Here is a grevillea, a native plant in my front yard.
All the plants in my garden are native, except for the olives.
I love Grevilleas because they are "other", in the sense of being a plant which is other than a traditional european plant: strange-shaped and alien. They belong in this sandy soil, in this drought, this climate. If you look carefully, you will see who loves grevillea: a little blue-hooded friend.
It seems I have been given a "Thinking Blogger" award by the lovely Meli, at
and the little book room
I'm rather flattered, since I admire Meli's wonderful musings and ideas, the effortless way with which she speaks about the world, books, places, images, and literary notions which might lie amongst the sediment of my brain were she not there to stir them about, like a conductor with a baton.
I don't know how many loved things have been reanimated by Meli's wand: Les Murray, Randolph Stow, the whole IDEA of Medievalism, York...things which become buried in the constant workings of my life, things which are not always allowed a place in my desperate (and often failed) efforts to be pragmatic, things into which she breathes life.
I am going to pass this thinking award to:
My crazy friend arcturus from notes from arcturus
I do so at the risk of there being a conversation about backless pants in his comments thread, but really...
If there is something this highly intelligent meteorologist/astronomist doesnt know about the skies, I would like to know what that is. His musings about the stars, the nebulae, and clouds are positioned against a background of existential angst and longing, his walks around Washington DC paint a vivid picture of real life in that city. He captures houses, grand or small, fragments of gardens and streets on his ramblings through the streets, gay bars, and open air cinemas, detailing a Life in the Empire of Bush as a cynical, often marginalised, highly educated gay man.
Arcturus reminds me that all of us have within us the capacity to love,that existence is boundless , and that the exquisite can be simultaneously near and far..
It is likely that I am highly addicted to her lovely Irish accent, but her wry and amusing observations on life are particularly exquisite. I also find myself distracted repeatedly by her flickr account, transported by her beautiful images. Who doesn't love the Irish? This blog is a treat, and unlike real life, in which my irish friends, (particularly attracta houlihan), all seem to have a habit of hitting or poking me on the upper arm to punctuate a sentence every few words, Ganching doesnt hit me at all. And her stories are just splendid.
Feisty, wonderful, sensitive and thoughtful...I love the interweaving of life as a Printmaker/Letterpress artist, mother of delightful small boy, and all round observer of life. If I was in a blind funk of shittiness and needed to go out and chat with someone, this would be the chick I'd do it with. From the joys of aesthetics of letterpress, to the blackest depths to which a soul can plunge, and every bright colour of the in between.
Thoughtful and quietly provocative, The Princess discusses issues of living globally, of connecting with people around the world, matters of materialism, the pointlessness of many of life's exercises, relationships and love.
Here the blue bonnetted one feeds on a firesprite grevillea.
These ones glow like real fire, and are precisely the same ruby red as the Lorikeets'eye.