Sunday Selections was originally brought to us by Kim, of Frogpondsrock, as an ongoing meme where participants could post previously unused photos languishing in their files.
Huge thanks to Cie who gave me this wonderful Sunday Selections image.
The meme was then continued by River at Drifting through life.
Sadly she has now stepped aside (though she will join us some weeks), and I have accepted the mantle.
The rules are so simple as to be almost non-existent. Post
some
photos under the title Sunday Selections and link back to me.
Clicking on any of the photos will make them embiggen.
I usually run with a theme. On Thursday of this week the morning was foggy and fairly chilly.
We have learnt that a foggy morning often means a bright and beautiful day. And so it was.
Our restrictions are easing now so several hours later we headed down to the lake. A long awaited trip to the lake. It was wonderful (though I could have done without the strange and fairly needy woman who bent my ear albeit at a socially safe distance). Like me, she loves that piece of the lake's foreshore but I was not ready to discuss the meaning of life with a perfect stranger in that beautiful space. I did, however, enjoy being introduced to her canary Chloe. Chloe didn't like the lockdown either, so my new acquaintance took her down to the lake for an outing.
In my usual minimalist fashion quite a lot of photos follow.
An Australian Straw-Necked Ibis which I 'think' are different to bin chickens which are typically our white ibis.
The kangaroos (and there were several mobs) were totally 'laxed and pretty much ignored us.
I am (of course) a fan of both our black swans and the Australasian Darter which had its wings spread to soak up the last of the sun.
This silver gull (often referred to as a seagull) has almost certainly never seen the sea.
It really is a lovely place, and the wildlife is a bonus.
I hope all of you find peace and beauty in the week to come.
A little while ago David Gascoigne suggested I should feature kookaburras in a post. Despite them being an iconic Australian bird (and one that is I suspect known the world over) my photographs of them are few (and mostly woeful).
Coincidentally a wonderful kookaburra story popped up in ABC news today. As we slowly emerge from lockdown I am pleased to see that some people at least have found ways to have (and share) fun. You can find the story here. I absolutely loved it and hope you will too. It also includes a very short video which is well worth watching.
I have also included some of my own photos of 'the merry, merry king of the bush' (and a link to the song about him).
Sunday Selections was originally brought to us by Kim, of Frogpondsrock, as an ongoing meme where participants could post previously unused photos languishing in their files.
Huge thanks to Cie who gave me this wonderful Sunday Selections image.
The meme was then continued by River at Drifting through life.
Sadly she has now stepped aside (though she will join us some weeks), and I have accepted the mantle.
The rules are so simple as to be almost non-existent. Post
some
photos under the title Sunday Selections and link back to me.
Clicking on any of the photos will make them embiggen.
I usually run with a theme. Despite the slowly reducing restrictions here we are both firmly in the vulnerable category (himself has now has a lung spontaneously collapse three times) and are still mostly at home.
Sorry, but this is going to a bit same old, same old.
I featured corellas (again) this week. This morning (a grey and drizzly morning) they were shrieking for food early. As were other birds. I put out seed which went down very quickly. I hand fed the king parrots. And then I took out some apple.
I was very surprised to see a young (and whinging) corella shove his parent out of the way and daintily munch apple.
However he (and I have no idea whether I am correct) was also shoved out the way. Pushed out by a cockatoo who absconded with all of the apple.
I had put other apple pieces out in less cockie accessible places so no-one missed out.
I have been revelling in the garden too. Each year we wonder whether the frost or the tree dahlia blooms will arrive first.
This year was a bit of a draw. We have had a mild frost and the leaves of the tree dahlia are a bit sad.
However there are blooms too.
And the ones in the back yard have done better and (so far) are frost free).
There are other garden joys too. Lots of them.
I saw something this week which made me think. It said word to this effect:
We are all in rough waters at the moment - but our boats are very different.
Sadly true. I hope all of your boats are seaworthy and equipped with life boats.
Stay safe, stay well.
Memories of my father have been haunting me recently (and I don't know why), so I have decided to revisit/repost something I wrote about him when this blog was relatively young. It will be new to many of you, and I hope that others will allow me to indulge myself.
Father was a German Jew. I am pretty certain his mother went to America
just before the World War Two started (without him) but know nothing about the
rest of his family. It was a taboo subject in our house. We suspect the worst. He rarely
mentioned the war, other than to say that 'War has no winners. There are losers, and there are bigger losers'.
I know at some stage he was fighting in Egypt and I know that after the war he lived in Birmingham. His path to the
UK and his life before that is pretty much a mystery to me.
He moved from Birmingham to Australia in the early 1950s to take up a
position as a technical officer at the Research School of Physics at the
Australian National University (ANU). His initial salary was nearly
300 pounds (a year) which he told me was unheard of riches.
He crossed paths with my mother and her first husband in Birmingham.
They moved to Canberra so that my mama's husband could take up a
position at the ANU (also in the Research School of Physics). My
mother's first husband died, leaving her widowed in a strange country
with three children under five. Life must have been very, very hard for
her.
She and my father got together and I was born about a year before they
married (very brave for the time in a small community). As a side note I only discovered after his death that he had been married when he moved to Australia and divorced his wife to marry my mother.
Mama always
said that she wouldn't get married for my brothers but that she wouldn't
marry to spite them either. So a new family was formed when and only
when she was confident it could work. By and large we managed.
My father said that he had no time for religion - that it cost too
much. Certainly he was not a practising Jew and was very partial to
four legged chicken (otherwise known as pork). His stated ambition was
to be the first Jewish Pope, and for the remainder of his life Christmas
and Birthday cards were addressed (by all of us) to Pope Dick.
He was a complex man. He was very bigoted about some things, and was
unbelievably and embarrassingly crass about homosexuals and Italians.
And had good friends within both communities. He talked about pink
shirt poofs (and yes I cringe remembering). One of my more successful
presents to him was a burgundy silk shirt. Which he wore until it was
undeniably pink. And then continued to wear with pleasure.
One of his bosses claimed to have an 'open door' philosophy. Father didn't think his actions matched up to his words. So he went into work one weekend and removed the door. When he died (more than twenty years later) that door remained where he had put it - as the door to his workshop.
He was stubborn. So, so stubborn. When he had made a pronouncement
that was it. No ifs, no buts. And he didn't change his mind. Ever.
He was the master of what was known in the family as the circular
argument. He would state his case as he strode across the lounge room. You got your chance to make your point
as went into the hall before coming back into the lounge via the
kitchen. When he reached the
lounge he would restate his case. Repeatedly. Until the other side
gave up or left.
He disliked my Smaller Portion intensely, and banned him from the family
home. I never found out why. So, being my father's daughter I said that if he wasn't welcome I
wasn't either. When we found out that he had cancer and was dying we
put the hostilities on hold. If he had lived nothing would have
changed.
He was a fix it man. Nothing was ever thrown out, just squirrelled
away. He was immensely patient (when he wasn't supremely the
opposite). The lawnmower was a special hate. One Saturday when it
refused to run for him he threw it into the fishpond. And then spent
several weeks restoring it to (mostly) working order.
We always had animals. I grew up with German Shepherds (father said
they were only Alsatians if they had bitten you). We usually had birds,
cats and fish as well. My brothers had guinea pigs and turtles. He condemned my
mother and me for indulging the cats. And then poked a hole in the fly
screen near the breakfast table so that he could push fingers of toast
and Vegemite out to the cat on the window sill. Who had only just gone
outside. He chastised the German Shepherd by beating her with a blade
of grass. She yelped.
He was a big man, with thick clumsy looking fingers, and hands which shook perpetually. And he taught
himself jewellery making, and produced some very beautiful and delicate
pieces.
He had a perverse sense of humour. While he was teaching himself
facetting he used Reich's beer bottles to practise on. A visitor came
to the house and he brought the latest effort in to show her. She asked
what it was 'Reichite' was the reply. 'Ah, yes' she said 'mined in
remote South Africa'. Father finished that piece and set it into a
silver ring and sold it to her (at her request). He never told her that
she was wearing a piece of beer bottle. But chuckled about it. Often.
He did repair/restoration work for a local antique store, but charged a boredom surcharge if he didn't like the job (like the time he was asked to sharpen a set of silver forks). He exhibited some of his work in local galleries.
He had incredibly bushy eyebrows. And if bored at dinner parties would
plait them as a subtle hint to my mama that he wanted to leave (or
wanted the visitors to do so).
When he knew he was dying he got immense pleasure out of ringing the
local rabbi and arranging his funeral. 'Good morning Rabbi, I want to arrange a funeral. My funeral'. We are so glad he did - none
of us would have known that he wanted a Jewish funeral.
I loved him, I hated him, I miss him. And how I wish I had been able to coax him into talking to me about his early life. So many questions. So few answers.
Sunday Selections was originally brought to us by Kim, of Frogpondsrock, as an ongoing meme where participants could post previously unused photos languishing in their files.
Huge thanks to Cie who gave me this wonderful Sunday Selections image.
The meme was then continued by River at Drifting through life.
Sadly she has now stepped aside (though she will join us some weeks), and I have accepted the mantle.
The rules are so simple as to be almost non-existent. Post
some
photos under the title Sunday Selections and link back to me.
Clicking on any of the photos will make them embiggen.
I usually run with a theme. We are still mostly at home. With one exception all of my photos are from home this week.
Starting with the exception. On my last Sunday Selections post Snowbrush commented that he couldn't see what made our bearded ravens different to any other raven. So I dug out a photo which shows its beard better.
Back to home, but still with birds. These are some of the birds which we have been lucky enough to see at home. It is noticeably cooling down now, and the sulphur crested cockatoo is fluffed up to stay warm in the early morning.
Then a series of preening corella shots - for Susan Kane who loves them.
The king parrots are very low on the pecking order and don't get a chance on the feeders if there are other birds about. They have (I think cleverly) worked out that their chances are better if they eat from our hands and the seed bucket. However at least one pigeon has learned from them and bounces them off our hands. So they go around the back and look in through the kitchen window until I weaken and take them out some seed. So far none of the other birds have followed them...
And back to the corellas.
I loved the peek-a-boo effect from the one on the roof.
And the very noisy youngster making his demands clear.
I have (of course) been out with the camera at dawn and dusk again.
I hope your week(s) to come is safe, happy, healthy and generously splashed with beauty.
