It's a beautiful Friday afternoon, bright blue sky, strong sun, and I'm here in the library. This library has an entire wall of huge north-facing windows, it's astonishing how much of a difference sunshine can make to one's mood.
I have just waved goodbye to my lovely librarian friend, he must have been given the afternoon off as he usually leaves at 6. Earlier this afternoon he joined me with his cup of tea during his break and we chatted quite loudly in the "Quiet Study Area." That's about as naughty as I ever get.
Something remarkable has just occurred. A young woman walked into the library, and I know her, well...I don't really know know her...but there's a story.
This young woman walks down the street where I live every so often, and every so often I notice her and admire her from afar. She must be in her early twenties, pale pale skin, dark red long and straight hair, and perfect posture. She wears wonderfully inventive clothes, items that look like they might have been found in an op-shop and each one with a perfect quirky twist. In the height of summer I have seen her holding a small parasol. She lost her tortoiseshell cat a year or two ago and she asked me if I'd seen her. I told her that I love her style (doing that, as we all know, is called "blackbirding") and she thanked me. The way she spoke matched the way she looked, quiet, fascinating, confident, peaceful.
The woman sitting at the desk near me is sharing the one electrical outlet with me. Every hour or so we swap our laptop plugs around...it's like we are plugging into the Muse...taking turns listening to her whispers. When I said that to the woman she looked at me strangely. Oh well. I know that you understand.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Muse invited to tea
We invited her over
For afternoon tea,
The invitation was signed by
R, A, E, J, K and me.
We wrote:
"Please darling sister
Do walk through the door,
Please sit at the table
And tell us some more.
For last time you did visit
You told quite a tale
About women and men
And some artwork for sale.
Your tale had arrivals
From faraway lands,
And a quite dizzy spell
And two strongly held hands.
Your tale had a castle
Which pierced the blue sky
With that most joyful laughter
Of earthlings trying to fly.
Now invited once more
To our small kitchen table,
Please sip tea and begin
For us a happy new fable."
She answered:
"Please my sweet darlings,
Neither wonder nor fret,
For united you make
A quite wondrous sextet.
Share your woes with each other,
Tell each other your rhymes,
And I promise you'll greet
Many more fruitful times.
You may think that you need me
But truth is -I need you
For your tea does me good
On the days I feel blue."
For afternoon tea,
The invitation was signed by
R, A, E, J, K and me.
We wrote:
"Please darling sister
Do walk through the door,
Please sit at the table
And tell us some more.
For last time you did visit
You told quite a tale
About women and men
And some artwork for sale.
Your tale had arrivals
From faraway lands,
And a quite dizzy spell
And two strongly held hands.
Your tale had a castle
Which pierced the blue sky
With that most joyful laughter
Of earthlings trying to fly.
Now invited once more
To our small kitchen table,
Please sip tea and begin
For us a happy new fable."
She answered:
"Please my sweet darlings,
Neither wonder nor fret,
For united you make
A quite wondrous sextet.
Share your woes with each other,
Tell each other your rhymes,
And I promise you'll greet
Many more fruitful times.
You may think that you need me
But truth is -I need you
For your tea does me good
On the days I feel blue."
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Just show up
Callie Khouri (writer of the screenplay "Thelma and Louise") was asked in an interview here what was her one piece of advice to give beginning scriptwriters. She said "Just show up for the Muse."
I think that's good advice for bloggers as well, because sometimes you just don't really feel like posting anything...and yet....you have a nagging suspicion that you really should. Maybe you DO have something to say, but you just won't know it until you're sitting down in front of that blank "new post" page?
It's also good advice for anybody undertaking a new exercise routine, especially me. I've been meaning to start training for the upcoming Eurolush Challenge and yet here I sit, refusing to show up for the Muse. Meanwhile, I have a nagging suspicion that Ms. Muse has flitted off to a little village in Germany where she's trying on some popping lipglosses and snacking on some fine baked goods.
Generally, showing up for my Muse means getting out of the house. You'd think I would have learned that by now, yet I still thought that I'd be able to order a house-call today and not have to brush my hair or put on shoes. Bad bad idea Eleanor. Tomorrow, I'm hauling my ass back onto the jogging track and then straight into that library.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tuesday
How do you like my original post titles these days? Creative genius I am.
Last night I attended a screening of a film (well, really 4 short films) produced by both AFTRS and NIDA students. It's the first time they have collaborated in this way, so there was a great buzz in the air. There were also many many young, beautiful actors and actresses in the audience. They were obviously all NIDA students and I just could not stop staring at them. I kept marvelling at how attractive they all were, and they had this aura of confidence and joy which was infectious. Actors need to have charisma, I had forgotten that.
I was introduced to the producer of "Starstruck" and I found myself gushing quite a bit about how much I loved it when I was a teenager. We talked about how cool it would be to re-market it to women who are now in their 40s and look back on it with nostalgia. I posted a song clip from it a while back and I remember a few of you remembered it too. What do you think? Which do you reckon came first - Jackie from Starstruck or Cindy Lauper?
Here's the original trailer for your enjoyment:
Last night I attended a screening of a film (well, really 4 short films) produced by both AFTRS and NIDA students. It's the first time they have collaborated in this way, so there was a great buzz in the air. There were also many many young, beautiful actors and actresses in the audience. They were obviously all NIDA students and I just could not stop staring at them. I kept marvelling at how attractive they all were, and they had this aura of confidence and joy which was infectious. Actors need to have charisma, I had forgotten that.
I was introduced to the producer of "Starstruck" and I found myself gushing quite a bit about how much I loved it when I was a teenager. We talked about how cool it would be to re-market it to women who are now in their 40s and look back on it with nostalgia. I posted a song clip from it a while back and I remember a few of you remembered it too. What do you think? Which do you reckon came first - Jackie from Starstruck or Cindy Lauper?
Here's the original trailer for your enjoyment:
Monday, October 26, 2009
Monday
I've been thinking about those horror films I've been watching, Sooz's comment is spot on - a lot of them are crap, but when they're good (like Alien or Jaws or Silence of the Lambs) they're just so so good. The premise of the first "Saw" film is that the antagonist (aka baddie) has terminal cancer and sees all the healthy people around him who are wasting their healthy lives. He threatens these people with death, and thereby makes them realise how much they really want to live, and how wonderful it is to be alive.
If you can possibly remember that the bit where the doctor saws through his ankle is all plastic and ketchup make-believe, then you really have a very compelling film. I'm still a beginner so Mr. CB has been instructed to pinch me every few minutes and remind me that it's all make-believe.
Now that's another thing - isn't it amazing that film can be such a powerful medium that we can watch actors pretending to be hurt and we feel absolute revulsion and horror to the point of not being able to distinguish reality from fiction?
My friend Sarah, during the last days of her rather awful illness, was reading this book. I was at first shocked at her choice of reading material, I was still a ridiculous romantic in those days who believed that a very pretty piece of poetry might be the sort of recommended reading material for someone nearing death. But now it makes such perfect sense. Fictional worlds of death and dismemberment go a long way to take our mind off the TRULY horrific fact - that when we die there is just nothing, no "me" any more. Much more fun to think of blood, guts and mysterious clues.
A few months ago I heard an interview on the radio with Dorothy Porter. It was repeated from the previous year, when she had been feeling well enough to talk. She mentioned that what gets her through her bad days, those endless days in the hospital and in her bed at home, is reading Agatha Christie. She said that when things really got bad, nothing but Agatha Christie would do! It made perfect sense to me - the plotted murders, the poisons, the cunning animosity, the striving for justice. That's just what makes you feel better about everything.
So I'm now shedding one more prejudice, one more cliche, and I am embracing the horror and celebrating a creative life which need not be hemmed in by lovely rhymes, romantic embraces and soft-lit sunsets.
For who knows what tomorrow may bring.
If you can possibly remember that the bit where the doctor saws through his ankle is all plastic and ketchup make-believe, then you really have a very compelling film. I'm still a beginner so Mr. CB has been instructed to pinch me every few minutes and remind me that it's all make-believe.
Now that's another thing - isn't it amazing that film can be such a powerful medium that we can watch actors pretending to be hurt and we feel absolute revulsion and horror to the point of not being able to distinguish reality from fiction?
My friend Sarah, during the last days of her rather awful illness, was reading this book. I was at first shocked at her choice of reading material, I was still a ridiculous romantic in those days who believed that a very pretty piece of poetry might be the sort of recommended reading material for someone nearing death. But now it makes such perfect sense. Fictional worlds of death and dismemberment go a long way to take our mind off the TRULY horrific fact - that when we die there is just nothing, no "me" any more. Much more fun to think of blood, guts and mysterious clues.
A few months ago I heard an interview on the radio with Dorothy Porter. It was repeated from the previous year, when she had been feeling well enough to talk. She mentioned that what gets her through her bad days, those endless days in the hospital and in her bed at home, is reading Agatha Christie. She said that when things really got bad, nothing but Agatha Christie would do! It made perfect sense to me - the plotted murders, the poisons, the cunning animosity, the striving for justice. That's just what makes you feel better about everything.
So I'm now shedding one more prejudice, one more cliche, and I am embracing the horror and celebrating a creative life which need not be hemmed in by lovely rhymes, romantic embraces and soft-lit sunsets.
For who knows what tomorrow may bring.
Weekend
I thought this photo might amuse you. Blue and I had a walk in the rain on Sunday:
Some other things I did on the weekend:
Watched the first "Saw" movie on DVD and learned that it was written by a couple of Aussies.
Watched "The Final Destination: Death Trip" in 3D at my local cinema. I can safely say that I am not the target audience for this film.
Watched "An Education" and thought to myself that my blogging friends would LOVE this film. A great film and I highly recommend it!
Had an Indian dinner here.
Not a bad weekend at all really, although somewhat confusing.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Party on Miss Commentbox!
My last semester of University was Miss Commentbox’s first trimester in my womb. I had a Shakespeare lecture at 9am twice a week, and the friend I sat next to asked me why I suddenly started nibbling on crackers during the lecture. I didn’t want to tell anyone about Miss Commentbox, she was our wonderful little secret at that point, so I didn’t tell my friend that it was because of morning sickness. I’ve kept my Shakespeare notes from that semester because I doodled Miss Commentbox’s name on the margins, there were a few other names as well of course....but her name was the one I doodled the most.
My graduation ceremony was held outside on a very bright and sunny day. It was very hot sitting there in my black gown. I was looking straight ahead and concentrating on the speeches when the girl sitting to my left nudged me and passed me a small can of apple juice, saying “Pass this to Eleanor.” My mother had crawled up to my row and asked the person sitting on the aisle to pass the juice to Eleanor. The girl to my left watched me drink the juice, nodding understandingly and whispering “Diabetic?” I just nodded.
For Miss Commentbox’s last trimester we moved to a new apartment where I spent a lot of time curled up in an armchair, reading about pregnancy and parenthood. Looking back, I’m amazed that I actually thought I could study for motherhood. I clearly remember telling a friend that I couldn’t understand why parents complain about sleepless nights, I had pulled many an all-nighter studying for exams, it would a pleasure to stay up all night with a BABY for goodness’ sake.
O the innocence.
Miss Commentbox was born exactly on her due date, very clever of her. Would you believe me if I told you that she was born with LONG hair? Well, she was. I woke up in the hospital a few hours after her birth, couldn’t see her anywhere, so I heaved my sore little self out of bed and down the corridor to the nursery where she was having a check-up and HER HAIR DONE. The nurses all gathered around me eager to tell me how much fun they had styling her hair. They had brushed her long, dark locks up onto the centre of her head where the curls sat at attention as if they had been gelled.
Today is Miss Commentbox's 18th birthday. EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD. Dear friends, I need to share this day with you. I need to tell you that I still cannot get over the fact that the tiny baby we dreamed of is now a walking, talking real-life young woman. Dreams do come true. So party on Miss Commentbox. Party on!!!!!
My graduation ceremony was held outside on a very bright and sunny day. It was very hot sitting there in my black gown. I was looking straight ahead and concentrating on the speeches when the girl sitting to my left nudged me and passed me a small can of apple juice, saying “Pass this to Eleanor.” My mother had crawled up to my row and asked the person sitting on the aisle to pass the juice to Eleanor. The girl to my left watched me drink the juice, nodding understandingly and whispering “Diabetic?” I just nodded.
For Miss Commentbox’s last trimester we moved to a new apartment where I spent a lot of time curled up in an armchair, reading about pregnancy and parenthood. Looking back, I’m amazed that I actually thought I could study for motherhood. I clearly remember telling a friend that I couldn’t understand why parents complain about sleepless nights, I had pulled many an all-nighter studying for exams, it would a pleasure to stay up all night with a BABY for goodness’ sake.
O the innocence.
Miss Commentbox was born exactly on her due date, very clever of her. Would you believe me if I told you that she was born with LONG hair? Well, she was. I woke up in the hospital a few hours after her birth, couldn’t see her anywhere, so I heaved my sore little self out of bed and down the corridor to the nursery where she was having a check-up and HER HAIR DONE. The nurses all gathered around me eager to tell me how much fun they had styling her hair. They had brushed her long, dark locks up onto the centre of her head where the curls sat at attention as if they had been gelled.
Today is Miss Commentbox's 18th birthday. EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD. Dear friends, I need to share this day with you. I need to tell you that I still cannot get over the fact that the tiny baby we dreamed of is now a walking, talking real-life young woman. Dreams do come true. So party on Miss Commentbox. Party on!!!!!
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