25 April, ANZAC day - this day marks the anniversary of the landing of Australian and New Zealand troops on the beaches of Gallipoli. It has become a day to remember those who have fought and died in the defence of their country. It is a day to pause and reflect, not a day to celebrate or commemorate war.
“The Ode” is a central part of the ceremonies and services to mark this day.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
LEST WE FORGET
The Ode is the fourth stanza from “The Fallen” by Laurence Binyon which can be found in full here.
There is the excitement when the latest toy shop catalog arrives in the mail. Of course the first thing you do is circle all the things you would like Santa to bring.
Then there is the fascination of learning about the birth of Jesus and the Christmas story. It really sounds very simple from a 6 year old’s perspective - everyone should love each other like Jesus did.
Finally it seems that it is possible to reconcile the two, at least according to princess number 2. Her latest circling of the catalog focused on the things that Jesus would have liked to have received for Christmas. Jesus and the Ninteno DS, an interesting idea.
What do you think Jesus would have asked wanted for Christmas?
Do you ever come across a particularly useful website and think to yourself “I wish I had known about that when ......”? I have an opportunity to earn some beer money by mentioning just such a website. If you feel inclined to read on I will relate a little of my past life.
While I have been teaching for some time now, I was for many years a Chartered Accountant (yes I’ve heard all the boring accountant jokes). This provided me with the opportunity to live a work in London for several years.
Sounds great doesn’t it? Who wouldn’t want to work in one of the great cities of the World and one of the finance capitals. I still remember how excited I was before I left. And oh how I hated it. The work that is, London itself was a wonderful place to live.
My mistake was a lack of preparation and research. I went to London as part of a secondment program with the accounting firm I worked for at the time. This sounded like the best course of action - stay with the firm I knew and who I thought would have my interests at heart. I had after all given them faithful service for several years. Wrong! Here is roughly how things went:
18 hour work days for weeks on end. No wonder people were telling me how much they liked people from the Australian firm
Promotion and pay rises withheld - I never found out why. The Managing Partner seemed happy enough with my work given he put me in charge of his largest client
Working for a psychopathic senior manager who was having an affair with the bloke that I replaced at the firm - could explain the promotion and pay rise question
The vending machine coffee tasted like it was made with water from the Thames
I could go on but you get the idea. Now here is the part where “I wish I had known about that when ......” Some research about the hundreds of jobs in London crying out for a particularly handsome Aussie accountant could have made all the difference. What didn’t help of course was the fact that at the time the internet was but a gleam in the eye of Tim Berners-Lee. Heck most people thought that computers were an interesting idea but couldn’t imagine a time when we would all have one on our desks.
Some good old internet research that we all take for granted would have come in handy in so many other ways. The accommodation search for example. The first place my wife and I stayed provided plenty of entertainment. It seems that the local West Indian gangs were in the middle of some sort of disagreement and the day after we arrived one of them was shot dead in the street. We moved from there pretty quick.
There were many great things about living in London:
Being able to fly to Rome or Paris for the weekend
Driving holidays around Europe and Ireland in the company car
Guinness in Ireland - It just tastes so much better there
The tulips that would magically appear in the local common every spring
Friday nights at the local pub for 6 or 7 pints followed by a curry next door (Saturday mornings not so good)
Kids grow up too fast. I have written about this before. Today provided further evidence that time is fleeting and our children are not children for long enough.
You see, number one princess stayed home alone for the first time today. Not all day mind you but long enough for it to be significant.
There are so many wonderful aspects to watching your children grow but sometimes I think it would be nice to keep them this age forever.
I did find it interesting how aware she was about the potential dangers of a young person being home alone. When I was her age I would not have given these things a second thought. There were the obvious things like no cooking or using sharp knives but she was more tuned in to not answering the phone or the door. I suppose with so many stories on the news these days involving children being abducted or worse this is a natural reaction for her. What a sad world we live in (I know, it’s not all sad but there is some sad stuff)
I may have mentioned before that I live in a female dominated environment (and wouldn’t want it any other way). I have a voluptuous wife, two delightful daughters, and much loved female dog and I teach at a girls school. I grew up in a very male dominated environment. No sisters and life revolved around football.
Well it appears that my transformation to a sensitive new age male is complete. On the weekend I only watched 10 minutes of the Rugby World Cup - but I watched 2 hours of “So You Think You Can Dance”. And what’s worse is that I new some of the dancers names and their preferred dancing style.
Oh dear - I think I had better go and have a beer and use some power tools.
You are the first one I talk to in the morning and the first to provide comfort after a hard day at work. Once your Italian temperament was tamed you fitted into the daily coaching schedule with ease.
It has been difficult of late to watch as you struggle to breath and strive to maintain your high standards of performance.
But time moves on and nothing is forever. I just can’t rely on you in pressure situations anymore. You will be missed but not forgotten.
1973, half past September. It’s Saturday morning and a 7 year old boy awakes to the possibilities of a new day. Breakfast is eaten, early morning cartoons are watched and old clothes put on. The Creek beckons.
The boy’s mother kisses him on the head, says “have fun” and watches from the kitchen window as he crosses the road to The Creek. Hector the Safety Cat has taught him well as he looks both ways before crossing.
The Creek meanders through the suburb of West Chermside and is the boy’s playground. It’s been the playground for local children for years. Each generation believes that they are the first to discover its mysteries, explorers of uncharted territory. It has a name now and probably had one then but it was unknown and unnecessary. It is waist deep in places and ankle deep in others and seems as wide as the Brisbane River.
The boy carries an assortment of buckets and containers, a home made fishing net on a stick and a small spade. His bare feet know the way along the well worn tracks through the waist high grass and lantana.
The morning drifts by with the flowing water. The boy’s bucket slowly fills with guppies and sword tails. There are penny turtles in The Creek but the boy has never been able to catch one. There are eels too but the boy is not sure he wants to catch one of those. A plan is hatched to build a dam across The Creek at a shallow place to help in the search for an elusive turtle. Dad’s help might be needed, he’s good at building stuff like that.
The boy’s stomach tells him it’s lunch time. He counts the fish in the bucket, pleased with his morning’s work. He sets off along the path back to the street and home. It’s a different path than the one taken earlier, everyone knows this is the “out track”.
Home and hungry, the boy strips off his muddy clothes. There is white skin in the shape of shorts and t-shirt, the rest is black with mud. He shivers as Dad turns on the hose. He is already thinking of the afternoon. A hill, a home made go-kart ....
You just have to give this a go. Simpsonize a photo. You need to take care that the photo is composed with plenty of contrast between the face and the background.
Here are the princesses after getting the Simpsons treatment.
Earlier this morning I was listening to a song called Afternoons and Coffeespoons by Crash Test Dummies. It’s a song about getting old and the advancement of time. The chorus goes like this:
Afternoons will be measured out
Measured out, measured with
Coffeespoons and T.S. Eliot
This got me thinking about how we mark the passage of time and particularly how this changes as we get older.
It is probably about the time children start school that they first become aware of time passing by. They of course don’t reflect on it the same way adults do but they do get interested in it. For young children the passing of time is in fact something to be excited about, something to look forward to. Princess number 2 is in grade 1. She has also just lost her second tooth. Monumentous occasions such as these are the marker stones in her young life. Princess number 1 is five years older. She therefore has five and a half years of school as a reference point against which to measure time. Thinking about the future, she has her eye on how long it is before she goes onto point shoes in ballet. Her year 7 leadership camp next year is a long way off and high school is something that will happen a long time in the future.
I don’t remember the exact point when the passing of time became an unwelcome side effect of a busy life. I no longer find myself thinking “I wish this next 6 months would be over” as I did at 16 with a driver’s license just around the corner. Time has become too precious for that sort of thinking. These days I am more likely to be worried about time passing by. There are bills and school fees to pay. There are grown up questions like do I have enough superannuation and is the house adequately insured.
It is being a parent that makes all of this worthwhile of course. This takes the focus off thinking about oneself. Time is measured in children’s birthday parties, the losing of teeth and school report cards. Soon it will be first dates, part time jobs and decisions about careers.
Perhaps one day I will measure the afternoons in coffeespoons. Not yet though, there is too much to do.
If you are interested here is the song Afternoons and Coffeespoons that got me thinking.
Anyone who would like to is welcome to have a go at this (I am supposed to list 5 bloggers but I like this cop out option better)
What were you doing ten years ago?
People would be very surprised where I was 10 years ago. Let me just say that I was about to change careers.
What were you doing 1 year ago?
About the same as I am doing now.
Five Snacks You Enjoy:
1. Tims Tams
2. chocolate
3. Jelly Tip Ice Block
4. My wife’s carrot and pineapple cake
5. Anything made by my Mum
Five Songs to Which You Know all the Lyrics:
1. Mercedes Benz by Janis Joplin
2. Half the songs of AC-DC
3. Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by Crash Test Dummies
4. The Vs. album by Pearl Jam
5. Lightening Crashes by Live
Five Things You Would Do If You Were a Millionaire:
1. Retire
2. Learn guitar
3. Pay for children’s education
4. Donate to charity
5. Pay off mortgage
Five Bad Habits:
1. Procrastination
2. Pessimism
3. Not finishing lists
4.
5.
Five things you like doing:
1. Reading
2. Listening to music
3. Watching movies
4. Mountain Bike Riding
5. Motorcycle riding
Five things you’ll never wear again:
1. A yellow plastic rain coat
2. A tie (I hope)
3. Football boots (unfortunately)
4. A motorcycle helmet (if my wife has her way)
5. A “kick me” sign on my back
Five favourite “toys”
1. Mountain Bike
2. Computer (s)
3. iPod
4. Coffee Machine
5. My mind
If you want to have a go at this leave a comment so I know to check it out and learn something about you.
Further to my Listen To a Child Read post of earlier this week, I thought I would share one of my favourite Banjo Patterson poems that my Dad used to read to me. I hope you enjoy it.
The Man From Ironbark
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber’s shop.
`’Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I’ll be a man of mark,
I’ll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark.’
The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash, he smoked a huge cigar:
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a `tote’, whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered `Here’s a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark.’
There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber’s wall,
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink, his dexter eyelid shut,
`I’ll make this bloomin’ yokel think his bloomin’ throat is cut.’
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
`I s’pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark.’
A grunt was all reply he got; he shaved the bushman’s chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim’s throat;
Upon the newly shaven skin it made a livid mark --
No doubt it fairly took him in—the man from Ironbark.
He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd’rous foe:
`You’ve done for me! you dog, I’m beat! one hit before I go!
I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
But you’ll remember all your life, the man from Ironbark.’
He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber’s jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with tooth and nail, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And `Murder! Bloody Murder!’ yelled the man from Ironbark.
A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said, `’Twas all in fun --
‘Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone.’
`A joke!’ he cried, `By George, that’s fine; a lively sort of lark;
I’d like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark.’
And now while round the shearing floor the list’ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o’er and o’er, and brags of his escape.
`Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I’ve had enough,
One tried to cut my bloomin’ throat, but thank the Lord it’s tough.’
And whether he’s believed or no, there’s one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.
For me, one of the simple pleasures in life is listening to a child read. Princess number 2 started school this year which has enabled me to be part of the learning to read experience all over again. Watching a child develop this skill that many of us take for granted is a priceless experience. Each new word that is added to the reading vocabulary is a mini triumph, a discovery to be savoured. It reminds me that children have a natural tendency to learn and that we must nurture this at all costs.
Both my daughters love to read and their reading age is well above their actual age. People often ask how we achieved this. We must have tutored them from a young age is sometimes the suggested reason for their reading ability. The truth is that we have always read to them, right from birth. As each of them has started school, reading to them has become reading with them. I think this is something that has been passed down from my parents. I have vivid memories of my Father reading Banjo Patterson poetry to my brother and I when we were young.
If you get the opportunity to read with a child and it is not something you are accustomed to doing I highly recommend it.
I have always wanted a back yard shed. There is something inherently masculine about the shed. A place of refuge from the fast pace of everyday life. Somewhere to go to cut things up and put holes in things. A place to build something. A place to hang shiny tools on pegboard with tool outline shapes to show where things go. A place to shed blood and sweat in the quest for the perfect dovetail joint. A place to strip a motor and then forget where all the pieces go. Of course with my lack of skills it could also be a place to lose a finger or two in an attempt to master the drop saw but we won’t dwell on that.
My shed would be an out of bounds area. The fact that I don’t know how to build things or cut straight lines with a hand saw would be hidden from the world. Half finished projects would be safe from prying and judgmental eyes. There would be no other secrets here but these.
In the Utopian parallel universe where money concerns do not exist the shed is quite large. There is room for a large screen TV, a comfortable chair or two and a bar fridge. When you visit the shed dear reader you come empty handed. There is always a full beer fridge.
There is also space for the motorcycles. Did I mention there will be motorcycles? Probably three or four. A couple of road bikes and a couple of dirt bikes. These will be ridden on days when there is no football to watch in the shed and I feel no need to tinker with power tools. This assumes of course that I have not removed the appendages required to ride motorcycles with said power tools.
The shed will be the place where potential suitors for my daughters will be interviewed prior to being sent on their first date. There will need to be various items of terror contained within the walls of the shed to ensure the safe return of my princesses. Perhaps a vicious dog or two, shotguns are of course illegal in Australian sheds.
Will I ever have the backyard shed? Probably not. Other things have priority now and other things will come along to take their place. That’s OK, it’s nice to dream.
As human beings we are constantly learning things. I love the process of learning and I am always trying to understand this process to make me a better learner and a better teacher.
Here are some of the things I have learned this week:
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Today, 25 April, is ANZAC day. We pause to remember those who have given their lives in all wars.
Who is the Coach? - Self styled life coach to the masses; part time ballet critic; full time sports critic; nude twister umpire; unemployed still life model; "trust me, I'm on the internet"
A more serious look at who I am can be found on the About page.
