Kholo creek

above Kholo creek
a pink mountain, pink grassy heads swaying gently against the setting sun.

beside Kholo creek
an imprint of her hand in the cold, wet clay.

lost in the night
three childhoods, his parents’ pride, & little sister’s fierce love.

MVP communication

I have recently encountered the phrase: minimum viable product and its acronym: MVP. For me the phrase connotes a certain ‘hastily thrown together in a dark room by people who know little and care less’  quality. There is a more benign interpretation, but my first impression is much more fun, and I thought I’d apply it to communication, and then consider other applications. Continue reading

little update

so i’ve been very busy at work with start of new Semester. Saturdays and a few evenings teaching. All the new students to learn the intricacies of information retrieval, evaluation and use..exciting and exhausting.

And my own studies woefully behind but caught up in a binge this weekend!

Still have the 90 minute each way commute too but – ‘oh sweet, you can study on the train!’ isn’t quite cutting it, I miss writing a little poem, so absorbing to express a poignant moment in very few syllables like a little meditation every morning. sigh,

and now my daughter’s cat is staying while my daughter is between houses, a lovely lovely cat, it’s not his personality that sets my nose and eyes running and he does love a little cuddle, poor boy, poor me too!

And the rescue dog wees in the hall if we leave her in at night and barks at the possums when we lock her out so other daughters are tramping down the hall at midnight to take her out on the grass across the creaky boards,

and i got a job interview 2 weeks ago that they postponed it and I have not heard when the interview might now take place and am feeling a bit up and down and flat about it now when I was just so excited before.

and everyone but me is sick with a cold and they have been home in bed while i am at work and even though i love my job i can’t help feeling a little jealous, well, i am only human after all. I used to believe that thinking like that could give me cancer, but i’ve changed my mind, unless i get cancer in which case i may have to sue my brain.

and now i have to go make dinner because everyone else is sick but i am going to fill the dinner with lots of vegetables as I am pretty much the only one who eats them,not just tosses them around the plate into little piles which is probably the REAL reason i hardly ever get sick. That will teach them!

but, at least i feel a whole lot better about everything now for writing this little bit of nonsense and getting it off my chest 🙂

 

 

 

My other gran

Mim was my other gran. Dad’s mum. Tiny in height but not girth, she had many names, but not Gran or Nanna or Nanny! No way. She was Mim or Mimi (pronounced ‘me-me’, something folk on my mother’s side occasionally noted). Doll to her friends, sometimes, I suspect Dolly, and christened Dorothy.

Mim was naturally fun, bubbly, a personality.

Mim took  Heidi and Robert and me fishing on the harbour and once fought off a feral goat that nearly butted me off the pier. A tangle of goat, fishing line and Mim heaving on the decrepit wooden pier, 3 foot above the shark infested waters, ‘the very spot’ she used to tell us ‘where an actress taking part in a shark documentary was snatched during filming and never seen again.’ The truth was of course slightly less interesting, but her story added a satisfying amount of terror to the scene.

It was Mim who taught me to lie on my back in the surf, feet facing the waves and watch surf and sky roll gently overhead.

Mim was married to Pop, a rather stern character. She once confessed that she married him by proxy, never thinking he would survive the war. I believe this was at least partly true.

When Mim was widowed, she kicked up her heels a bit. Driving around in Pop’s enormous mint condition gold Holden Statesman sedan was a bit much, but Pop had refused to part with it. Well, one day Mim spotted a brand new red Barina (a real cutie!) in a service station. She walked in to the station and asked who owned it. A young man nervously replied that he did. And so she offered him a swap. He accepted. That’s the type of woman she was.

Sadly, she wasn’t the type to take too much notice of silly doctors and she ended up suffered a series of debilitating strokes, being invalided for an age, before passing away.

They might say she’s resting in peace, but I don’t think she’s wasting any time lying about. That hyperactive, fun-loving extrovert, my crazy old Mim is out there somewhere telling tall tales, sharing a laugh, catching a fish, maybe even having a beer with some mates. I can even hear the clink of the glasses and her laugh right now. ❤