tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34762666844507493342024-03-06T15:32:33.981+13:00Discovering DuckyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-43031414291342563702014-06-10T10:47:00.000+12:002014-06-10T10:48:49.325+12:00People and AnimalsI keep being told that people aren't animals. But sometimes I wish they were. Then they'd be easier to love.<br />
<br />
You see, for me, when a dog or a cat comes in the room, there's this part of me that immediately opens up and longs to embrace it. I accept it in spite of all its breed faults, hair-shedding and tendencies to scratch you when you're trying to give it a cuddle. Anytime I'm bitten or growled at, I brush it off and say it must've been my fault and that I had it coming to me.<br />
<br />
But if a person were to do this to me, I wouldn't love it half so much, no matter what the Bible says. I keep praying that God will open my eyes and teach me to love unconditionally. But it's not working.<br />
<br />
That is, until perhaps, today.<br />
<br />
I was reading "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller. He's more of a cynic than me which wasn't working at the start, but now, I think we have more of an understanding. I sit through his elaborate analogies of why church sucks and how twisted Christianity has become because I realize that part of me thinks that too. And his world didn't cave in despite still believing in God. And so mine shouldn't either.<br />
<br />
Today, I finished the chapter on Love. Miller writes about how he heard someone talking about analogies and how analogies change our perception of things. Like when we talk about relationships, we tend to use words like "value", "worth" and "bankrupt". Economic terms, in short. And that makes us think that love is a commodity that needs to spent lavishly in some areas and scrupulously in others. Perhaps even stingily. We use love like we use money. And the last time I saw, most of us aren't using money too wisely either. So our world is kind of messed up.<br />
<br />
To be honest, I still think that if everyone was a dog, I'd still love them easier than if I started not thinking about love as a commodity. But what I did learn today was that others are struggling with this concept of "unconditional love". And that while it is insane, it isn't impossible.<br />
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Miller goes on to say that when he realized how much of a warped idea he had about love, his heart suddenly opened and he flipped that switch. It may sound like something that puts more pressure on you, when you realize just how unloving you are, but for him, he talks about it as a very liberating thing. For once, he didn't have to pretend to like people, and that, I can imagine, was a big load of his shoulders. Do you know how hard it is to pretend to like someone? Or, even if you're just the honest kind, to have people you straight out don't like? I'd rather just like them for real.<br />
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Time to put that in practice.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-2731481910175404092014-03-18T11:57:00.000+13:002014-03-18T11:57:38.132+13:00The Christian HugYup, it's a two-post day. But since this has been rattling around in my head for awhile, I probably shouldn't wait any longer to get this down.<br />
<br />
I first heard the term "Christian hug" a couple of weeks ago. It was uttered by a non-Christian friend who, when persuaded to elaborate, described it as a cautious sideways hug with minimal contact. Meanwhile, I sat quietly horrified...horrified because he was right.<br />
<br />
That is indeed the "Christian hug" and I have even heard pastors talk about how they have perfected it. It is a hug that is directed particularly towards those of the opposite sex, designed so that it cannot be mistaken for anything more than cool friendliness. When I talked to Chad about this later, I burst out in frustration, "But we Christians should be known for giving the biggest and best hugs!" How ever did we get associated with a lame excuse for an exhibition of love?<br />
<br />
And yet, I think I know exactly how:<br />
<i>"Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body." - 1 Corinthians 6:18
</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I understand this. I understand that a lot of people cannot handle certain images, people, circumstances - whatever it is - without an improper thought whisking by and lodging in their brains. To be fair, this is probably most of us. And so we <i>flee</i>, and this takes the form of a lifetime of Christian hugs.<br />
<br />
The problem is that I can't see Jesus doing this. If he had, I don't think we would have stories about him associating with prostitutes. The other problem I have with this is that in that case, a person's "purity" is based on a foundation that is not very stable to begin with. It is like saying to an obese person with a food addiction that they should never look at chocolate again. And as studies have shown, physical contact is nourishment to the soul as much as food is nourishment to the body.<br />
<br />
A person can claim to be pure by consciously avoiding all traps that will lead them astray, but the moment something remotely smacking of something "forbidden" flies by, the person's thoughts will most likely take a drastic trip and fall. And this is what we see consistently. Christians are no less susceptible to divorce and sexual immorality than anyone else. Our "immunity" so-to-speak, has been closeted, rather than built up.<br />
<br />
I am no expert in how to get this immunity built up, but I firmly do believe that Christian hugs are not the way to go. Maybe at the start, but we shouldn't remain there.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6LJtsMtcLLIKnPiYTILKZ6Vc60Qfh8MEOfzjf9Tk8oud5_SODLkdm3NZMfQUEVpRoqWgxgpZ4a1l9WDymct48JPtwxCW5MpPzz-HRBNj8Rs_R3YuBFJQFh50jDPcq5IhV6s5rRX3UEaz/s1600/1780820_10151853406076706_249266644_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6LJtsMtcLLIKnPiYTILKZ6Vc60Qfh8MEOfzjf9Tk8oud5_SODLkdm3NZMfQUEVpRoqWgxgpZ4a1l9WDymct48JPtwxCW5MpPzz-HRBNj8Rs_R3YuBFJQFh50jDPcq5IhV6s5rRX3UEaz/s1600/1780820_10151853406076706_249266644_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this picture. It is the picture of a friend and I playing in a puddle we found. And although my conscience is clear and I have no qualms about showing this picture to Chad, I'm loathe to share this with people I know as I suspect a few people would probably frown on this - people who will never understand that this is the picture of two friends who are genuinely having a blast and nothing more. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One thing a year of acro has taught me is the value of the touch of friends who are there for nothing more than to keep you safe, to make you feel loved and to express joy in your company. Sometimes, the "improper" placement of a friend's hand has stopped me from breaking my nose and I have thanked them for it. There is a mutual understanding that we need and respect each other, and in that understanding, the word "forbidden" does not even cross our minds because it is not even a factor.<br />
<br />
To make it clear, this is not the kind of relationship that everyone is ready for. But it isn't out of reach if a person works on growing and building up their foundation in a healthy way rather than running away all the time. And why should we not do this? For I believe that it is the kind of relationship that comes close to the kind of love that we'll see in heaven.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-39092133276132311242014-03-18T11:12:00.000+13:002014-03-18T11:12:00.581+13:00My 1-Year Acro AnniversaryIt's just over a year since I started doing acrobatics - a journey that has so far given me much more than I had thought possible: an amazing full-body workout that I never get tired of, the opportunity to fulfill one of the items on my bucket list, and a bunch of friends I have come to love.<br />
<br />To summarize two of the most important things I've learnt, I've "immortalized" them here in a visual format:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAm1p7ntLLQUdv4AlwuRLzHw8v5vzMD7D-MSb63TBqLvgjRFWiasKQpI-iDUj7jgHlHF_nvvuyEmR8odTIYHI7H1C08hyphenhyphenAuZgaS2HDR-gbl7Gj55WPxO_jggL8WhhAWHNLYTTZiZlzlVck/s1600/Handstand+saying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAm1p7ntLLQUdv4AlwuRLzHw8v5vzMD7D-MSb63TBqLvgjRFWiasKQpI-iDUj7jgHlHF_nvvuyEmR8odTIYHI7H1C08hyphenhyphenAuZgaS2HDR-gbl7Gj55WPxO_jggL8WhhAWHNLYTTZiZlzlVck/s1600/Handstand+saying.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__4Q5JW85BxjnUVP70gignJrM5_XTG7B_0jTY1gAE1W9A27VeIBgARCEf0zwsDoOVr_LTWwDresQoxGHI32-rMi2TZJ9wtc04Ev6z6gbjhGD0D4hfzIfRz0jN41NMzqoLSkKD-LMxspp2/s1600/Pain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh__4Q5JW85BxjnUVP70gignJrM5_XTG7B_0jTY1gAE1W9A27VeIBgARCEf0zwsDoOVr_LTWwDresQoxGHI32-rMi2TZJ9wtc04Ev6z6gbjhGD0D4hfzIfRz0jN41NMzqoLSkKD-LMxspp2/s1600/Pain.jpg" height="164" width="320" /></a></div>
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And last but not least: </div>
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having friends who encourage (and spot) you makes all the difference.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-29134076336482806252014-02-27T09:58:00.001+13:002014-02-27T09:58:18.541+13:00I am Peter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQT5m709fydD3QVRNpM8ozOxtHpaNlHybRQNQ6EEK1zHzC7dD2L2KdFFM0ESPCqS1wugvS-RyqtPhxMU-B6XDTtAD0W9ZV3woWG0sXFLIWyVFqI6MaWWV2FPV-8jcfh6uIFgptISb5U-lC/s1600/Handstand+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQT5m709fydD3QVRNpM8ozOxtHpaNlHybRQNQ6EEK1zHzC7dD2L2KdFFM0ESPCqS1wugvS-RyqtPhxMU-B6XDTtAD0W9ZV3woWG0sXFLIWyVFqI6MaWWV2FPV-8jcfh6uIFgptISb5U-lC/s1600/Handstand+2.jpg" height="320" width="178" /></a></div>
I am currently in the midst of performing in my first attempt at circus theatre. It is a thing that I had put on my bucket list and I am amazed and excited that I get to fulfill this wish only one year later. As is the case with performing arts, there are times of craziness, and then times of just waiting around. It is during these times that I have started teaching others to do handstands.<br />
<br />
And in teaching others, I keep telling people that to learn to handstand, the best thing to learn is a concept that most people overlook: and that is learning to fall. Learning to fall and then getting back up again.<br />
<br />
I'm learning this over again in so many other ways. I now feel like I live somewhere in limbo: between a lifestyle of "accepted", identifiable Christian behaviour and that of a "liberated" hippy left-winger. I struggle with explaining myself to either camps and it frustrates me...because I feel that neither understand how, more than ever, I am desperately clinging to the love of my God and saviour. I am hanging out with the tax collectors because I know what it is to be one of them. I am Peter as he steps out of the boat on to the water. And I understand him perfectly when he looks away, begins to sink and cries out. I am Peter when he reaches for Jesus as the waves slowly close over his body. And through the successes and (probably more importantly) the failures, I am still glad that I stepped out of the boat.<br />
<br />
I am praying for the strength to keep going...to learn how to fall and to learn how to get back up again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-42075989065552716722014-02-10T09:41:00.000+13:002014-02-10T09:52:44.201+13:00Learning to Stand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7BSeLXZHPxaevVA3yQGl8hywUsYep-sqaPV2n5kHOtrAQDRAa86y6jQqhHlLFgbFe-EwUHtRWbjepvfdsMEh0KP3mKn5mm8DNeo5QChO7ZcKyN4fB-9iqhy5_9n0srdqkvGl58H27aJ1/s1600/Handstand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7BSeLXZHPxaevVA3yQGl8hywUsYep-sqaPV2n5kHOtrAQDRAa86y6jQqhHlLFgbFe-EwUHtRWbjepvfdsMEh0KP3mKn5mm8DNeo5QChO7ZcKyN4fB-9iqhy5_9n0srdqkvGl58H27aJ1/s1600/Handstand.jpg" height="320" width="190" /></a></div>
It's Handstand February and I am just in time.<br />
<br />
My journey from neanderthal to hand-balancer has been a long and (physically) painful one. But it's been ridiculously rewarding. I feel a confidence in myself, whether upside-down or upright, that I didn't have before. And today, I'm happy to invert myself without the need for walls, cushions or people. It's still a hit-and-miss thing, but for the most part, I am hitting.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, my journey from agnostic to Christ-follower has been an even longer and painful (in all ways) one. This past week, I've been battling some infections that, although hopefully minor, still leave me miserable and gritting my teeth.<br />
<br />
One night, I woke up in a haze of pain. I felt like my chest was being put through a meat grinder. It sounds ridiculous, now looking back, but I briefly thought that I might die. And then I thought of all my friends that were still "unsaved" whom I still hadn't had the opportunity to share God with. And that was more agonizing to me than the pain in my body.<br />
<br />
I woke up the next morning physically fine, but I was shaken. The night had taught me how I really felt about my friends and how unwilling I was to be without them forever. And if I felt that way, how much more did God? Thankfully, since we do seem to be on the same page in that respect, God seems to have given me little nudges along the way with respect to my friends. Sometimes, it's been the "love unconditionally" message, another time, it's been "be careful". But currently, we're in the "let me (God) handle it" phase. As relieved as I am that it's not all up to me, I'm wanting it to happen now. I want to be there at every twist and turn in my friends' lives. I want to applaud and sympathize and encourage where appropriate. But that's really more manhandling than trusting. And I'm not sure that manhandling ever produces great results.<br />
<br />
I'm still learning to stand in entirely different ways.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-32524211523744443862014-01-28T09:02:00.000+13:002014-02-10T09:45:07.966+13:00Loving a TerroristDo you know what it's like to have someone in your life you couldn't imagine living without? I'm not talking about a spouse, a child or a family member. I'm talking about someone who is merely a <i>friend</i> - someone with whom you have no blood ties with, whom you could drift apart from if the right circumstances lined up to the point where that person could end up being nothing but a distant memory.<br />
<br />
I have someone like that. And I would let go of the friendship were it not for one tiny fact: I love him. I'm not talking about romantic love or the love that we associate today with meat pies and favourite places. I'm talking about a love in which I imagine an eternity in God's presence and my heart breaks because at this point, I know he wouldn't be there.<br />
<br />
When I first embarked on this friendship, I heard God telling me something distinctly: that I was putting my heart in the hands of a terrorist. Part of me understood that and part of me denied it because this friendship felt so natural. At that point in time, we fulfilled some gap in each other's lives that nothing else had been able to fill. That mutual filling is addictive and when two parties are willing to listen to each other, that is one of the most fertile grounds for friendship to happen.<br />
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Now, some time down the track, that fertile period is over and I now find myself in a friendship which many of us have experienced: one in which you are sometimes left feeling hurt, sometimes ignored, and sometimes the sparks just aren't flying no matter how much you try. And when that happens, I hear God's words again, that my heart is in the hands of a terrorist. But now I also hear him whispering addendum, "<i>Love unconditionally</i>."<br />
<br />
With others in the past, when I've heard that, I've sighed and mentally rolled up my sleeves for the hard slog ahead. But while I have done that in this case, the slog is different. As I'm wading through the misunderstandings, the times of abandonment and general busyness that sometimes keeps us apart, I remember what it used to be.<br />
<br />
And then at some point in time, it suddenly hit me. That I was seeing some part of God's heart. That this was no different to his love for me...for <i>everyone</i>. How many times has he been ignored and abandoned by me? How many times have I given him the worst part of my day, if at all, and expected him to still be there when I needed him? I am the terrorist and he...he has put his heart in my hands.<br />
<br />
Yet he continues to remember and visualize what life with me was like and what it could be again. And that Past and Future shoulder his Present to keep on loving. How absolutely humbling and how I hope that I can reciprocate a small part of the delight that he cannot help but take in me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-42360211945359301772014-01-23T09:28:00.003+13:002014-01-23T09:28:37.430+13:00The Little Lighthouse<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfdgaSNhdSFfrjEzgZQlm_E0IOL79S_TPO7k91VSCa06IoyDzo3bweF4pl0ix8HynszcZgHtFsp8zANMsXo0ZQDn2qNGQ0md_Upc9qo11DMrOe5hQVZeGoZMQoD0LgRmuVkR96Xt5qd2H/s1600/Lighthouse.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfdgaSNhdSFfrjEzgZQlm_E0IOL79S_TPO7k91VSCa06IoyDzo3bweF4pl0ix8HynszcZgHtFsp8zANMsXo0ZQDn2qNGQ0md_Upc9qo11DMrOe5hQVZeGoZMQoD0LgRmuVkR96Xt5qd2H/s1600/Lighthouse.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lighthouse at Miramar, Wellington</td></tr>
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I was forced to stare at this lighthouse for a long time.<br />
<br />
I won't go into the details of why this was. The public imagination will probably produce a better story than reality.<br />
<br />
It was rainy and I was trying desperately to devour a good chunk of my Agatha Christie book without falling asleep (a frequent habit).<br />
<br />
Minutes (or was it hours?) I woke up to find that not much had changed. I find most lighthouses remarkable, but this one that I was parked by was rather underwhelming. Small and unkempt, the path to view it was lichen-coated and slippery in parts. It even had a sign warning people to stay away. After a good nap, it was still underwhelming.<br />
<br />
But it wasn't raining anymore.<br />
<br />
So, like a good tourist, I got out and snapped a photo of it.<br />
<br />
Now at home, I look at this lighthouse and somehow understand it more than I did in person.<br />
<br />
How would I describe it? Abandoned? Resilient? Forgotten? Perhaps even haunted?<br />
<br />
No matter what it is, the adjectives I fabricate make me realise how much this lighthouse and I are uncannily alike.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0Wellington, New Zealand-41.2864603 174.77623600000004-41.6685158 174.13078900000005 -40.9044048 175.42168300000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-24853397979319844432013-09-12T23:10:00.002+12:002013-09-12T23:12:53.742+12:00Taking TimeI have the place to myself for awhile. I am reunited with this feeling of having an immense amount of time to spend and when I realise this, I have to push down the accompanying guilt I feel; the guilt that has been ingrained so long in a life that has been far too busy. Something keeps whispering, "But there <i>must</i> be something needing to be done!" When I hear that, I have learned that it is something that is not myself.<br />
<br />
It is now past ten in the evening and I have just come in from the hammock on the porch. I don't know if I have ever done that - lain out in the dark on a hammock - but in that time that I did, I have caught a glimpse of the girl I used to be. I miss her intensely and I understand that at the core of her, she understood what it was to be loved by God and that that was all she ever needed. I'm trying to remember what that feels like now. It's going to take time.<br />
<br />
But fortunately, time is what I now have.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-22048410396131107802013-07-16T10:58:00.001+12:002014-01-23T09:06:35.121+13:00Date Ideas #1: Old-School Games<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY81b2mhBMMlwWdVFMMnZkIGYwDMxqFxQMxDVKBZ9_UfX-sdsgKtGYg5rYz8-AjEJ_ON4oHsqq9BfXWTy8ss30S6TVRE2H2-18KfXFwb-RDR0IuG5QxzevKGiQl_og3JpJnLZEup8mY3yx/s1600/Football.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY81b2mhBMMlwWdVFMMnZkIGYwDMxqFxQMxDVKBZ9_UfX-sdsgKtGYg5rYz8-AjEJ_ON4oHsqq9BfXWTy8ss30S6TVRE2H2-18KfXFwb-RDR0IuG5QxzevKGiQl_og3JpJnLZEup8mY3yx/s1600/Football.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chad going for the kick in Paper Football.</td></tr>
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Since the start of our marriage, Chad and I have always worked together in some capacity. After the first few years of having too many work conversations over dinner, we decided that something needed to change. So we implemented the weekly Sacred Date Night.<br />
<br />
In reality, we just call it "date night", but we've come to regard it with such respect that it is pretty much sacred to us. No phone calls, no rainchecks, no multi-tasking. This is our time alone.<br />
<br />
After talking to other couples, I realised that this idea was a popular (and much sought-after) one, but whether due to time or lack of inspiration, many couples don't implement this. So as we've been doing this now for over five years, I thought I'd help eliminate one of those reasons and start a new list of date ideas. Some of them may seem silly but as the point of date night isn't to be majorly productive, we didn't see this is as a problem...<br />
<br />
<b>#1: </b><b>Old School Games</b><br />
Remember games as a kid? Ones that didn't involve a power supply? Go down memory lane and share your favourite childhood games together. Here are some ideas to get you started:<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Knucklebones/5 Stones</b><br />
This was what I played when exams were over and you were simply sitting in the classroom filling time.</li>
<li><b>Paper Football (see photo)</b><br />
The less-painful version for the dining room table. <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Paper-Football" target="_blank">See here for instructions</a>. Or <a href="http://www.howcast.com/videos/418821-How-to-Play-Paper-Football" target="_blank">click here</a> for a pretty entertaining video tutorial.</li>
<li><b>Board Games (e.g. Twister, Candy Lane, The Game of Life)</b></li>
<li><b>Marbles</b></li>
<li><b>Fold paper airplanes</b><br />
For added mileage, borrow an origami book from the library and learn how to fold different kinds of planes. Then set up a target area and try to send your planes into it.</li>
<li><b>Basketball</b><br />
Set up mugs around the room. Using crumpled-up pieces of paper as balls, try to get them into the mugs from a designated position.</li>
<li><b>Pac-Man</b><br />
Ok, this one is kind of cheating. But I think most people will agree that Pacman is a classic. If you have an iPod touch, iPhone or iPad, download "Pac-Man Lite" for free and take turns trying to eat those white dots as fast as you can.</li>
</ul>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-74982700045555297502013-07-12T11:54:00.000+12:002013-07-12T12:07:40.121+12:00Much-needed DisturbanceThis has been an eye-opening week.<br />
<br />
I know I can be cautious and thrifty (to the point of penny-pinching). But last month had been one of those in which I found myself thinking several times, "If I get through this, next month is going to be awesome." Well, I got through it.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, things looked different. I thought about all the time spent doing safe things, unnecessary things, and all the effort spent worrying and saving for some contingency plan for an unforeseen disaster. I didn't like that thought and decided I needed some inspiration.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQnOMJp4W1wLlCfVDBOWJGghOljTfp_bXEoqy2rThXn6rQqmCCK0A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQnOMJp4W1wLlCfVDBOWJGghOljTfp_bXEoqy2rThXn6rQqmCCK0A" title="http://www.worldpressphoto.org/awards/2013/nature/xiaoqun-zheng/02" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A panda at Huangzhou Zoo, Zhejiang, China.<br />
Photographer: <a href="http://www.worldpressphoto.org/awards/2013/nature/xiaoqun-zheng/02" target="_blank">Xiaoqun Zheng</a><br />
I know I might be criticised for this but this <br />
was the photo that got me most emotionally.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On Monday, I took Chad to the <a href="http://www.worldpressphoto.org/" target="_blank">World Press Photo Exhibition</a> for our weekly date night. It was a surprise and he was delighted. I, on the other hand, wasn't sure what to expect, being more of a post-production kind of gal. But by the end of it, I was changed.<br />
<br />
The photos I saw represented so much hurt and despair on a level that I, in my cloistered world, have only ever heard about. Parents outliving their children through war, children with acid-splashed faces, women who play sports in secrecy for fear of persecution...these are scenarios that exist only in movies for me.<br />
<br />
We came away silent, and after some time, both of us expressed that the exhibition had been a much needed disturbance.<br />
<br />
So to myself and anyone who might be reading this, take this away: silver linings only come to those who have their eyes open. Get off that couch, give generously, don't wait to cash on in those gifts that God has given you and love, love, love fiercely.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-40203471046551980552013-07-05T13:13:00.000+12:002013-07-05T13:13:29.233+12:00Why I Don't Want to be a UnicornIn trying to tell people about acrobatics, what it is, and why I love it, I usually get one of two reactions:<br />
1) "You're crazy, but in a good way."<br />
2) "You're just crazy."<br />
<br />
I think I've realised why both these reactions feel unsatisfactory to me: it makes me feel like a unicorn.<br />
<br />
Unicorns are very rare creatures - so rare in fact that they're extinct. People don't think about unicorns on a regular basis, but when they do, they regard them with a mixture of fascination and the knowledge that they need to hold them at arm's length. This is because people who cuddle unicorns, as bright and shiny as they may be, are generally frowned upon by society.<br />
<br />
I don't want to be a unicorn. I want to be a dog. A big fluffy golden retriever that people want to engage with. When I say, "I do acrobatics", I want people to react to it like I just said, "I run," or even, "I love golf." I want there to be a chance that people will say, "Hey, me too! We should do it together sometime!"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwkyC8BI1ovmrc9AW0_UhjQeicHbuvFyq86nQAbVVMkmfvjI4hP8fTjLDKmFzLrLxEMpvBCi5pMPPhAcdr0Whprzko8YuDq5X9UGZDcEUaYvkLyZXWCZZHrSdozzs1PMF5Sdtivbd_8-t/s851/Handstand+Progression.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Handstand Progression" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwkyC8BI1ovmrc9AW0_UhjQeicHbuvFyq86nQAbVVMkmfvjI4hP8fTjLDKmFzLrLxEMpvBCi5pMPPhAcdr0Whprzko8YuDq5X9UGZDcEUaYvkLyZXWCZZHrSdozzs1PMF5Sdtivbd_8-t/s851/Handstand+Progression.jpg" height="146" title="The Process of Becoming a Unicorn" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The process of becoming a unicorn:</b> This means more to me than just being able to do handstands.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The process of becoming a unicorn isn't without its upsides though. In a strange way, I can't help but relate this to sharing my faith in God. Now, I realise that in saying this, I've made myself an even rarer kind of unicorn, the acrobatic God-loving kind. And how many of those are there?<br />
<br />
Being uncomfortable in life was definitely not my goal. But I'm beginning to understand why it's so important. At the end of my life, I want to know that I stood for the things that are not only important to me, but important for the future. And you just can't do that by sitting on the fence.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-79912825699199528402013-07-05T00:17:00.001+12:002013-07-05T13:13:55.132+12:00Not Your Cookie-cutter Cards<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitX5zmVHOp9gaf27_O9KiBE9cvsafDkcLhhXauWyFXh10ZpRnS5ZDmaLV1kisZpUcfiU6Q9zQ40HXdDTnS1MXD5-Wj14wmF-ZBKltxua9r7v0eUJqB9s7-WIvrBmBMh6duYNjfsy_B1s0n/s2560/1372940222211.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitX5zmVHOp9gaf27_O9KiBE9cvsafDkcLhhXauWyFXh10ZpRnS5ZDmaLV1kisZpUcfiU6Q9zQ40HXdDTnS1MXD5-Wj14wmF-ZBKltxua9r7v0eUJqB9s7-WIvrBmBMh6duYNjfsy_B1s0n/s288/1372940222211.jpeg" style="display: block; height: 216px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 288px;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"Tongue-tied": </b>my favourite card featured in front.<br />
Maybe it's a little cheesy but it still makes me grin <br />
everytime I see it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was running low on cards to give away. Sure, I had a range of blank cards that I had somehow accumulated and was keeping for a social emergency. But given the time, a homemade card is always my first choice for any occasion.<br />
<br />
So I dug out my beloved drawing pen and (feeling somewhat like a child again) my coloured pencils. Some nice heavy paper and one season of <i>Buffy the Vampire Slayer</i> later, I have a brand new collection on limited edition cards hot off the press!<br />
<br />
Now that was therapeutic!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-11835718673269711452013-06-30T11:52:00.000+12:002013-06-30T13:34:21.346+12:00Pumpkin Pancakes: When Vegetables Collide<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1JCuSzlYCGR1An42ctL1E6AXL1vxQYI3xXMUTG_TvYvw6_Cyt9FoC1ISicIQlyckwhBgsYQ0IbHyrpgCXnxm49GNhyphenhyphent6oNZr2hxJvl0i0YC6z7C-eCFc21-Z6UmA07RjkSees4ZWG8xnY/s1024/Pumpkin+pancakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1JCuSzlYCGR1An42ctL1E6AXL1vxQYI3xXMUTG_TvYvw6_Cyt9FoC1ISicIQlyckwhBgsYQ0IbHyrpgCXnxm49GNhyphenhyphent6oNZr2hxJvl0i0YC6z7C-eCFc21-Z6UmA07RjkSees4ZWG8xnY/s320/Pumpkin+pancakes.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I absolutely love it when food looks messy </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and still looks good. So my serving suggestion: </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
put a couple of pancakes on your plate, drizzle </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
golden/maple syrup all over in errant patterns </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and throw on some stewed apples on the side. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For the final<i> pièce de résistance</i>, slap </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a few dollops of whipped cream on top </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(make sure it makes that slapping sound </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
as it hits the pancakes), look at it, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
slap on some more, and <i>voilà</i>!</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My inner-American is showing.<br />
<br />
An errant remark from a colleagues about how cheap pumpkin is right now (89 cents) had me dreaming up Thanksgiving menus and kitchens filled with the scent of cinnamon and clove.<br />
<br />
Although I'm not a huge fan of pumpkin, I've had good success with recipes including this strange ingredient. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin cake...why not pumpkin pancakes? I jumped on Google and found what I was looking for <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/pumpkin-pancakes/" target="_blank">right here</a>. Have I mentioned I love <a href="http://www.allrecipes.com/" target="_blank">Allrecipes</a>?<br />
<br />
So...<br />
<b>The verdict:</b> Light and fluffy pancakes which are surprisingly filling (I was only able to eat 3 in one sitting). I especially love the bright orange mac-and-cheese colour of these puppies.<br />
<br />
<b>Best accompaniment:</b> Stewed apples and whipped cream (don't you dare reach for that aerosol stuff...go for the real thing). I even cheated a little and added more veggies to the mix in the form of chokos to the stewed apples. Healthier breakfast, yes please. See below for recipe.<br />
<br />
<b>This would be great for:</b> Chilly winter mornings, those who are homesick for American Thanksgiving-cuisine and people who think pancake stacks are beautiful.<br />
<br />
Here's my recipe for <b>Stewed Apple and Choko</b>. I hope you weren't expecting exact measurements. Don't worry, you can't get it too wrong:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Ducky's Stewed Apple and Choko</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
2-3 tart apples, large cubes</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
1-2 chokos, skinned and cubed</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Couple of lugs of butter (real butter, not margarine)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Approximately 1/2 tsp cinnamon</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Roughly 1 tsp brown sugar</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some grated orange zest (optional)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Chuck it all in a heavy-bottomed saucepan and cover. Put the heat on low and sweat the mixture while you're making the pancakes. Stir every so often if you remember. The stew should be falling apart and ready to be served just as you're cooking up your last pancake.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-62526578719168998392013-06-29T13:22:00.000+12:002013-07-16T10:58:41.774+12:00Cheap Thrills #2: Create a Fake BandIn general, fun stuff is only as fun as you make it. So it's probably best to suspend any pooh-poohing that might be lurking in the corner of your soul before you try this one. Otherwise, you'll probably just have a terrible time. So shut up and grab a pen!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8C_H06n3SA0P0EZhatEe_FaqmuC3YCY3jV6ozB6iqWOXls2lcZrr0e7GxcNXAQTCPfiVclQ8DhbM2VYhSzvTL1F4F6unbQl29YQx9_nadK9IUOl3ltkuVTLwaRsQlZpv44NMMT0UuHeH/s640/Band.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8C_H06n3SA0P0EZhatEe_FaqmuC3YCY3jV6ozB6iqWOXls2lcZrr0e7GxcNXAQTCPfiVclQ8DhbM2VYhSzvTL1F4F6unbQl29YQx9_nadK9IUOl3ltkuVTLwaRsQlZpv44NMMT0UuHeH/s640/Band.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
I ended up doodling Chad's album cover </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
while he was composing his salsa/trip-hop </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
number on GarageBand.</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>1) Get your Band Name</b><br />
Go to <a href="http://www.wikipedia.com/" target="_blank">Wikipedia </a>and click on "Random Article" on the left-hand column (or you could just <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random" target="_blank">click here</a>). The header of the article that comes up is your band name. Mine was "Gandaki Zone".<br />
<br />
<b>2) Get your Album Title</b><br />
Go to <a href="http://www.quotationspage.com/" target="_blank">The Quotations Page</a> and click on "Random Quotes" on the left-hand column (once again, you can just <a href="http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3" target="_blank">click here</a>). Scroll to the last quote. The last 4 or 5 words of that quote is your album title. Mine was "Being Left 50,000 Pounds".<br />
<br />
<b>3) Get your Album Cover</b><br />
Go to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/" target="_blank">Flickr </a>and click on "Explore" (<a href="http://www.flickr.com/explore" target="_blank">magic link here</a>). The 3rd picture is your album cover. Mine, perhaps appropriately so, was a picture of some hip-hop dudes making the peace sign.<br />
<br />
<b>4) Now What?</b><br />
Get your creative juices flowing by writing a couple lyrics to your fake band's award-winning song. Or if you're a muso, try pumping out a couple of measures from your album (GarageBand is kind of fun for this).<br />
<br />
This activity gets some extra hype if you do this with someone else. Along with the strange feeling of being five again, both of you will probably bust out into some "I'm-so-embarrassed-we're-doing-this-thing-but-it's-actually-kind-of-fun" giggles at some point in time. And nothing brings people together like shared vulnerability!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-33041342109062091672013-06-20T17:42:00.001+12:002013-06-22T08:36:01.881+12:00A Re-Cap<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SwWmRO_yTlCVG0mb9vjqFcTygLaAp3b5WmFrc4aoqkkAix2VrI_-zFpBNhGnIV65d7PVWdgFNu-GMcDzgXFi7iHjp2MJ1oox3Na0Tf6369fhq8cOuc9z7oP3zF46dq3HezQZx4Oi4nlj/s2560/1371706959803.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SwWmRO_yTlCVG0mb9vjqFcTygLaAp3b5WmFrc4aoqkkAix2VrI_-zFpBNhGnIV65d7PVWdgFNu-GMcDzgXFi7iHjp2MJ1oox3Na0Tf6369fhq8cOuc9z7oP3zF46dq3HezQZx4Oi4nlj/s288/1371706959803.jpeg" style="display: block; height: 288px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 216px;" /></a> Acro(batics) is a weird thing. After a huge spike in the first month of realising what I could do, I suddenly had one day where I could not do a handstand against a wall. No matter how much I threw myself into it, I'd come down again without even hitting the wall. It got to a point where I was actually wondering if I just had too much hair and if it was throwing my balance off.<br />
<br />
I stopped trying (handstands, not acro) for about a month.<br />
<br />
Today, after too much white flour and pizza, I told my lazy butt to get up there and do it again. And so I did. Again and again. The photo looks terrible but I'm really celebrating (as much as possible while upside-down). The feeling of talking yourself out of self-doubt and experiencing success must be pretty much on par with doing something for the very first time. It's not over yet!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-42736958800146934342013-06-13T17:20:00.001+12:002013-06-30T12:06:46.527+12:00The Office<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocQ4cIi5Azk7gbiRhfX-bXSG0MV-1pCeWws6dnBK2DkbHq-xQ0KLaeR-01S_MzzbnKF6l4J9DFlcLDk0wQVApEmLtLsJ3IR0dK9fOtcOfxzOK9z-ZPDL8tS3_QFYQYx7wvfPWhyphenhyphenKMwXOA/s2560/1371100800449.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjocQ4cIi5Azk7gbiRhfX-bXSG0MV-1pCeWws6dnBK2DkbHq-xQ0KLaeR-01S_MzzbnKF6l4J9DFlcLDk0wQVApEmLtLsJ3IR0dK9fOtcOfxzOK9z-ZPDL8tS3_QFYQYx7wvfPWhyphenhyphenKMwXOA/s288/1371100800449.jpeg" style="display: block; height: 288px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 216px;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple cinnamon muffin and a cappuccino:<br />
the perfect companions for the morning's work.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Riding the lift today with a cappuccino in one hand and a cinnamon muffin (x3) in the other, I was struck by how much I love my desk job.<br />
<br />
When people hear the phrase "desk job", there seems to be an automatic reflex involving gagging and profuse statements that they could never settle into one. I know because I'm one of those people. <br />
<br />
As a kid, I used to dream of being a daytime dancer and then, when the sun set, I'd change out of my leotard and become a night time detective. Having a desk job was nowhere on the horizon.<br />
<br />
And yet I have to admit that now I love office culture. I love all the trappings that come with it: the coffee, the chats between cubicles, being able to festoon my area with my own brand of decor, the faint resemblance to being in an airport lounge. For me, it evokes the better scenes from "You've Got Mail" or "Julie and Julia". I like being able to churn through tasks accompanied by my morning toast, and just as equally love being able to leave it all behind at the end of the day and still feel satisfied.<br />
<br />
Being "all grown up" now, I've become aware of how rare it is to really enjoy what you do and that makes me even more determined to love wherever I am. Maybe one day, I'll start yearning for that dancer/detective career again. But for now, it's enough just to be content.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-60310936905427817412013-06-08T23:09:00.000+12:002013-06-29T13:28:46.988+12:00The Walking Dead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWS3tQ981wPqgIvMV3-CWRb8nIk0DzWeL_gn95lgO9oCrf5A3MY_rYg8K15MVwCAVcgN-zLSylK9C3MdNjR6SLItj1r5xQS0suNdlZdnYpT5IBMEhrf_ARB_QHkPIIZA_GOIAwQkUsK9ak/s1600/zombies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWS3tQ981wPqgIvMV3-CWRb8nIk0DzWeL_gn95lgO9oCrf5A3MY_rYg8K15MVwCAVcgN-zLSylK9C3MdNjR6SLItj1r5xQS0suNdlZdnYpT5IBMEhrf_ARB_QHkPIIZA_GOIAwQkUsK9ak/s1600/zombies.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scenes like this just look better on TV.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Someone just needs to say it. As non-parents, we sometimes feel like we're surrounded by zombies. And not the get-up-and-run-after-you kind. No, it's usually the moaning, shuffling variety that we're confronted by. I won't go into anymore details just in case I run the risk of turning into the moaning sort myself.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
On the other hand, I found myself incredibly and pleasantly surprised today by my friends. Maybe even a little inspired. These friends of mine (who I should probably add are a couple) have been some of the most adventurous jetsetters we know. So I was a little nervous to find out that they were expecting a kid. From what parents tell me, the words "adventure" and "children" don't usually sit well together.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
We finally caught up with them after several months of them settling into parenthood (I'm really fast-forwarding the story here) and were surprised to find out that they were taking a trip to Christchurch pretty soon. On further conversation, we found out that this was a "practice trip" for them taking their kid on a series of flights around the world. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Wow," I said, mostly to Chad. "That's like what we want to do." For the first time in my life, I found myself admiring parents for more than just how much they could get done on so little sleep. For the first time, I was an outsider looking in. And I liked it. It gave me hope - hope for a new breed of parents who don't have to look like the walking dead; who look and feel healthy; who are both a 100% parent and a 100% human. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I came away feeling so happy for my friends. And feeling genuinely happy for someone else is just about as good as feeling happy for yourself.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-64859897476450716182013-06-07T18:08:00.000+12:002013-07-16T10:59:54.133+12:00Cheap Thrills #1: Pineconing<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBLp9LJwm7X6g0T4tmsHu_YHghOoTEH_J_pa4z323jMyq1WgJp3vC6UZefelVu08Pbkoyu4oazEKS5lcpU7HZiAXnZCnvEILri8KooO-0JY6UaymefiA8QnfBk9Ww6W3b_itMgYNhW8wf1/s2560/1370584569889.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBLp9LJwm7X6g0T4tmsHu_YHghOoTEH_J_pa4z323jMyq1WgJp3vC6UZefelVu08Pbkoyu4oazEKS5lcpU7HZiAXnZCnvEILri8KooO-0JY6UaymefiA8QnfBk9Ww6W3b_itMgYNhW8wf1/s288/1370584569889.jpeg" style="display: block; height: 288px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 216px;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Free stuff. Oh so good.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There's something satisfying about collecting cheap, useful things. Even better when the cheap, useful things are free. So I've decided to start a new tag called "cheap thrills" in case anyone else shares my fetish.<br />
<br />
Today on a damp autumn day with dog in tow and multiple plastic bags, I embarked on a pineconing expedition. Nevermind that I already have a fruitful pinecone tree in my backyard. This is beside the point.<br />
<br />
What is the point? Finding an even bigger pinecone that the last one you picked up. Returning home with a bulging bag of free stuff. Enjoying the fruits of your labour when you have a roaring fire to sit by.<br />
<br />
And the bonus? Seeing my hyperactive 9-year-old "puppy" exhausted and happy on the couch.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-86496779037414134442013-03-24T14:18:00.001+13:002013-06-07T18:09:41.053+12:00Stopping Myself<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-8-6mn62xX2twZONHMwNr85fVIKDrDMiPOuXZEYLOi07OrRE73rMlMPFSrC180Gwh7nTBA02s1YceobhdxeEbLR293-ZycePwS1BfIq_EO1RU2r_UR8Obb5cEwrGAMcVpHuVj2TsvzrW/s1600/Not+Handstands.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-8-6mn62xX2twZONHMwNr85fVIKDrDMiPOuXZEYLOi07OrRE73rMlMPFSrC180Gwh7nTBA02s1YceobhdxeEbLR293-ZycePwS1BfIq_EO1RU2r_UR8Obb5cEwrGAMcVpHuVj2TsvzrW/s1600/Not+Handstands.png" height="320" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These two pictures represent milestones for me. Causes for celebration, yes. <br />
But I also am aware that they're still not handstands!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Just a quick update on handstands. I still can't do them. I can't understand it because I know that physically, I am capable of doing them. But without a spotter, something very close to fear stops me from hitting the mark. So I end up kicking sideways, falling in painful ways or just not trying very hard at all.<br />
<br />
Being upside-down isn't the problem. I've realized that it comes down to a mental thing. And maybe that's why it's so hard: trying to think yourself out of a thinking seems rather circular in nature!<br />
<br />
I tried again today and after a warning twist in my neck (nothing serious, but enough to make me stop), I think I'll tackle this challenge another day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-79246303561424809422013-03-22T10:57:00.000+13:002013-06-29T13:29:47.588+12:00Do You Dance?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've often heard people say, "I don't dance". After last week, I don't believe them anymore.<br />
<br />
Chad had a jazz gig at the zoo and I went, lured partly by the chance to see him solo it on his sax and partly by the proximity of animals. What I didn't count on was the entertainment provided by the vast amounts of kids there. And trust me, I'm not normally entertained by small human beings, so this was an unusual occasion.<br />
<br />
Every time a song would start, the kids would rush up close to the band and start swaying and prancing to the beat. Some were more coordinated than others. Some were even executing some promising ballet moves. And then some others were just bobbing in their diapers, having not mastered the art of walking yet.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqIE4FHhpbEHeRu-xGghdzzKJku5_RH7WhVSvq3P4hum5DPRR5-UUFwPOhryWMUwTM2JbgKr4r9BZZkdfaI4uckoykj0MOYigVbzJhjDfoiIB9Q1JA37Hp8VmVLOnJ2s0YT5FSGMvjmGE/s1600/Dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqqIE4FHhpbEHeRu-xGghdzzKJku5_RH7WhVSvq3P4hum5DPRR5-UUFwPOhryWMUwTM2JbgKr4r9BZZkdfaI4uckoykj0MOYigVbzJhjDfoiIB9Q1JA37Hp8VmVLOnJ2s0YT5FSGMvjmGE/s400/Dance.jpg" height="400" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was hard-pressed to find a single kid who wasn't physically responding to the music. And it told me something. People are born to dance. Whether it looks refined and elegant or like a body being defibrillated is beside the issue. Music wasn't meant to be only experienced through your ears. It was meant to be a physical experience as well.<br />
<br />
Having said this, I am disappointed to say that I did not join the sea of bobbing juveniles. I wish I could have. But something wouldn't let me make a fool of myself. And because of that, I'm not entirely unsympathetic to those who say, "I don't dance". But I won't go so far as to say that I don't dance. Because I definitely do. I dance in the shower. I dance in my living room. While doing housework or cooking or even in the snatches of time when I'm in public but no one's watching, I dance.<br />
<br />
One day, I hope to have the courage to dance in plain sight. But until then, I hope this drawing captures all my fascination with the beauty of someone who can fling themselves into a beat without a second thought.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-88133599172755138062013-03-10T10:19:00.000+13:002013-06-07T18:11:47.262+12:00Handstands, Part 2What doesn't kill you will make you stronger. That's the clichéd saying, isn't it? But today, I'm feeling that mastering a handstand by myself will be something that I look back on for encouragement...that is if I don't injure myself first.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday, I tried doing a handstand with a wall for support. The result was that with only three directions to fall, I fell sideways, which was more uncomfortable than just free-falling.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today (after breakfast, no less), I employed Chad to spot me. So three handstands later, here's the rundown:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYK2Sv4CkBhy6Y5sJjifNM3ehaxqVk0iymX-2QteI5O-maLecDfS-DJNTGjk-LE-UGq9B9iQT7sMPobKRnyQLGX2VCxC-4wElOZCVIgjak9u4veW3K6n6jFYM4a5HnewmRZ0HThgNyLRHY/s1600/2013-03-10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYK2Sv4CkBhy6Y5sJjifNM3ehaxqVk0iymX-2QteI5O-maLecDfS-DJNTGjk-LE-UGq9B9iQT7sMPobKRnyQLGX2VCxC-4wElOZCVIgjak9u4veW3K6n6jFYM4a5HnewmRZ0HThgNyLRHY/s1600/2013-03-10.png" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<b>Figure A:</b></div>
<div>
Launch sequence activated after much swallowing and wiping of sweaty palms.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Figure B:</b></div>
<div>
Arms straight: √</div>
<div>
Looking at wall, not at ground: √</div>
<div>
Hips thrust: √</div>
<div>
Legs straight: √</div>
<div>
Core stomach muscles engaged: X</div>
<div>
= still unable to support myself</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'd like to think that the massive amount of hair I have is contributing to being unbalanced. But that'd probably be a cop-out. It feels like riding a bike all over again. But the good news is that I did eventually learn to ride a bike. Hopefully this is going in the same direction.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-47242781621657952032013-03-09T18:34:00.002+13:002013-06-07T18:12:02.100+12:00HandstandsI can't do them. The last time I remembered trying to do handstand was in elementary school during gym class. I watched as one of my classmates went up successfully into a handstand and then came crashing down, landing her with a broken arm and a trip to the hospital. That was over twenty years ago and I have never had the urge to try doing a handstand since then.<br />
<br />
I still didn't have any such urge when I visited a community circus this week for the first time. And my enthusiasm for trying some acrobatics was very nearly quashed when I realized how many moves involved being upside-down.<br />
<br />
So when the lady who was coaching us told me to do a handstand, flip over, and then land with my back on her upturned feet, I genuinely felt scared. There are not many things I will walk away from, but I nearly expanded my meager list that day.<br />
<br />
"I believe that you can do it," said the coach. I realized that while I believed she was being genuine, it was still not enough to convince me to do it. I needed to believe that I could do it. I also realized two more things:<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUP3Upd_hi_1dybFilS0220NOVY5a9AoTdZUJqqfKsu2wj_yGK-b4CG3BGF81QUsHA4WPxtbWOsnd2Itjw7gLjC5rP2V4YMMDEan8_sUO_xvENAW2m-g8tNN1AZp837DS45wIIv9Gp1SAW/s1600/306224_699937867303_1382887395_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUP3Upd_hi_1dybFilS0220NOVY5a9AoTdZUJqqfKsu2wj_yGK-b4CG3BGF81QUsHA4WPxtbWOsnd2Itjw7gLjC5rP2V4YMMDEan8_sUO_xvENAW2m-g8tNN1AZp837DS45wIIv9Gp1SAW/s1600/306224_699937867303_1382887395_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Practicing some other acrobatics at home. What a workout!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<ol>
<li>I needed to imagine how to do it successfully rather than think about how to do it unsuccessfully.</li>
<li>If I walked away, I would not be able to let it go.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<br />
So I did it. Blanked out my mind, focused only on the successful outcome, and did it. And as I landed neatly on her feet unscathed, I nearly cried from relief and elation.<br />
<br />
33 years old and I <u>can </u>do handstands.<br />
<br />
Next step: figure out how to <i>stay </i>in a handstand!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-26127658188054590942013-02-19T18:49:00.004+13:002013-06-29T13:23:46.324+12:00Discovering New Life<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
Cleaning out my workspace today, I found these:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkefozRko8hrjRFOeTWtMjfkJGaCcmxLvHj-VfnDz_hKTOhjLCjGMoM-TfRp1cOkFzWO3ByadxiFm_TPMsW1MAPRnW6NFWGM3efAHy7hLScB6rVJlkcsaSEsBdfFsZVbdY0xQxPS0FhH6h/s2560/1361230064825.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkefozRko8hrjRFOeTWtMjfkJGaCcmxLvHj-VfnDz_hKTOhjLCjGMoM-TfRp1cOkFzWO3ByadxiFm_TPMsW1MAPRnW6NFWGM3efAHy7hLScB6rVJlkcsaSEsBdfFsZVbdY0xQxPS0FhH6h/s400/1361230064825.jpeg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="400" /></a><br />
After some basic calculations, based on the age of the other sketches and doodles that were in the vicinity, I realized that I must have done these about two years ago. It was an odd sensation. Odd, because I had no recollection of ever doing them at all. I don't really recall what I was thinking or what the thought was behind these. But yet, there they were, among many other doodles that I could explain the origin of quite happily. The experience (I imagine) was not so different from doing an archaeological dig and coming up with the fossil of an entirely new species.<br />
<br />
So, in keeping with the analogy, I have put on my biologist's hat and have given these poor unrecognized creatures a history:<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72rN0IYKHvcah8LjqJWbLQwGRbPs0qIXLy5LkrXwe-WwJTOJZTo7xqRe7etk7QnRxE_xmW3p7GOJTcejt8i2mkBLqA3Is9LUYBjCeAymJ8pitrJ8iPNpLJdYxA4imROEIppcDEm8ZLhud/s1600/Creatures-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72rN0IYKHvcah8LjqJWbLQwGRbPs0qIXLy5LkrXwe-WwJTOJZTo7xqRe7etk7QnRxE_xmW3p7GOJTcejt8i2mkBLqA3Is9LUYBjCeAymJ8pitrJ8iPNpLJdYxA4imROEIppcDEm8ZLhud/s1600/Creatures-1.jpg" height="400" width="210" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggoAA3k12Cre8RE-04VBsQKwivS16peMTAEdsBpuoLYkuJ4ccq7384kSYY1bHcCQo2pE-ZSe_r0I1j-ERwrSwUlmzlOmgkCsRj1QRYlaOloCpqvuPySJAH8zsxiSHiNms8-p0azplCucXA/s1600/Creatures-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggoAA3k12Cre8RE-04VBsQKwivS16peMTAEdsBpuoLYkuJ4ccq7384kSYY1bHcCQo2pE-ZSe_r0I1j-ERwrSwUlmzlOmgkCsRj1QRYlaOloCpqvuPySJAH8zsxiSHiNms8-p0azplCucXA/s1600/Creatures-2.jpg" height="400" width="210" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-84595403185370145112013-02-17T22:56:00.000+13:002013-06-29T13:24:44.779+12:00Blind Date<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgr3paABU8ieym82drhkiI990O9eqkyS4SBegKxmZGNWwCZY-goEKInic6TCGvCLlujjlN01CdvHC9ERaD2AudEVhvrQyEHwz3fVl-F6M5FmAVKXqT4k-XByTWerf44UD7-uqTcjUHfB3Z/s1600/Who's+Coming+to+Dinner+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgr3paABU8ieym82drhkiI990O9eqkyS4SBegKxmZGNWwCZY-goEKInic6TCGvCLlujjlN01CdvHC9ERaD2AudEVhvrQyEHwz3fVl-F6M5FmAVKXqT4k-XByTWerf44UD7-uqTcjUHfB3Z/s1600/Who's+Coming+to+Dinner+copy.jpg" height="290" width="400" /></a></div>
My original thought for this doodle was along the lines of Red Riding Hood. But when the dragon character was done, I looked at him and found that, in spite of the toothy leer and eating utensils in his pocket, I felt rather sorry for him.<br />
<br />
His coat might be pinstriped, but the poor creature either cannot afford a pair of pants or doesn't have friends who can tell him that going on a blind date commando-style is just not in. And while he's leaning rather intensely into his date, it may be a result of near-sightedness rather than a lack of respect for personal space. All in all, a pitiful creature and, I felt, much deserving of a blog post at the very least.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3476266684450749334.post-49515358889906285412013-02-01T18:10:00.002+13:002013-06-29T13:25:28.381+12:00Eponine<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhowtT24yMDbjm21FqI03G1NkEzbYtiCcvWQUt0PC6seMIp4hDoYIVL_Tt6rLZJmytBwMLi34iuy4fVNClpTC9n4WUiZONG9ppktTjzqmAVAkj0BeXemOlzlBASYoGbg8Aephpn7vRy9q2g/s1600/Eponine+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="© Diane Davenport" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhowtT24yMDbjm21FqI03G1NkEzbYtiCcvWQUt0PC6seMIp4hDoYIVL_Tt6rLZJmytBwMLi34iuy4fVNClpTC9n4WUiZONG9ppktTjzqmAVAkj0BeXemOlzlBASYoGbg8Aephpn7vRy9q2g/s1600/Eponine+copy.jpg" height="320" title="Eponine" width="213" /></a></div>
<i>"Come! Here he is!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He raised his eyes, and recognized that wretched child who had come to him one morning, the elder of the Thenardier daughters, Eponine; he knew her name now. Strange to say, she had grown poorer and prettier, two steps which it had not seemed within her power to take. She had accomplished a double progress, towards the light and towards distress. She was barefooted and in rags, as on the day when she had so resolutely entered his chamber, only her rags were two months older now, the holes were larger, the tatters more sordid. It was the same harsh voice, the same brow dimmed and wrinkled with tan, the same free, wild, and vacillating glance. She had besides, more than formerly, in her face that indescribably terrified and lamentable something which sojourn in a prison adds to wretchedness.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She had bits of straw and hay in her hair, not like Ophelia through having gone mad from the contagion of Hamlet's madness, but because she had slept in the loft of some stable.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And in spite of all, she was beautiful. What a star art thou, O youth!</i><br />
<i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i>
<span style="text-align: center;"><i>(Les Misérables </i>- </span><span style="text-align: center;">Victor Hugo<i>)</i></span><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15562134066357418190noreply@blogger.com0