The Frog Chorus
Yesterday I had my favourite kind of evening, sitting by the fire replacing the zip in Felix's leather jacket, musing and wondering how we have such a frog chorus when we are on salt water. Are there salt water frogs?
So much else to muse about - I ordered the Journals of Captain Cook on Amazon after starting on Cissy's pile of books for her dissertation. Exactly the kind of magical source material that opens worlds - and about time too, considering I was brought up on the shores of Botany Bay, and born near enough to Whitby. It echoes discovering that my father's father mined iron in Eston which went to build Sydney Harbour Bridge.
I spent my lost Wednesday reading commentary on the Dark Lady on the internet. It was not inspired; it tiptoed where I felt Wullie got what he asked for. I need to find a less reverend exegesis. I have also been haunted by the review I read some fifteen years ago, on a book about a young Scottish fishwife who famously insulted the duchess of Argyll (?), and who described her own sanity breaking "as irrevokeably as a butter dish" on hearing of the death of her brother at sea. I have Googled to no avail.
I am the perfect person for confinement, I love all the worlds inside my head. Maybe if I end up with the ga-ga I will be perfectly content - as long as I have Broadband. Paddy mentioned something similar. I was trying to persuade her to blog, but she says she would never write anything else if she did. It is a sore loss.
And my mum rang and emailed with some provocative thoughts and quotes prompted by my last blog. "Too personal to post", she said. It is not as though we are divining through our entrails though, is it? But where I find freedom and a frisson of risk in whispering to the reeds others seem to find - other things.
Rambling is a lot of the point. If I could tie any conclusions up in a bow I would have tried for a doctorate, but I fell out of tune with the question which called to me in my student days, " what makes us human?" Instead I fell hopelessly in love with qualities and essences which unite us above and below.
So much else to muse about - I ordered the Journals of Captain Cook on Amazon after starting on Cissy's pile of books for her dissertation. Exactly the kind of magical source material that opens worlds - and about time too, considering I was brought up on the shores of Botany Bay, and born near enough to Whitby. It echoes discovering that my father's father mined iron in Eston which went to build Sydney Harbour Bridge.
I spent my lost Wednesday reading commentary on the Dark Lady on the internet. It was not inspired; it tiptoed where I felt Wullie got what he asked for. I need to find a less reverend exegesis. I have also been haunted by the review I read some fifteen years ago, on a book about a young Scottish fishwife who famously insulted the duchess of Argyll (?), and who described her own sanity breaking "as irrevokeably as a butter dish" on hearing of the death of her brother at sea. I have Googled to no avail.
I am the perfect person for confinement, I love all the worlds inside my head. Maybe if I end up with the ga-ga I will be perfectly content - as long as I have Broadband. Paddy mentioned something similar. I was trying to persuade her to blog, but she says she would never write anything else if she did. It is a sore loss.
And my mum rang and emailed with some provocative thoughts and quotes prompted by my last blog. "Too personal to post", she said. It is not as though we are divining through our entrails though, is it? But where I find freedom and a frisson of risk in whispering to the reeds others seem to find - other things.
Rambling is a lot of the point. If I could tie any conclusions up in a bow I would have tried for a doctorate, but I fell out of tune with the question which called to me in my student days, " what makes us human?" Instead I fell hopelessly in love with qualities and essences which unite us above and below.
posted by Tricia Rose at 10:48 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home