in the same shoes I left
with. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking over my shoulder, the whole experience is already
rapidly receding into memories. Luckily I took a few snapshots or I may not
believe it had happened at all. I’ve been on trips before, and have to confess
that apart from the slideshow performed for a few very lucky friends, those
photos haven’t seen the light of day since. Life seems to happen in the now,
with little time to think back or forwards.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That gets me thinking...that if I haven’t changed, and the
memories move so quickly into distant past, why do I go to all the trouble of
packing hefty cases and lugging them around the world? (If my husband is
reading this, now is the part where he’ll be rubbing his hands hopefully,
thinking that my wandering days are done)..but no. Quintessentially quite the opposite! That’s like
saying I’ll give up eating jellybeans.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The singular, wonderful, awe-inspiring experiences I have,
moment by moment, in places I’ve never seen before, with people I’ve never met
before.. are worth the miles. Perhaps some do change me a little, but on the
whole it’s the joy they bring in that moment that adds to my enjoyment of life.
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The shiver at the giddy views from a mountain, the zing of
an exotic recipe, the giggle at a silly busker, the understanding as another
piece of history’s puzzle makes sense, the surprise in the discovery of a
foreign custom, the pleasure of an unexpected kindness..even the fear of losing
my way, and the frustration of a rip-off. Everything adds up. I probably don’t
even remember them all, but they are special moments.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have special times at home too of course, but there’s
still a lot out there for me to discover. My suitcase is stowed in the closet
for now, but I think it knows it won’t have to languish in the dark for long...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Questions?...always.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life is a quest.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69xEdDjcV51ibblWbiG7SWtaDwnJTJ_2dABKKRRVph7CgRxR-uaGm-57mtg9wdFLLRM7EXy-0zNAAkn0gTfj1Go7_YkGpct1GGbsDIu5I7jdo4Ur6WfdEdrSY9l8tHqYB1IXefbDc73s/s1600/IMG_20130717_174644+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69xEdDjcV51ibblWbiG7SWtaDwnJTJ_2dABKKRRVph7CgRxR-uaGm-57mtg9wdFLLRM7EXy-0zNAAkn0gTfj1Go7_YkGpct1GGbsDIu5I7jdo4Ur6WfdEdrSY9l8tHqYB1IXefbDc73s/s400/IMG_20130717_174644+-+Copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quality produce ~ Stresa Italy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-69153886866844993922013-06-18T17:53:00.003-07:002013-06-18T17:55:58.854-07:00Promise me ... that ... smile<div class="MsoNormal">
Today's blog is brought to you by the letter.. P. It seems the perfect day for a poem :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Promise me that smile</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The runaway which has</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No introduction just an</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Unpretentious entry like</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Uncle Charlie bursting into the room</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Promise me no </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hesitation but just the rush</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of the current over stones</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Warm and liquid and </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wordless</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Promise me a crushing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soothing velveteen couch</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kind of burying embrace</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Full of overstuffed cushions</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which we toss out of </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The way and timeless like</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The moment before the sun</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Goes down past the lip</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of the horizon seeming</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To wait there burning a</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last cigarette before</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ducking under</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Make me a promise</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That you cannot fail to keep</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A promise picked free of the</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cobwebs and dust of past</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hearts and simple</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like a naked grape</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ready for the roundness of</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One mouth</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
©Julia Zed 2013</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QfawO9rry8r2zmM8qixchqJBdhn2MgK0vvBlf2_Qig6j6j-F0ddwhuAu7sEn7iqkmXzWq3DjUAHK_Q0LbsIAZ4chLZzptoadQ9e0zYqGPVCJcGzlD9YwFSiuIPxyvNnFRau3lmPKQfo/s1600/2361B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QfawO9rry8r2zmM8qixchqJBdhn2MgK0vvBlf2_Qig6j6j-F0ddwhuAu7sEn7iqkmXzWq3DjUAHK_Q0LbsIAZ4chLZzptoadQ9e0zYqGPVCJcGzlD9YwFSiuIPxyvNnFRau3lmPKQfo/s400/2361B.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pascalcampion.blogspot.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-91345899764759353022013-06-14T05:54:00.002-07:002013-06-14T06:23:13.662-07:00Oh I love the way you say it doctor!<div class="MsoNormal">
Oscars only ostrich oiled an orange owl today..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I make a list of the people who most influenced me as a
child, it would have to include Dr Seuss. A quick look at wikipedia tells me he
was Theodor Geisel, produced 44 children’s books and won a pulitzer prize.
What, only 44? I had expected to find hundreds. I must have read the whole lot
then. I went to places like Pompelmoose Pass, the island of Gwark and the
country of Motta-fa-Potta-fa-Pell, chasiing Poozers, visiting Sneeches, marvelling
at the Tufted Mazurka, and Fiffer Feffer Feff. C’mon, what an imagination!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My life is still a little like a Dr Seuss book. A
combination of sense and nonsense, a river of words many of which are not found
in any dictionary, and a love of funky individualism. If you can learn to
recite ‘I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew’ you will not only have done a
great deal of excellent exercise with your tongue and lips, but will have
learned some fabulously bodacious new words and a sensible life lesson to boot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Childhood is a long way off now. Can you think of what
influenced you way back then? Mum, Dad..sisters, brothers, those are a given. What
else? Teachers? A coach? A film star? Friends? Taking a look at the small
stitches that knit us up can be a surprising revelation of how just a few hours
or few words made a lasting deposit. Who knows what makes certain people or
events stick in our minds? Sometimes just a short unexpected connection with
someone leaves us impacted right into adulthood. Good or bad. And it never
stops. We take new things on board every day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that means...yes me, yes you. We’re not Oprah, Orwell or
Obama, but we still influence other people, probably without even knowing it.
Authors like Dr Seuss are well aware that they make an impact, no doubt they
write with that well in mind, but I don’t think most of us are aware that unless
you’re a hermit, just about everything we do affects others. Perhaps it seems
like a big responsibility to bear. It’s certainly something to think about
considering that modern motto: <i>“Do whatever
you want, as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody else.”</i> ... I’d be happy to
change that motto to <i>“Do whatever you
want, as long as it doesn’t affect anybody else.”</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Live obstinately or obediently.. or ostentatiously, outrageously, originally,
orderly, openly, or outstandingly, or omnivorously... do it your way... but...</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Know that it does matter. Ok? ;)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBq1Ayz5WFVzTC_T1BYhH745v8GWU05ybV71vh7H8iJ20uOpiZKFdVTdgwfajxVAyFhrxIAJoctxEV4MgDCXdZhIIu0wvuHawLm71PEevHirEIdlkSCiKBmq3YaK0bmvV2R7uAZrCDCxg/s1600/oscars-only-ostrich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBq1Ayz5WFVzTC_T1BYhH745v8GWU05ybV71vh7H8iJ20uOpiZKFdVTdgwfajxVAyFhrxIAJoctxEV4MgDCXdZhIIu0wvuHawLm71PEevHirEIdlkSCiKBmq3YaK0bmvV2R7uAZrCDCxg/s400/oscars-only-ostrich.jpg" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken from Dr Seuss's ABC</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-22019886277330964982013-05-09T05:21:00.000-07:002013-05-09T06:26:52.551-07:00Would you accept candy from a stranger?<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU">N is for naïveté...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU">At a community picnic last week the
crowds were thick and the mood upbeat as we were entertained by various street
performers, among them an enthusiastic African drummer. A number of us jiggled and
hopped along with the rhythm, flashing smiles and enjoying the common groove.
It wasn’t too long before the sun and the exertion had me panting. The woman
next to me grinned, fished about in her dilly bag for a bit, and then pulled
out a small pillbox. I watched fascinated as she flipped the lid and selected a
tablet with long acrylic tipped fingers. “Here,” she said, offering me a tiny
pellet, “pop this under your tongue, it’ll give you more energy.” I declined
with my kindest grown-up expression. (you know, the one that says “don’t be
silly dear”), and thanked her with a smile. Well, would you accept a mystery substance
from a stranger who could be a few squares short of the full chocolate bar?
..and what’s that got to do with anything anyhow?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU">Here we are in the middle of a still
accelerating boom of technological advancement. New devices regularly make
their entrance onto the market amidst fanfare and excitement -so often that we
are dizzy and wide-eyed, hardly knowing which to choose next. The general mood
is upbeat as we all tap and click our way to modern community. Are you up with
the latest buzz? Is the new iphone better than the competition? How many more
months should you wait before upgrading to a better laptop? Do you really know how
to get the most out of that gadget?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU">Even my grandma has a shiny new mobile toy
to juggle, reluctantly accepting a device that is as mysterious to her as
Egyptian hieroglyphs. Most of her blue-rinse buddies also have a mobile phone
stashed in the handbag, and/or a computer blinking and winking on a table next
to the wireless at home. I sat next to her when she first got hers, and tried
to explain which little boxes on the overcrowded screen were waiting for her
input. In the end I sent her on a crash computer course.. don’t let the irony
of that one escape you. But even after computing 101, she remains generally
confused about the inner workings of the grey box in her home, never deviating
from the exact key sequences that will take her to her email. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU">We are armed to the hilt with the latest
microchipped wonders, but an alarming majority of us don’t know how to use the
technology properly. Those who do, find themselves in a fools’ paradise of
sitting ducks. And it’s duck season. In a move akin to passing out loaded guns
to children, we are equipping ourselves with smart technology minus a safety
catch. Parents hand their offspring tablets and phones that have cameras,
microphones and access to social networks. Sure, the kids are miles ahead of Granny
trying to deal with email and dodge spam, but they are still babes in the wood
compared to the undercurrent of IT wizards, themselves kids in a candy store of
opportunities. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU">Privacy is the undecorated casualty of
this information explosion. Actually, it’s an information war. Ignorance is the
ally of our enemy, and we are prisoners of our own materialism. Sorry to say
that Grandma found herself cleaned out recently. She fell victim to a telephone
scam, giving remote access of her computer to a supposed maintenance firm. And
me? I’m not that much more savvy than Grandma really. I have accepted a tablet,
one full of cyber-mysteries and security systems that are continually superseded.
It lets me run a whole lot of sweet applications... but I have to confess a
woefully inadequate knowledge of all its sweet implications.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU">Whose job is it to make sure we are all
fully aware of the capabilities and risks of the products we are buying? Who is
responsible for Granny’s misfortune? Nobody’s
putting up their hand. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU">Somehow Naïveté isn’t so cute anymore. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5x1EYQHVNtzNBhikhscoHMYhiDjNMz_A5u5cCaHbhaERzAVMPrD9fyemvadJLi0vzRERPMpK_jrveirGkt68M3bF9yWIwJrlIuqkxcQBFOAfXaUcaSlbrQQsKRDi6v_MsAhMrM_tmJMY/s1600/girl-computer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5x1EYQHVNtzNBhikhscoHMYhiDjNMz_A5u5cCaHbhaERzAVMPrD9fyemvadJLi0vzRERPMpK_jrveirGkt68M3bF9yWIwJrlIuqkxcQBFOAfXaUcaSlbrQQsKRDi6v_MsAhMrM_tmJMY/s320/girl-computer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-23674360387011086542013-04-01T00:31:00.001-07:002013-04-01T00:36:06.153-07:00mmmm midlife crisis anyone?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">M is for middle. Middle of the road, middle
aged, middle of a muddle. It’s a word that should have all kinds of nice
balanced overtones, but it seems mediocre somehow. There’s a definite neither
here nor there connotation about the middle. Who wants to get stuck in the
middle of the stream? Once you’re in the middle, going back would be just as
tiresome as just keeping on keeping on until you make it across. So if we take
a leaf out of Lady Macbeth’s book, being in the middle means you’ve bloody well
committed yourself now!</span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Alright then, we’re only half done. But
it’s been a good first half I think. Middle ground is a good place to rest up
for a moment and take stock of the game so far. There have been losses and
gains, and there have been some crazy booboos and some flashes of brilliance.
Half-way mark is a chance to reassess and perhaps make some changes to the
plan. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Then again, I’m not so sure nowadays, where
the middle is supposed to start. Middle age used to be the forties, but I’ll
bet your average forty year old in this Invincible Modern Western World would
flatly deny that. Forty is mature youth. So I suppose fifty must be the magic
mark. Then again, life expectancy has increased, and anti-ageing strategies
promising health and virility despite the tally of years are leading us to
believe that we are going to make it to immortality one day soon. And then
there would be no middle....</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU">Until then, let’s peg it at fifty. My
condolences/congratulations to those who have crossed the line ante
immortality. Never reaching the end could get old...just how many re-runs of I
Love Lucy can any person stand? I am all prepped and ready to enter those
golden gates of middle age myself next birthday. So is my favourite cousin. We
are planning a celebratory escapade commensurate with the bodacity of such an
auspicious anniversary.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Looking around, I needn’t worry. The local
papers are advertising activities for fifty-somethings like rock climbing, pub
jiving and parachuting. Facebook keeps flashing pictures at me of topless,
ripped, greying dudes in dating sites that warn young women not to apply. The
middle is already being swept neatly under the carpet. Fifty is senior youth.
I’m cool with that, going to keep on rowing, in fact I’ll put my name down for
some white water rafting.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily... life
is but a dream... </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Mmmm, being stuck in the middle of a dream
ain’t so bad..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9K_Yj887WLPvJVCIrTNdrgcgXzWvRlNSvwcTWt-sH22K_ClJ04lnzpvxs9wcpMJBDE4ZuNeI0Y3bNeFmgZn0M0iEUw5qupWiQZbfODqUARnK1Q3QY_7FX6z6FQ4kMSkoKQOPXMs6EBPk/s1600/skydiving-grandma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9K_Yj887WLPvJVCIrTNdrgcgXzWvRlNSvwcTWt-sH22K_ClJ04lnzpvxs9wcpMJBDE4ZuNeI0Y3bNeFmgZn0M0iEUw5qupWiQZbfODqUARnK1Q3QY_7FX6z6FQ4kMSkoKQOPXMs6EBPk/s400/skydiving-grandma.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thenorthernlight.com/news/article.exm/2011-07-20_flying_high_">http://www.thenorthernlight.com/news/article.exm/2011-07-20_flying_high_</a></td></tr>
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<br />Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-78387265142497670432013-03-09T07:45:00.000-08:002013-03-09T07:46:38.094-08:00Trippin over the Line..<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">L is for line. Not the one you wait in, but
the one drawn between yes and no. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Whether it is a figurative line in the sand
or fence of barbed wire, the line exists to forbid crossing. Would it were a
concrete vision! Would it were touchable and clearly marked with yellow crime
scene tape. But often the line is no black stripe of permanent ink. It snakes
somewhere between the unstated and understated, shifting and elusive as the
borealis, and yet...should foot or finger cross it, a resulting electrified
jolt leaves an intruder in no doubt of its reality.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">‘Boundaries’ was the catch word of the
nineties on the psychological self help shelves. “Build thy emotional fences
and signpost them well with keep out warnings” was the solid advice. The lines in
the sand were already there, it seemed practical to erect a fearsome wall upon
them just in case. The resultant, exultant Me/Myself/I enshrined in castle and
determined to defend all rights to the death could then peer at another over
the battlement wall and perhaps wave sometimes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Tip-toeing along the line is an art-form of
diplomacy. Hopefully your rights and my rights mesh neatly at the border. But
what if they don’t . Wherever they overlap, someone’s toe has toed past the line.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Where is the line in our relationship? Am I
dependant upon you or free? Do you need me or tolerate me? Is a relationship a
crutch or a support? Where is the line? At what point does interest become
obsession? At what junction does expectation cross responsibility?... </span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Perhaps what we need is a small office on
the border that will issue leave-passes – permission to cross the line without
fear of ending up in no-mans land. Perhaps we need to construct a safety net
underneath that long thin line. Perhaps instead of keeping it so taut and
uptight...we could give each other a little slack. After all being an island is
no fun, and nor is sitting arms crossed on the bottom line.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Looking for loopholes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Long live love.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3uq13O2l7vn4tKLnyEj_Xqoe11vvebx1BlDlQQ-jxo5WF145vQMXQJdkyJJXUmG2XahK4dNckh7UgqmXR5v6Fiiw_QTwxo9rQ_w8-G9IoQVCtcBn6sOjPz74be1Rsvc1SeFpyjBm3vM/s1600/Toe+on+the+Line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3uq13O2l7vn4tKLnyEj_Xqoe11vvebx1BlDlQQ-jxo5WF145vQMXQJdkyJJXUmG2XahK4dNckh7UgqmXR5v6Fiiw_QTwxo9rQ_w8-G9IoQVCtcBn6sOjPz74be1Rsvc1SeFpyjBm3vM/s400/Toe+on+the+Line.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image from http://thomsondata.blogspot.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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How about a tune..? This one jumped into my head and I kinda like it.</div>
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/9viJcd_0b9E/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9viJcd_0b9E&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9viJcd_0b9E&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-58875572332256119412013-02-21T07:34:00.000-08:002013-02-21T07:35:42.504-08:00K then..I couldn't make up my mind between two extra special K topics..so if you don't mind...if it's not too much..I will include them both. Firstly, K is for kindness. I smiled big when the judges announced the winner of this year's Tropfest Short Film Festival in Sydney this week, because it is a beautiful and deserving little movie..about kindness. It is called 'We've All Been There'.. <a href="http://youtu.be/QpkjGqYJxos" target="_blank">CLICK HERE</a> to take a look if you like :)<br />
<br />
The milk of human kindness, so unique to humanity, so hard to find sometimes in a harsh modern world where we seem more to resemble members of the animal kingdom slaying the weak so the fittest can survive.<br />
<br />
It's hard to be kind sometimes, when the kids are driving us crazy, when the odds are stacked against us and nothing seems to go right, when he forgets your anniversary..again, when some selfish sob takes your parking spot....... temptation to pay all the agro forward is huge. But kindness is some kind of magic oil that greases the wheels of goodness and peace and harmony...and all those other things we wish the world would be. Do it. Shake your fist at the whole dumb lot of rotten unjust unbelievable frustration by shaking out a little kindness. What goes around....comes around...right back at you.<br />
<br />
And will you believe it..? I have to have a second crack at the letter K...because I just can't not blog about Kisses. It was said ..by F Scott Fitzgerald actually..that the kiss "originated when the first male reptile licked the first female reptile, implying in a subtle, complimentary way that she was as succulent as the small reptile he had for dinner the night before".. it seems this most lovely of human activities has been around for a long time..<br />
<br />
<br />
Kiss Contract<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">During this time, we agree not to speak</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Save for sounds which cannot be called
words.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Our pact we seal with warm palms pressed
upon flesh,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">And enter into a solemn contract to be
carried out</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">By the soft messengers of our mouths;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Lips forsworn to faithfully divulge</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Secret longings and hidden passions,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Tongues given leave to search for ways to
portray desire.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The sanctity of the undertaking is
understood</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">And respected with circumspection and
deference.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Our hearts the scribes of all proceedings</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Flurry to take down every nuance,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Aching with the responsibility of recording
what cannot be uttered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Here in a tiny arena of armless wrestlers,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Our two souls lock in tender combat,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Duelling to the death of strangeness.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">©Julia Zed Feb 2013</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLioaFcDcELmYV6WtetxrkQkhHWiaMvDtWAIzBMq0z0Ypnk95HGPGhpv-h3FKzXpnDHA5vFt9jK1e3GQR7TX6HqlkI426EZvxrsDX2E9TMokVZCgAOhCyFAFDtgIg_wjWawtDh2L5oLJw/s1600/Sealed+with+a+Kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLioaFcDcELmYV6WtetxrkQkhHWiaMvDtWAIzBMq0z0Ypnk95HGPGhpv-h3FKzXpnDHA5vFt9jK1e3GQR7TX6HqlkI426EZvxrsDX2E9TMokVZCgAOhCyFAFDtgIg_wjWawtDh2L5oLJw/s400/Sealed+with+a+Kiss.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flamenco Dancer Sealed With a Kiss</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-19935446259348541222013-02-01T06:15:00.000-08:002013-06-18T18:03:29.534-07:00J for....<div class="MsoNormal">
J is for Joker.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone likes to crack a joke or two. Whether they are as
simple as a riddle, or an epic story with twists, jokes are the Smarties on
life’s cookie..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But crack one open and you’ll find that even the most
innocuous little pun is full of complicated machinery. The psychology of humour
is no laughing matter. Why do we laugh at funnies portraying misfortune,
bigotry, injustice? Is it true that jokes contain a yolk of truth? Doesn’t “I’m
just joking..” usually mean.. “I’m perfectly serious but I’m hoping you won’t
notice if I giggle while I say it?..”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jokes are the armoured tanks of immunity that plough
headlong into the serious business of life. Where are we without a sterling
sense of humour to provide the silver in the cloud lining? Funnies force us to
consider our prejudices and foibles. It’s a healthy psyche that can laugh at
its own quirks. That said….let’s have a chuckle about death, religion and disease...among
other things..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A man is at the doctor’s office.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The doctor says to the man, “I’ve got some bad news,
and I’ve got some terrible news…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh no!” says the man, “What’s the bad news?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’ve only got 24 hours to live.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s the terrible news?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I should have told you yesterday.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Paddy went into the bar and ordered three drinks. He took a
sip from each in turn, continuing until he had drunk them all. The barman
commented, “If you order them one at a time they’re less likely to go flat.”
Paddy explained that he and his two best mates used to drink together every
night. When they had to go their separate ways in life, they agreed that they
would each drink this way in memory of their friendship. The barman was
touched.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After some months, Paddy came into the bar and only ordered
two drinks. Silence fell over the place, as the regulars had come to know his
habit. The barman murmured, “My condolences mate..” Paddy said, “It’s OK,
everyone’s fine. I just became a Mormon, and I have to give up drinking.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A little old man shuffled slowly into an ice cream parlour
and pulled himself slowly, painfully, up onto a stool. After catching his
breath, he ordered a banana split.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The waitress asked kindly, “Crushed nuts?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” he replied, “Arthritis.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A wife was making a breakfast of fried eggs for her husband.<br />
Suddenly, her husband burst into the kitchen.<br />
"Careful," he said, "CAREFUL! Put in some more butter! LOOK OUT!
You're cooking too many at once. TOO MANY! Turn them! TURN THEM NOW! We need
more butter. Oh no! WHERE are we going to get MORE BUTTER? They're going to
STICK! Careful. CAREFUL! I said be CAREFUL! You NEVER listen to me when you're
cooking! Never! Turn them! Hurry up! Are you CRAZY? Have you LOST your mind?
Don't forget to salt them. You know you always forget to salt them. Use the
salt. USE THE SALT! THE SALT!"<br />
The wife stared at him, "What in the world is wrong with you? You think I
don't know how to fry a couple of eggs?"<br />
The husband calmly replied, "I just wanted to show you what it feels like
when I'm driving."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Laughter is essential for good health..mental and physical,
since it gives both the grey matter and a good many muscles a nice shake up…not
to mention the endorphins and beneficial chemicals like serotonin that it
releases into our sea of angst. So I’ll end with a peck of puns to bolster your
RDI of humour J</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Energizer Bunny arrested - charged with battery.<br />
<br />
A pessimist's blood type is always b-negative.<br />
<br />
Practice safe eating - always use condiments.<br />
<br />
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother.<br />
<br />
Shotgun wedding: A case of wife or death.<br />
<br />
I used to work in a blanket factory, but it folded.<br />
<br />
A hangover is the wrath of grapes.<br />
<br />
Corduroy pillows are making headlines.<br />
<br />
Is a book on voyeurism a peeping tome?<br />
<br />
Sea captains don't like crew cuts.<br />
<br />
Does the name Pavlov ring a bell?<br />
<br />
A successful diet is the triumph of mind over platter.<br />
<br />
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.<br />
<br />
A gossip is someone with a great sense of rumour.<br />
<br />
Without geometry, life is pointless.<br />
<br />
When you dream in colour, it's a pigment of your imagination.<br />
<br />
Reading while sunbathing makes you well-red.<br />
<br />
A man's home is his castle, in a manor of speaking.<br />
<br />
Dijon vu - the same mustard as before.<br />
<br />
When two egotists meet, it's an I for an I.<br />
<br />
A bicycle can't stand on its own because it is two-tired.<br />
<br />
What's the definition of a will? (Come on, it's a dead giveaway!)<br />
<br />
A backwards poet writes inverse.<br />
<br />
In democracy your vote counts. In feudalism, your count votes.<br />
<br />
A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.<br />
<br />
If you don't pay your exorcist, you get repossessed.<br />
<br />
With her marriage, she got a new name and a dress.<br />
<br />
Show me a piano falling down a mine shaft, and I'll show you a flat minor.<br />
<br />
When a clock is hungry, it goes back four seconds.<br />
<br />
The man who fell into an upholstery machine is fully recovered.<br />
<br />
A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blownapart.<br />
<br />
You feel stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.<br />
<br />
He often broke into song because he couldn't find the key.<br />
<br />
Every calendar's days are numbered.<br />
<br />
A lot of money is tainted. It taint yours and it taint mine.<br />
<br />
A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.<br />
<br />
He had a photographic memory that was never developed.<br />
<br />
The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large.<br />
<br />
Once you've seen one shopping centre, you've seen a mall.<br />
<br />
Those who jump off a Paris bridge are in Seine.<br />
<br />
When an actress saw her first strands of grey hair, she thought she'd dye.<br />
<br />
Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead-to-know basis.<br />
<br />
Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.<br />
<br />
Acupuncture is a jab well done.</div>
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<span style="outline: 0px;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="outline: 0px;">
</span>Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-11581690240021711492013-01-21T07:37:00.001-08:002013-02-01T06:15:34.952-08:00It Is I<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">I is for..me. And you. I is for identity.
Pull out the Freud books, here we go... no, actually let’s not. Because I’m
thinking along a few lines other than philosophy and psychology. For such a
small word, ‘i’ is jam-packed with intent. From idiot to illuminati..we all has
an I. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">So who are you anyway? (Someone asked me
that once, and I only had to think a moment before I had a choice of fifty
answers. I chose one, and that is the version of me that they were introduced
to.) Fact is, even if you have a nice pat answer to give anyone who asks, you
are a whole lot more than you could ever tell them. I..in a delightful irony
the smallest word possible..with the largest meaning. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">So if we are all that and more..what is
identity? A lot has been said about our human need to put labels on ourselves.
We like labels. It’s handy to be able to call oneself mother, or daughter, or
student or preacher..so handy that labels are insisted upon. Who are you?,
demands the official document, and you faithfully fill out all the neat
identifiers; sex, race, creed, age, marital status, religion. And there we are,
all summed up and rubber stamped. And if that weren’t enough, polite
conversation will soon inquire as to your line of work, so that you can fit
nicely into the social and economic category that your occupation implies.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Ah but I am so much more. So are you. I am
quite cross that the official forms don’t have a space for Imaginary
Occupation. I would very much like to fill in ‘Pirate Queen’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Here in Australia, we are well known for a
cosmopolitan, multicultural outlook. We don’t tend to go overboard paddling our
patriotic canoe, though our national identity is hardcore mateship. We seem to
know who we are. The struggle for identity thrashes itself out between our many
immigrants faced with having to build a new life far from the very things that
make them feel at home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">So boiled down to it, what makes us...us?
If you had to describe yourself without using any of the usual government
sanctioned tags..what would you choose? Would you feel confident enough to
isolate yourself from the safety of a bland category, and be the individual you
are? Ok then... a challenge. Describe yourself with ten identifiers without any
of the usual labels. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Here’s me: cupcake muncher, cryptic
crossword hater, shell collector, cloud appreciator, watch wrecker, morning
swimmer, gecko rescuer, shoe buyer, small toe stubber, password forgetter,
bible thumber.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Identity is individual.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLMOQJ3DgS72Ld2ztWpN5PUI62Viky9g8bBawolKS-9j-N3XeyHq1_MET92WhpH7QImEpMJZxcdalJc-0Ya8v-1G8eyHzL1CzSTlXNzeaFTMrHD7Mn8DGoBfdE0hOvJQG7eYew8rUMXY/s1600/_MG_8507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLMOQJ3DgS72Ld2ztWpN5PUI62Viky9g8bBawolKS-9j-N3XeyHq1_MET92WhpH7QImEpMJZxcdalJc-0Ya8v-1G8eyHzL1CzSTlXNzeaFTMrHD7Mn8DGoBfdE0hOvJQG7eYew8rUMXY/s400/_MG_8507.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saint Alvere, France</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-57367642436271506602013-01-15T21:24:00.000-08:002013-01-15T21:27:55.352-08:00H is for Honey!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I’m
convinced that there are a certain few special substances which are a divine
gift to mankind. Like honey. What can compare to honey? What can rival its
texture and colour, its smell and taste? If we had the ears to hear it, I just
know it would sound like sweet seduction. Honey is a feast for the senses, the
perfect ingredient, perfect accompaniment, and to top it all off, it’s actually
good for you! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">What other
food is so exquisitely prepared by its makers; from ingredients found in
vessels of perfumed beauty? It is mixed into a heavenly amber concoction by
faithful workers whose sole ambition and focus is its production; created in an
atmosphere of dance and humming, and stored in perfect little handmade
containers, pure and practical as such a delicacy should demand. Honey never
spoils.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Honey is all
about love. Devotion gleams from its warm soft depths. No wonder it is held in
such high esteem by minds spiritual and scientific alike. Gurus cite it as an
aphrodisiac, healing agent and purifier. Nutritionists list it as an excellent cholesterol-free
source of energy and vitamins (including </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">B6, thiamin, niacin,
riboflavin, pantothenic acid and certain amino acids and minerals including
calcium, copper, iron, magnesium, manganese, phosphorus, potassium, sodium and
zinc…wow huh?)</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">, dermatologists
will tell you it is good for the skin, and I … place it top of my list of
potions that bring the world into balance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Have you
ever contemplated the patterns made by honey on your toast..or on your tummy?
Have you ever dipped the spoon in and wound the tail around and around as
though it were momentarily a sticky ball of yarn? Have you closed your eyes
while you put that honey spoon into your mouth and paused your busy schedule
for the seconds it takes the golden mass to melt into you? Have you tried honey
on your carrots, on your yoghurt, with your chicken, in your tea? Why ever not?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Hey…health
tip for a sweeter universe: don’t forget the honey!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJFvhEON7Cpo4644UxGFJXQRdufNYrBHyOVK_nKn3bSEfoN-a2CRYhJ36W1jYw_kyH91upRYlhSk6TJB5-oi_eqXHYplTsnDRJZs8w789nMDYkp8U9nYTqxUCUPzzXHCtguq7X7qQUZM/s1600/honey800x285.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJFvhEON7Cpo4644UxGFJXQRdufNYrBHyOVK_nKn3bSEfoN-a2CRYhJ36W1jYw_kyH91upRYlhSk6TJB5-oi_eqXHYplTsnDRJZs8w789nMDYkp8U9nYTqxUCUPzzXHCtguq7X7qQUZM/s400/honey800x285.png" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQXQVmEz29w"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feel like a honey song?...well OK.....click me then...</span></a></div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-80223169633518636432013-01-09T19:59:00.000-08:002014-02-11T19:49:52.884-08:00G is for..<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Emotions are the elements of our lives. We
float on the ceaseless tide, sometimes bobbing happily, and more often than
not, swept underneath the current until the world is obscured by bubbles and
debris. Elation, sadness, anxiety, contentment.. they are all necessary shades
of our experience.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">And sometimes, grief descends, dragging
with it a host of other emotions which must be endured as a stream of visitors
just at the time when we’d rather be left alone. I have witnessed grief in my
loved ones, staring inward through its bulletproof glass, seeing lips move
without producing words, feeling the chill of helplessness. What I saw was
simply the frost, a herald of the great winter storm inside, never truly
understood.. until my own loss enveloped me.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The permanence of loss needs a champion.
Grief comes as a tide to sweep us into an acknowledgment of all that was.
Feared emotion, yet it is a grey-blanketed saviour from indifference. Scribe of
significance, grief records the loss of loves, granting a soul left a little
lonelier the balm of recognition. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Death in all its forms is no surprise. Even
oblivious in happiness it is understood that an end waits. Our fickle hearts
must move and change, never lying in the arms of any emotion too long. Grief
must leave its scars beside the imprints of feet and fingers and the exquisite
carvings of joy. In this life I shoulder my humanity, and you yours, and we may
nod, knowing, at one another walking on the mortal road, since we neither of us
have the wings of angels.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">G is for grief.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">May we grow in grace.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVY_VZTU3vc4EOtOyupOj6WkFfGm-OCQF1_VxR-M6OwKTb483vCzkRTihSno1l8nMeY1iMcuz6CuKs3HJsLlFCWNlOxE4G4w6qSp_Vp69jESJ6sZjP_ZJJlBWu08EkJdP0X1dcdp8Vss/s1600/girl+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVY_VZTU3vc4EOtOyupOj6WkFfGm-OCQF1_VxR-M6OwKTb483vCzkRTihSno1l8nMeY1iMcuz6CuKs3HJsLlFCWNlOxE4G4w6qSp_Vp69jESJ6sZjP_ZJJlBWu08EkJdP0X1dcdp8Vss/s400/girl+(1).JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-57323258516047410872013-01-06T01:57:00.000-08:002013-01-06T02:14:49.168-08:00F...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feelings.. those inclinations that have
bypassed the brain and emerge like the weather, sometimes knocking us right off
the horse. They say that thinking is where we get to engage the brain; feelings engage the
heart. Are they at opposite ends of a scale? Or parallel channels on the mixer?
Is it possible to operate both at the same time?</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps that is a bit like rubbing your
tummy while patting your head. It probably requires a good deal of
concentration, and a split screen somewhere in the consciousness to monitor
both simultaneously..are feelings just a different kind of thought?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve done one of those personality type
tests, and am told that I most often favour feeling over thinking. That’s well
and good so long as I am sitting next to a feely type. If I end up sharing a
bench with a thinkin person, I find myself using all kinds of hand gestures to
try and weave my feelings into some kind of logical arrangement. It’s tricky. It’s
practicality versus ascetics, physics versus fantasy.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It’s hard enough to put thoughts into
words. Trying to jam the pillow-like forms of various feelings into little word
boxes is exhausting! ...And this is why we are gifted with more than one method
of communication! Body language for instance. Do they teach us to read that in
school? They should! Even the extreme thinkers of this world often proclaim the
way they are feeling in posture and
mannerism..</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For those of us who rely on feelings,
perhaps we should take up signing..it’s great for expressing oneself, since
facial expressions also come into play..and it’s less noisy.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So how do I feel today? Pretty good, thank
you.. well alright, a little frustrated. If communication is a science, I feel
I’m still trying to fathom 101. But here I am, still at it, pulling thoughts like loose threads from the fabric of my mind and
stitching up little blog samplers...thinking it through.. but more often than
not...just feeling my way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A Love Poem</span></div>
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<div style="border: 0px; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; margin-bottom: 1.615em; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">I wanted to write the most unromantic love poem I could;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Something gutsy and gory.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Why is it you feel so much in your gut? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Shouldn’t feeling be in the heart?
..or the head maybe, since feelings are thoughts too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">But no. It’s the tummy that twists with fear
when you realize you missed the last bus. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">And your guts squirm with indescribable pangs
when that one you love to be with leaves. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">You’d think love would make its home in a heart, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">but here we are losing our appetite and feeling weird in the pit of the stomach.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">I wanted to write the most unromantic love poem I could, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">because sometimes love is ugly,
spilling your innards all over the floor. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">©Julia Zed</span><br />
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Fleur de lis in France...</div>
Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-9422248487935882352013-01-01T06:09:00.000-08:002013-01-01T06:09:32.468-08:00E is for..<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">E is for evolve. No, not from an ape to an
android, I just mean ‘change’ pure and simple; positive change, change for the
better.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The new year is rearing to go, snorting
resolutions and expectations, pawing at the starting gate and urging us to lay
our bets. It’s the time when many of us take a good hard look at the things
we’d like to change in our lives, some of us actually making lists, a couple of
us actually serious about doing something to bring those changes about... Let’s
be honest. The lists are often just last year’s wishful thinks revamped. It can
seem as though we’re stuck in a rut. Confession time.. my bad habits have been
doing reruns on my resolution list for ...well...decades?</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the truth is that where there is life
there is change. Take a closer look and there have been changes, perhaps not
all of them so obvious as the new baby in the house, or the five kilos gained.
Little by little we change as we meet new people, see new things, try new
things. Change is a given. Stagnation equals death. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Logically then, it’s the agents of change
that will determine whether our life changes are positive or not. What will you
watch? What angle will you take? Who will you listen to? Who will you talk to? </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What will you make of the
new challenges life throws your way in 2013? Will they be stepping stones or
bridge breakers? Snakes or ladders?</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Examine every experience.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think, therefore I evolve. </span></span></div>
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<br />
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-16478194049761028622012-12-28T18:25:00.001-08:002016-08-28T20:23:27.858-07:00D is for Dance<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">D is for dance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was going to say D is
for delicious, but I already mentioned chocolate..so here is the next best
thing..<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are a great many
sayings about dance that distill its essence into neat perspectives:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Dancing is a vertical
expression of a horizontal desire”<br />
~Robert Frost<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“I do not try to dance
better than anyone else. I only try to dance better than myself.”<br />
~Mikhail Baryshnikov<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Dance like there’s nobody
watching. Or filming. Never mind that creepy guy in the corner with the
camcorder. Just keep dancing.”<br />
~Jarod Kintz<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Kids: they dance before
they learn there is anything that isn't music.”<br />
~William Edgar Stafford<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Dancing faces you
towards Heaven, whichever direction you turn.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">~Terri Guillemets<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
"Life is short and there will always be dirty dishes, so let's dance.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">~James Howe<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“The truest expression of
a people is in its dance and in its music. Bodies never lie.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">~Agnes de Mille<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />
“Dancing is like dreaming with your feet!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">~Constanze<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">..and my favourite of the
lot,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">”There are shortcuts to
happiness, and dancing is one of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">~Vicki Baum<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dance. It’s a beautiful
way of looking at existence. Dance can be performed alone, but the mastery of
dancing with a partner or a company of people truly demonstrates the
cooperative skill of the dancers. This is an analogy for life that captures for
me the beauty and satisfaction of learning to live in harmonious relationship
with others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dancing together is not
dependency. A successful dance partnership involves each dancer taking
responsibility for own steps, own rhythm, and own stamina, while also being
ever aware of these things in the other. It is truly a focus of each on the
rhythm that keeps the dance in sync and beautiful. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The dance can be
debonaire, deliberate, delicate, daring, delirious.. performed solo or
with others, as an expression of emotion, ideas, interpretation, beauty and
skill.. with music or without.. impromptu or rehearsed, .. it’s the soul given
voice to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dance gives off sparks..
of passion and of harmony. I want my life to be like that.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Fiona+Evans+Sydney+Theatre+WA+Ballet+Present+epyp8P-14vPl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www4.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Fiona+Evans+Sydney+Theatre+WA+Ballet+Present+epyp8P-14vPl.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="background-color: #333333; color: #78878c; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">Cameron Spencer/Getty Images</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="background-color: #333333; color: white; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">Matthew Lehman, Fiona Evans and Daryl Brandwood perform 'Strings 32'</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="background-color: #333333; color: white; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPVeCopD4mM-CGx_CihHR39Uq7MAJr9SIba-64xf-R3XmD-CsBgeqMR8ZNmRghxiXMAit9IpS7jn9HPpcgRWEWO3Obb6-OMZ7_VDZzy0rgHIYV9tDHoHEfldHluTxD3KGqya3EJvQkl0/s1600/ballerino.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPVeCopD4mM-CGx_CihHR39Uq7MAJr9SIba-64xf-R3XmD-CsBgeqMR8ZNmRghxiXMAit9IpS7jn9HPpcgRWEWO3Obb6-OMZ7_VDZzy0rgHIYV9tDHoHEfldHluTxD3KGqya3EJvQkl0/s400/ballerino.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px; text-align: left;">Sebastian Kloborg</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1846472544330473697.post-76226881328129325102012-12-27T07:17:00.000-08:002012-12-27T07:19:36.429-08:00C is for..<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">C is for ... just way too many things to
mention. Crikey, how is a person supposed to write something around the letter
C when there are so many words in the English language to choose from?! It’s
ridiculous to even try! I could write up a storm on cats, crisis, computers,
coconuts, caramels, children, cricket, crime, cucumbers, cars, Christmas,
charities, crack, canaries, cartoons... wait...I’ve got it. C is for cyber,
right?</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s how we’re defining ourselves these
days. Cyber banking, cyber books, cyber entertainment, cyber shopping, cyber
relationships.. true or not? Ha, here I am cyber communicating with you at this
very moment. Aint it great? </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course I <u>can’t</u> write a blog about
cyber-anything because it’s been done! Done to cyberdeath. I’ve read a whole
ton of well-put-together articles about cyber everything and consider myself
full bottle, so I’m not about to add to that gargantuan pile of opinion. Do I
hear you cybersigh your relief? </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please don’t think I’m a cyberobjector. No
way. That’d be like biting the platform that blogs me. But I’m all for real, in
your face life wherever possible. There are some things that cyberspace just
can’t help me with. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because, let’s face it. In the end, C is
for chocolate.</span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsT8NI1Spy8Oqn8Bgr3QG7Wr5R_UHKRBA6i1F97McAe3kvdMiSLGplwYywAf6L8uUDCP05igt-77SifUdRsHu6UVHr2Ksd2BoeMPMJ0-hkkM35z9Nbg9X8rs9tN6VfHOZQ3kgiYd3bxP8/s1600/chocolate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsT8NI1Spy8Oqn8Bgr3QG7Wr5R_UHKRBA6i1F97McAe3kvdMiSLGplwYywAf6L8uUDCP05igt-77SifUdRsHu6UVHr2Ksd2BoeMPMJ0-hkkM35z9Nbg9X8rs9tN6VfHOZQ3kgiYd3bxP8/s400/chocolate.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">picture taken from the internet</span></div>
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Juleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01038772090273963117noreply@blogger.com2