Creation

Seething Sea; Writhing wind; Rigid rocks

These be my heart and mind.

Restless soul; Aching heart; Empty void

These all the same kind.

Faithful Father, Brothering Son, Gentle Spirit

Creation process again.

Peaceful heart; Renewed mind; Quieted soul

Health and wholeness when I was lame.

MDC

18/4/95

I Like

Summer week-ends that unexpectedly become available when I don't have to work.

Lazy afternoons filled with cicada symphonies, far-off dog barks, a further-off car horn.

The galvanized action that appears suddenly when a conundrum of indecision crystallizes into a plan.

The sizzle and snap of sausages on the BBQ, their fragrance over-powering the mock orange.

The scent of vanilla lurking behind the fragrance of coffee.

The uncomfortable caress of bottle brush against the side of the house.

The wind turning ten thousand pages in the camphor laurels.

Dolce Vita

Sift the flour, heat the milk

Do take care that it’s not spilt

Chop the nuts, grate the cheese

Just a pinch of nutmeg please

Warm the oil, melt the butter

Please be careful of the splutter

Grill the pancakes, fry the bacon

This is a feast we are creatin’!

Self-raising flour, a pinch of salt

Some arrowroot, a little malt

Beat the eggs, grease the tin

Put a teaspoon of vanilla in

Dice the onion, shell the peas

The cake should come out of the pan with ease

Skin the kiwi, pit the cherries

Garnish with a few strawberries

Sunflower, olive or rape seed oil

Wrap the tongue in vented foil

Smoke the sausage, let them hang

Fold chopped hazels into meringue

Melt the chocolate, stew the pear

Prepare the Brie and Camembert

A cup of honey, whip the cream

This desert will be a dream!

Warm the plates, decant the wine

Pluck the grapes fresh from the vine

Choose your condiments, a dollop of mustard

Don’t forget to chill the custard

Fold the napkins, set the china

Indirect light will be much kinder

Draw the curtains, cut the glare

Ah, life is wonderful.  Savoir-faire !

© MDC

04/06/9

Things I hate

The mocking of youths, like an harassment of seagulls, creating a cacophony of activity and sound that produces no useful outcome.

The denial of delinquents protesting their innocence, forever enshrining their perception of the veracity of their behaviour.

Political commentary, igniting a holocaust of public indifference, being promoted by self-appointed talking heads whose rationale for promoting the commentary is completely divorced from the topic at hand.

People feeling sheepish, when they should be feeling ashamed.

People confusing the act of capitulation with the notion that to do so allows an attack on their self-worth.

Things rendered invisible by habit.

The new and exciting becoming normal and mundane.

The tearing of a comfortable shirt, thus rendering it usable only as a rag.
The articulation of night keeping me awake.

Running out of Pedro Ximenez.

Realisation

The sun, the moon, the wild dark ocean

The ice, the dune, devoid of devotion

The dim, the night, the forbidding mountain

The dream of hope, the dewy fountain.

The eye, the sight, the rising, the dawn,

The greens, the blues, the feeling forlorn

The tongue, the taste, the day, the dusk,

The sound of autumn, the smell of musk

The ear, the sound, the morning new

The distaste of bills long overdue

The yawn, the groan, the anguished cry

The bitter aged asking “why?”

The wicked, the clever, the dumb, the deft

The rich, the powerful, the poor and bereft

The quick, the slow, the wise, the sloth

The golden thread in the dark cloth

The king, the queen, the abdication

The folly of his fabrication

The subject revolt, the nation hissing

The realisation of a kingdom missing

The courage of love, the cowardice of hate

The strength to accept the command of Fate

The resolve to live with faith unfeigned

The humbleness to be justly-blamed

MDC

5/5/97

Naming Dilemma

Elizabeth or Kate, Bernice or Sue

We cannot decide, what will we do?

This cute little bundle must have a name

The indecision will turn us insane!

Kylie, Samantha, Julie or Jean

Lauren, Kathy, maybe Maxine

Gertrude or Sigrid, Lisa or Prue

Goodness! There must be one that will do.

Born on a Monday after much pain

Helen or Phoebe.  What about Jane?

Lyndal, Trudi, Margaret, Joan

We’ll even settle for Claudia (moan)

Mary, Lilly, Bronwyn, Faye

Do we have to make a decision today?

Megan, Jodie, Yvonne and Tammy

Now my hands are getting all clammy

Sophie, Nora, Sally, Nicole

I’m just digging myself into a hole

Vanessa, Edith, Bethany, Lenore

What you say there’s even more!

Andrea, Lois, Kim, Terri-Lee

Make it easy for poor simple me

I’ve done no work but I’m tired [yawn]

Debra, Cindy, Melanie, Dawn...

MDC

11/05/93

To all the young couples at Toowoomba Christian Fellowship who are enjoying the birth of their first daughters.

A good read

Reading is one of the singular pleasures in life. Regardless of whether you prefer fact or fiction, a hour (or three) spent reading a good book ranks as one of the most pleasurable things a person can do to relax. It does not matter what the subject matter is, and here is where I disagree with my I-only-read-non-fiction friends, because you can always learn something from a good book.

What makes a good book? That answer changes for every person. It will depend on your level of education (no point reading something that is far beyond your ability to grasp). It will depend on your preferences (no point reading something that is as dry as sawdust).

When I was a pre-teenager I read just about anything I could get my hands on.The first book that made an impact on me was Cocky's Castle by Celia Syred. The adventure excited me, the emotional ending shocked me. I read all of Enid Blyton's Secret Seven and Famous Five and I do not remember a time when I have not been reading a book since then.

My parents called me a book worm. They love to tell the story of the time when some old lino was being pulled up in the kitchen to make way for renovations. As the lino came up, sheets of newspaper, lying between the lino and the floorboards, were revealed. Apparently I was of little help to them as I insisted on reading every sheet as it was released from the floor.

Life takes many twists and turns, and mine has had many that were unexpected and difficult. Some things remain as constants though, and one of those for me has been reading.

In an effort to conform with my afore-mentioned friends I took a journey into the domain of non-fiction. I read biographies, auto-biographies, historical treatises, white papers, etc. I enjoyed most of them. But I don't read just for content. In fact, given that the larger portion of my reading is fiction, content has been a minor consideration for many years. I read to learn and to expand my vocabulary; to improve my communication skills. In my experience, non-fiction is generally written with only the content in mind. This leads to lazy writing.

One of my favourite authors is Charles Frazier. He became famous in 1997 with his first full-length novel, Cold Mountain. The movie was rubbish. The book was a tour de force in how to describe something with expression. He described several characters as "not precisely old but he was working his way there" and "had a natural inclination toward bile and melancholy" and "poisoned by lonesomeness and longing".

Another fabulous author, Simon Winchester, wrote The Surgeon of Crowthorne". This is one of the few non-fiction books I have read that match the prose and beauty of script that is commonplace in fiction, but so often sadly lacking in non-fiction. Winchester's masterpiece proves that it is possible to cover a topic that many would consider dry as old bones with artistry and aplomb, thus elevating it to the level of the sublime. The Surgeon is sub-titled A Tale of Murder, Madness and the Love of Words. It details the story of how the Oxford English Dictionary came to be published. One could be forgiven for thinking that the pursuit of ensuring that the mite of a two-letter preposition should have no less standing than the majesty of a piece of polysyllabic sesquipedalianism would be banal and trite. One would be wrong, but I digress.

This post started with an intention to alert you to an excellent book I read over the Christmas break. I don't usually recommend books to others as I know that reading is a very personal enjoyment, and like art and love, there is no accounting for taste. Written by William Kent Kreuger, "An Ordinary Grace" is the story of one summer told through the eyes and perceptions of a 13 year old boy. Read it for the story or read it for the beautiful prose and exquisite phrasing, but read it.