G’Day most patient Mob,
I was reminded by a Canadian friend that I had been threatening to start blogging again but hadn’t actually done anything – well hang on in there.
As my writing and photography have evolved over the last few years it has led to an actual real-life business called Opal Heart Media and so in this day and age it seems that to run a business you should have a website.
So that is what I have been playing at for the last couple of months. The Opal Heart Media website is now live and on it you will find a blog with two posts to date. The first is just a general ramble of which you are all familiar. The second, due to popular demand, is The Coming of the Camels.
So jump on over to the website, read about the camels and leave your comments – just as you would here.
Come join me on a new adventure.
Well after a break of 12 months it looks like I might be blogging again.
In the past year a few stories have accumulated.
So do you want to hear them?
And if you do, what strikes your fancy – “The Coming of the Camels” or “My Life as a Pit Pony”?
Well, what a night! Wasn’t it fantastic? Snow falling, reindeer parading, igloos, a menu to die for and friends from around the globe.
What? What do you mean you don’t remember? Oh, well you were enjoying yourself. I mean all that dancing on tables and such – I’m not really surprised. Let me recap our night for you …….
We’re going to party!!!
I’ve come up with this crazy idea. We’re all invited to an international dinner party. You’re going to provide me with ingredients. I’m going to choose the venue and this mysterious world-famous chef is going to design our menu (by chef I mean the bloke on the left; the girl on the right still can’t cook).
The indigenous people tell of sacred sites. Of places connecting them to country. Of places where learning and ancestors, reverence and nature all intertwine, intermingle, weld.
This is Kianinny. This is my sacred site.
In 1991 I fell in love with a Kiwi and I have been sleeping with the enemy ever since.
Our courtship spanned the Great Sandy Desert and the north-west WA town of Broome and I learnt that to love a New Zealander meant indoctrination into the culture of rugby union.
Remember I said 1991. That was the year the Australian Wallabies beat the Poms in the Rugby World Cup (RWC) Final and the New Zealand All Blacks came third. I was young and naïve and believed this was the natural order of things.
Every now and again in this world of digital overload, I come across a piece of writing that makes me quiver. Such was the case this week.
This week a young woman named Helen Bender confronted Australian politicians on their stance on the contentious issue of coal seam gas exploration that led to her farmer father taking his own life merely days before.
It struck a chord with many of us on the land, and it is with kind permission from Heather Pascoe that I reprint her quivering prose.
Thank you Helen for your bravery. Thank you Heather for your words; and thank you Dr. David Pascoe for sharing, in the first instance, this heartfelt missive.
Does this sound like your typical morning: wake up and get out of bed, stumble to the bathroom, grumble about aches and pains, walk to the kitchen and plan the day ahead as you sip a cup of tea?
If it does be thankful – my niece can do none of these things. Continue reading
Good friends are hard to find but the best ones are beside you through rain and shine.
They are there when you’re face-first, screaming into the hockey turf because you have just snapped the ACL in your knee. They bring you McDonalds when you are in the hospital waiting room for three hours until a doctor can see you. Then two years down the track, after a knee reconstruction, they convince you that returning to competition hockey really is a good idea.
And then, after a game of hockey they find themselves beside you literally through hail and shine. Continue reading
Following a tip from a Canadian friend I was reading a list of Saskatchewan slang recently, nodding that the Canadians still refer to acres as we do even though both countries converted to the metric system eons ago, smiling that a farmer’s tan means the same thing no matter in what hemisphere you dwell, and discovering prairie oysters is just another name for our mountain oysters (calf testicles).
But then I got to Moose Javian, which by definition means someone who lives in Moose Jaw, and I have been giggling ever since. Moose Jaw? Whoever came up with such a name for a town?