Saturday, March 31, 2007

Lulu

It's a little hard to see how big she's grown without a visual reference, but in the first pictures I could carry her under one arm and now I can bearly fit her all on my lap (and according to my youngest daughter, it's a pretty voluminous lap.) She comes up three inches above my knees and you can almost pet her without bending over. She is absolutely solid muscle which I discovered when I had to hose out her mouth after she went for a cane toad (Bufo marinus.)



My friend says you can look into the face of a Rhodesian Ridgeback and never really be sure what they're thinking.



Here she is trying to stalk me in the freshly mown yard...



...and here's the last thing a lion ever sees...



(She went from 0 to 60 in one spring, cleared my head and bit me on the behind before I could even turn around.)


I restrain myself a great deal. I don't say it, or I phrase it differently. But now and again I drop a lulu because I cannot resist it.

-- Hugh Leonard

Totally Australian, Mate!




This is a close-up of part of Sarabelle's English assignment to create an ad campaign for an established product. Her team took its inspiration from the controversy over a private consortium's bid to take over QANTAS, Australia's iconic airline.

See how many other Australian icons you can identify.


Ah, well, I suppose it has come to this. Such is life.

-- Edward "Ned" Kelly

Tennis, anyone?

When Sarabelle wanted to get back into tennis, though we have a perfectly good court just down the road at the park, the only organized events and lessons available were 30 minutes down the mountain. I inquired into the possibility of private lessons with the coach who teaches primary school students up here before classes on the school's court. It turned out he has been trying to get a formal club going up here for some time and before I knew it, I was secretary of the tennis club, and Jorge handyman emeritus. At first Sarabelle was a little put-off by Coach A's technique after the kinder, gentler, friend-of-the-family British coach she had in Florida. Coach A is Australian. I must say his style, loud, commanding, demanding, and funny, is a good motivator and her skills are definitely improving. He got me playing, even with my preference for sedentary activities, first as a shill to attract other adults to the evening lessons, and now because I enjoy it. I might actually be able to play without looking like a complete ass. One of these days. Maybe.

Our second multi-week, mixed doubles junior tournament wrapped up yesterday. Sarabelle placed second runner-up. She has been invited to join the team that will compete against a group from the Cairns area, and has accepted the challenge to enter a regional tournament in conjunction with the resort town's spring carnivale festivities.

Here is my hillbilly eldest daughter receiving her award barefoot. She forgot her sneakers in the big rush to leave the house. No worries though, only about one-fourth of the kids wear shoes when they play.



Grice, a natural but disinterested player, made it through the three-week event, but then bowed out of yesterday's later matches with the legitimate excuse of ill health. (It's just a cold, Mom.)

Elle, as they say here, couldn't give a stuff about tennis and besides she had found her own trophy, someone else's discarded ten-year old soccer statuette, on a trip with her dad a few weeks back to the Refuse Tip -- that's the dump, not advice to serving staff or the task a demolitions expert performs when rehabilitiating an old explosive device -- and was perfectly satisfied with that. But after seeing the fun her sisters, especially reluctant Grice, and her former schoolmates were having, she decided to start taking lessons and to participate in the tournament as well. The only problem was that in the last junior tournament, right before the Christmas break, she had been competing against the B group of novice players. None of those kids signed up this time, so she was playing doubles (which if you were her partner was really like playing singles against a doubles team) with the advanced kids 4-9 years her senior. The coach decided at the beginning of the event she would get an Encouragement Award just for participating. I kept mum about it. The trophies came out much bigger than we expected and when the kids saw them they wondered if these were display trophies that would only have their names engraved on and would sit enshrined in a case somewhere like a holy relic; they could not believe they got to take these home. Elle was in such awe of the presentation table contents she did not believe me, lowly secretary that I am, when I said the winners would keep these. When the coach presented her with her very own gold colored plasticky prize, she whispered something to him to which he smiled and replied, "Yes, forever!" She reckons it's worth about 5,000 dollars. She's also been invited to play on the junior junior squad which will play against a team from the resort town, and has readily accepted.




We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;
His present and your pains we thank you for:
When we have march'd our rackets to these balls,
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.
Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
With chaces. And we understand him well,
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valued this poor seat of England;
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself
To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common
That men are merriest when they are from home.
But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,
Be like a king and show my sail of greatness
When I do rouse me in my throne of France:
For that I have laid by my majesty
And plodded like a man for working-days,
But I will rise there with so full a glory
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands;
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;
And some are yet ungotten and unborn
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.
But this lies all within the will of God,
To whom I do appeal; and in whose name
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on,
To venge me as I may and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin
His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.
Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well.

-- William Shakespeare (Henry V)

Thursday, March 08, 2007

Blind-sided

After I wrote a very pleasant, "Thanks, but no thanks" response for the position of the primary school's P&C (Parent and Citizen) President, Jorge and I attended the annual general meeting to participate in the election of a new board. My heart was light. I was off the hook.

Until sealed written nominations for the position of Vice-President were opened.

Me.

Speechless, someone suggested I take a moment to review the Help! I've Been Elected P&C Vice-President booklet listing the responsibilities of VP, which I eagerly grabbed, not truly considering, stalling, and finding a convenient hiding place for my burning red face.

They proceeded to open sealed nominations for Secretary.

Me, again.

By now my face was magenta.

Repeating the mantra in my head: I'm-homeschooling-my-daughter-I'm-already-secretary-of-the-tennis-club-I'm-homeschooling-my-daughter... I politely declined to the large group of people around the table staring at me, and stuck to my guns even after a very awkward, painfully prolonged period where other nominations were sought and finally extracted from the gathered masses.

If they had opened the nomination for Treasurer and read my name, I'm sure I would have either burst into hysterical laughter or keeled over.


Politics are almost as exciting as war, and quite as dangerous. In war you can only be killed once, but in politics many times.

-- Winston Churchill

Saturday, March 03, 2007

What passes for fun...



This is an 11 x 14 " sketch pad Sarabelle decided to practice her Japanese hiragana on. Not an assignment, not extra credit, just for fun.



Sarabelle signed up for school-sponsored music lessons, choosing the very-difficult-to-lug-home-on-the-bus-and-up-the-mountain double bass. Not a core class, not an elective, just for fun.


It were not best that we should all think alike; it is difference of opinion that makes horse-races.

-- Mark Twain