Local Places of Learning

I keep six honest serving-men

(They taught me all I knew);

Their names are What and Why and When

And How and Where and Who.

I send them over land and sea,

I send them east and west;

But after they have worked for me,

I give them all a rest.
 I let them rest from nine till five,

For I am busy then,

As well as breakfast, lunch and tea

For they are hungry men.

But different folk have different views.

I know a person small –

She keeps ten million serving-men,

Who get no rest at all!
She sends ‘em abroad on her own affairs,

From the second she opens her eyes –

One million Hows, two million Wheres

And seven million Whys!

***

We called in on the National Library of Australia (NLA) on the weekend to see the new exhibition, Handwritten Ten centuries of Manuscript Treasures from Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin and the permanent exhibition featuring Treasures from the library's own collection.  Both were excellent, but a bit of trial to enjoy thoroughly with three children in tow who were more eager to get to Questacon next door.  Congrats to the NLA for the online booking system too.  It worked a treat.

When finally we made it to Questacon, we marvelled at the new exhibition space called QLab.  It features a laboratory with microscopes and other hands-on activities which really get to the pointy end of science.  Very exciting.  But the good old sideshow exhibition with its simulated roller-coaster ride is still hard to beat for my superficial lot.

Both these national cultural institutions have significantly improved their interface with the public over the past year or so, and we are very grateful beneficiaries.   The landscaping around these national institutions has also undergone a transformation, so if you need a place to gather for a BBQ / picnic / rest on a lake walk, we heartily recommend the space between the NLA and Questacon.  With bonus grassy knolls for rolling down.

Poem: from The Elephant’s Child, Rudyard Kipling (1902)

Cinderella

We feasted on ballet yesterday.  It all began with a magical matinee performance of Cinderella by the West Australian Ballet Company.  It was my littlest ballerina's first-ever viewing of a professional ballet and she thought it was terrific despite the fact that interpreting the mime was a bit challenging at times.  "Are they going to speak?", she asked.

Japanese dancer Anna Ishii played the lead. But the two comic step-sisters really stole the show. There was no misinterpreting their expressions, gestures and characterisation.  A very clever, modern depiction of these traditional roles. The 1920's inspired costumes were also refreshingly different.

Here's what the company has to say about the production:

Choreographer Jayne Smeulders spins a tale of magic and delight in her first full-length choreography for the Company, whilst Allan Lees, designer of the spectacular 2010 production of Don Quixote, has created sumptuous new costumes and a beautifully restored and re-imagined set for this family ballet classic performed to Sergei Prokofiev’s evocative score.

Later that night, our budding Dame Margot participated in the National Capital Ballet School's end of year show which had the theme "Romanticism".  It was a thrilling experience for her and a credit to the teachers and management.  We were completely blown away by the talented young people, the magnificent costumes and clever sets.  Our little preparatory dance class performed a piece based on a Madeline-inspired group of children visiting an art gallery on a school excursion.  Cuteness abounded. The audience sighed. We applauded loudly.  Bravo.  Encore!

#aubama

Lincoln

~ Vachel Lindsay

Would I might rouse the Lincoln in you all,
That which is gendered in the wilderness
From lonely prairies and God’s tenderness.
Imperial soul, star of a weedy stream,
Born where the ghosts of buffaloes still dream,
Whose spirit hoof-beats storm above his grave,
Above that breast of earth and prairie-fire—
Fire that freed the slave.

***

Well, what a blast. President Obama on a whirlwind visit to Canberra. Since 3.30pm yesterday we've been transfixed with the unfolding narrative. It's been non-stop entertainment with Air Force One and the Beast, choppers and F-18 hornets overhead, high rhetoric and corny gags in Parliament House.  (We'll be looking out for the introduction of 'ear-bashing' into the vernacular in Washington.)

Speculation was rife, starting with conversations in the sandpit on the school oval and reaching fever pitch in the corridors late yesterday, that #aubama would visit our school but it was not to be.  He called on Campbell High School instead, dash it.  But I'm so glad it was a public school warts 'n all.  You've got to admit that BO is mighty charismatic.  We've been swooning all day in the office following twitter feeds and ABC news. Tragic isn't it! And now he's gone, it's all a bit flat.  Imagine if the First Lady had accompanied him.  We'd have been completely starstruck ;)

Still, he dedicated a white oak tree planted in grounds of the American Embassy so there's evidence it was not a mirage, and here's what he wrote in the visitor's book at Parliament House. 

"To the People of Australia, with whom we have stood together for a century of progress and sacrifice. On this 60th anniversary of our alliance, we resolve that our bonds will never be broken and our friendship will last for all time. Barack Obama." 

Poem: From General William Booth Enters into Heaven and Other Poems | 1913

Creative Collections

Pied Things

~ Gerald Manly Hopkins

Glory be, glory be, glory be to God for dappled things
Glory be, glory be, glory be to God for dappled things —
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Glory be, glory be, glory be to God for dappled things

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced — fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
And all things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

*** Little Miss M. is practicing styling on her dresser complete with rocks or rather a pile of builders' rubble amidst the girly trinkets.  She's quite a bower bird and makes shrines out of her found objects. But I don't know how she managed to smuggle this lot of rocks in.  I'll regularly find wrappers, pebbles, sticks, flowers and Shrinky Dinks* in her pockets and at the bottom of her school bag.. and then have to discreetly dispose of items.  Unless she catches me, then all hell breaks loose.

Right now she's making Beados** so that will be more creative material to add the installation art.

* Trade name of a children's craft kit which appears to involve drawing etched designs on lethally sharp pieces of a material designed by NASA.   Usually the by-product of After-School Hours Care or Holiday Programs.

** Tradename of a children's craft kit which involves the decorative placement of tiny coloured balls which adhere to each other when wet.  Falls apart easily and stray balls can be found for months later in strange places. 

Both need to be recalled in the interests of parental sanity... along with the dreaded Hama Beads.

Painted Nymphs

Haste Thee, Nymph
~ John Milton

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

Jest, and youthful Jollity,

Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,

Nods and becks and wreathed smiles

Such as hang on Hebe’s cheek,

And love to live in dimple sleek;

Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

And Laughter holding both his sides.

Come, and trip it, as you go,

On the light fantastic toe;

And in thy right hand lead with thee

The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;

And, if I give thee honour due,

Mirth, admit me of thy crew,

To live with her, and live with thee,

In unreproved pleasures free ...

***

We are gearing up for the end of year ballet performance with lots of rehearsals on the next few weekends. Unlike Charly's short-lived ballet career (and my own), this time we have stuck it out for a full year.  The show this time is a bigger affair too with paid seating in a proper theatre and costumes with make-up.  I'm not so sure about the need for foundation and mascara for girls under ten -- even for performances and under stage lighting.  I queried the necessity of this (not to mention the accompanying $30 price tag) with the Ballet Administration and the clerk looked at me like I was deranged.  Perhaps I am.  But honestly, we propel children towards adulthood so early, and we are a long way from signing on to a professional dance career at this stage.  Why not keep it fun and light-hearted?  We will no doubt bow to peer pressure and end up pirouetting in with a little face fully painted. 

Ro-Ro is also having group dance classes at school.  A source of much wincing and cringing when it comes to the partner dances.  The thought of make-up would be too much for him to bear.   Charly would also look like a doll in a horror movie wearing make-up.   It doesn't match her tomboy personality and wardrobe of shorts and leggings (worn together). 

So glad it's the weekend. I can even see beyond swimming lessons tonight and the bucket loads of laundry -- a gallery visit and a bike ride perhaps?  Walk 'round the lake? A few episodes of Glee Season 2?  Very excited about President Obama and Princess Mary of Denmark coming to town this month.   Mary is off to the National Arboretum I see.  Must put that on the agenda too. 

Oops.  Must dash.  As Charly would say, "Out".

  

Soft boiled googie eggs

The Man from Ironbark

~ Andrew Barton "Banjo' Paterson (1864-1941).

Poet, ballad writer, journalist and horseman.

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.

***

Marvellous eggs from the backyard chooks of my friend J.  We lopped their humpty-dumpty heads off and enjoyed the brilliant, sun-orange yolks; looking and tasting unlike any supermarket googie.

I've noticed that chooks are the new 'trampoline' for backyards in Canberrra (as in, a popular feature).  A decade ago it was pergolas.  Now every-one is getting a chicken coop.

Nigel Featherstone, a Goulburn-based author, columnist in The Canberra Times and blogger, recounted having heard them described as 'just like having an open fire in the backyard' - as mesmerising to watch - which I thought was beaut.  The SSO, however, does not agree and our clipped garden would not lend itself to having hens scratch up the lawn.  So it looks like we'll be sticking with the trampoline and badminton set.

No Hens Allowed.