# 4 - Watch The Sunrise At Manly

Sometimes a picture removes the need for words and all that is required is to observe and listen.

Watching sunrises has become one of my favourite things to do this year.  It's an interest which was ignited when I pursued #87 - Wake Up Every Morning at 5am for a Month.  Each sunrise unique although similar.  The most simplest form of entertainment is getting up early and plonking yourself in a chair for half an hour or so to watch one of Mother Nature's sunbeam shows!


This photo was taken along the Esplanade at Manly, one of Brisbane's eastern suburbs on the bay.  I woke up at 3:30am, left home at 4am with a thermos of chai and a couple of camping chairs to meet my friend Dario at 4:30am.  We then drove to Manly, reaching there when the dark night sky was just starting to show infantile signs of day break.


I love this time of morning, listening to it slowly starting to wake up and come to life.  The birds get a bit noisier, the traffic gets a bit heavier and people come out of their homes and say good morning to each other. 


Through my learnings of Buddhism and meditation this year, fundamentally the consistent message is the need for a peaceful, still mind existing in and focusing on the present moment.  A mind without thought or distraction.  All too often an untamed mind is running away with memories and sometimes regrets from the past or predictions and hopes for the future.  If you're doing this, as I often find I am then, maybe you're doing it wrong.  Perhaps what you need is a good dose of sunrise spotting.  Set the alarm, get up early and go and marvel at the world!  Peace...xo


  

# 84 Run In The Bridge To Brisbane and # 70 - Participate In Ramadan

Sooner or later it had to happen.  I didn't complete some of the activities on The List.  The Bridge to Brisbane (B2B) was held on Sunday September 11.  I had been ill a few days prior and now a few days after with all the usual symptoms and so I scratched myself from the race.  As for Ramadan, on the other hand I knew it was in the latter half of the year but it was near on the last week of August when I found out that August was the month of Ramadan.   But first, about the Bridge...


Each year the B2B has a major charity partner which receives the funds raised in the time leading up to the race.  As a participant you are not obliged to raise funds although it is nice, gives you a sense of satisfaction and community involvement and makes other people smile.  This year's appreciative recipients of the B2B's donations was Legacy.  Legacy is dedicated to supporting the families of war veterans, assisting 100,000 widows and 1,900 children.  Legacy aims to do whatever it can to ensure families thrive in spite of loss and sacrifice.


The B2B is a 5 or 10km event and you can choose to either walk or run... or shuffle or stagger as an individual or as a team.  Guaranteed there will be one team called 'The Dream Team' and at least one group of guys in irradescent green sweat bands and pink tutus and someone dressed as a gorilla.  It's B2B tradition.  It's a great family and fun day with the finish line at the Royal Exhibition Grounds with post-race food, stalls, entertainment, oranges and fruit and if you like you can pre-order and purchase a breakfast of champions.  If you stick around long enough you can even win a car in the lucky draw.  

This year 42,571 participants entered.  That's a total of around 85,142 smelly socks and sneakers over the finish line!  I've participated in the B2B for the last 3 years and I'm a little disappointed I didn't get a chance to improve on last year's 10km run result and continue the praxis of a free t-shirt.  Sigh.  On the plus side though the entry fee I paid contributed to the funds raised for Legacy and there will be next year to break the 60 minute mark.


Ramadan, an Islamic tradition occurs for 29-30 days of the ninth month of the Islamic calendar.  The actual dates change every year depending on the moon's cycle.  It is a month of fasting, in which participants refrain from eating, drinking, smoking and having sex during daylight hours.  It's for the purpose of teaching patience, spirituality, humility, self-discipline, self-control and to develop an empathy for others less fortunate.  


I've done my research about Islam and in its purest form teaches kindness, compassion, love and respect.  It promotes a community spirit and inclusivity.  Nowhere in the Qur'an does it insist that Muslims must kill and die for what they believe in, no matter what the cost.  Nowhere does it say that women must be oppressed.  In fact Muslim women are encouraged to receive a university education and have many rights, according to Islamic law, including:

• Women can not be denied the right to an education
• Forced marriage is prohibited
• Women can file legal suits in court and initiate divorce
• Women can enter into contracts without interference or permision from a man
• Spousal abuse is a punishable offense
• Women must receive equal pay for equal work.

The list goes on.  Oh and about the hijab.  Dress codes which apply to women also apply to men.  For example Muslim men must:    

• Not wear tight clothes
• Grow a beard if they are able to do so
• Wear a hat called a kufi
• Cover the area from the knees up to the navel when in public at all times
• Wear long pants or a loose gown and a shirt.

As for other misrepresentations of Islamic culture and beliefs, the word Jihad does not mean a holy war, nor does it give permission to anyone to kill innocent people for not believing or following Islamic law.  In fact, it is against Islamic law to force another person to convert to Islam.  But back to Jihad.  Jihad literally means 'to strive or struggle or to work for something with determination'.  Studying a degree, doing volunteer work or even training for a triathlon or sport could all come under the heading jihad, according to the real definition!


Some things that Muslims do oppose are:

• The selling of alcohol, pornography and drugs
• Littering and pollution
• Gossip or slander
• Corruption in government
• Pedophilia and spousal abuse
• Cruelty to animals.

If there is one thing I am passionate about it's false assumptions, misinterpretations and misrepresentations. I have spent a good part of twelve years with one of my closest and best friends who happens to be a Muslim man and I am so thankful of the beautiful wisdom he has taught me.  I encourage anyone who is interested in dispelling myths and getting actual facts about Islamic beliefs to pick up a book and start reading.  Heck there's even an Idiot's Guide to Understanding Islam which is written in an easy-to-read plain English format.

I was looking forward to experiencing Ramadan and a deeper feeling of fulfillment and commitment.  But I guess, like the B2B there is always next year...


 

#85 - Pose Nude For A Photo

As I've worked my way through my List of 100 Things To Do In One Year I've developed an interest in working with and for my local and global community, through volunteering opportunities, raising money for assorted charities.  It's quite thrilling to do a small thing collectively with a group of others, thus resulting in a bigger impact.  There are quite a few community focused groups who do great work and one that has come to my attention recently is The Butterfly Foundation.  TBF is dedicated to the support and treatment of Australians affected by eating disorders.

My mate Dario brought a fundraiser to my attention - a group photo shoot to be printed and sold with the proceeds donated to TBF.  But there's a twist.  It was to be a naked group photo shoot.  

The concept, similar to photographer Spencer Tunick, was to get as many people to lie down stark raving naked in the shape of a love heart and take some happy snaps.  Tunick takes some great shots using models of all shapes, sizes and race in a completely non-creepy artsy way, depicting the beauty in genetic diversity across the human race.  Fat ones, skinny ones, brown ones, white ones.. they're all there represented equally.


Now before you go making all sorts of assumptions about what kind of a person would agree to a naked photo shoot I will plea with you to hold off on any judgments.  Participating in a photo shoot wearing one's birthday suit is by no means necessarily amalgamated with anything unbecoming of a lady.  This was for a good cause remember and frankly it's worth experiencing at least once in a person's life.

My first thought upon arrival at the venue for this photo shoot was 'there are wangs everywhere'.  It's true, there was an awful lot of cock.  More than you could poke a stick at.  I was decidedly over dressed.  I was only one of a couple who remained fully clothed right up until the photo shoot.  It was only then that I dis-robed in favour of a sarong and then, right at the last possible moment it was my moment of truth.


Similar to Spencer Tunick's subjects there was a variety of people at our photo shoot.  All perfectly normal, imperfect yet beautiful-in-their-own-right, young and old men and women.  Personally - and surprisingly - I felt entirely at ease.  Sure, I caught a few people having a look, but then they would have caught me looking at them too.  Certainly not in a perverse way but in a way that you run your eyes over a person's outfit or hair or physique when you meet fully clothed.  It was no different.


It was the most resplendent, bright and glorious day to be outdoors.  The sun was warming our skin in the way that only Brisbane's September sun can and birds were tweeting chipper little melodies.  An hour or so later we'd formed about half a dozen varieties of our love heart shape.  Some lying face down on the outline of the heart, some face up.  One standing up, holding hands, another we were all lying in foetal position forming the heart shape on plush green grass.


There'll be no photographic evidence of this one at least not on my blog.  There was only about 30 people who participated in the photo shoot, me the only redhead and I'm afraid it'd be all too easy to spot me in the crowd. 

Reexamining yesterday's experience I can't really believe I did it. But then again I also can't pretend that it was a big deal in the end.  Just another thing I've done for the sake of doing and another charity I have supported whose work I truly admire.  If I had the opportunity to nude up again for another cause I'd consider it, depending on the circumstances of course.  But for now I think I'll put my birthday suit to the back of the wardrobe... at least for another year.

#91 - Go Camping

Volunteer work is addictive.  It's the perfect cyclical nature of giving for the sake of giving and receiving in return.  You give up some of your time for a worthy cause and usually, they give you a free tshirt.  See #58 - Do Some Volunteering and #59 - Get A Free Tshirt.  There is the warm and fuzzy feeling, sure but really it's just a heap of fun!

The Ride to Conquer Cancer is a 2-day 230km bike ride starting from the University of Queensland, St Lucia Campus, through the gorgeous Brisbane Valley ending on day one (19 August 2011) at Somerset Dam.  Along the way there are pit stops, medical staff, cheer squads every 20-25 kms (manned by volunteers).  Upon arrival riders are greeted enthusiastically by volunteers who will congratulate you on a ride well done and park your bike.  Your comfy accommodation - a tent - will already be set up (by volunteers) and riders can relax with a beer (served by volunteers), a well earned massage (volunteers) and a meal (volunteers).  Are you getting the theme here much?? 

When I was offered the opportunity to volunteer for this event, for the entire weekend I jumped at the chance.  Given that my recent experience with volunteering had such a lasting, positive effect I had resolved to do more community focused volunteer work and I was not disappointed.

The day started at UQ at 4:30am.  I was allocated the bike parking team and at 6am it was time for the cyclists to head towards the start line.  We checked bikes out and wished the riders well.  With 1900-odd riders out of the starting blocks, it was a slow departure but by 7am they were on their way.  May I please mention that at 7am the temperature was 6 degrees celcius?  Thank you.  Six degrees of frozen fingers and toes. 


After a few odd jobs and errands we were on our way to Somerset Dam (in a car) with work to do!  Upon arrival, we helped the Tent Team to pitch and number almost 1000 tents.  I was on mallet duty, hammering pegs my speciality. 

The first rider cruised into camp around 10:30 and by about midday there was a steady flow of cyclists arriving at camp, so we were off to bike parking duties.  By the end of the day, 6:30pm we were skillfully parking bikes with precision.  Some bikes were obviously expensive and owned by enthusiasts.  Others, were just your usual commuter bikes but the bike that stood out was a purple rusted ladies bike at least 30 or more years old with a shabby ripped vinyl seat (padding poking our) and a rattly rear mud guard that was haphazardly strapped on with an old bike tube.  When I asked about the bike, the woman said she deliberately rode this bike because she wanted to demonstrate that it was not about being a cyclist with the most modern and ostentatious gear.  The point was participation, passion and philanthropy.


At 6:30pm the volunteers were rallied together for a meeting.  We were given our 2nd free tshirt of the weekend (I'm quickly building a collection of free tshirts) and an itinerary for the next day.  Then we were asked to line up and walk toward the dining hall, a massive marquee where the riders were dining and some speeches were being made.  Our team leaders told us to get excited and clap and cheer when we were asked to.  I grew suspicious, but "just trust us" was the response I received when pop-quizzed them on what was going on.  By this time we had arrived at the entrance to the dining hall, I was at the very start of the line with my gal pal when I tweeked to what was going on.  I heard the tail end of the speech and it was something like ".... they feed us, they cheer us on, they were there at each and every pit stop encouraging us to keep going, they put up your tent, they parked your bikes... would you please welcome and give a big hand to THE VOLUNTEERS!!!!"  And right on cue, as instructed We. Got. Excited.  


The lot of us ran and skipped through the dining hall, waving and smiling at the riders who gave us rambunctious clapping, cheering and whistling to the soundtrack of Survivor's 'Eye Of The Tiger'.  There was a media crew there filming it and most of the riders gave us a standing ovation.  

A standing ovation!  Oh my Buddha.  It was a moment.


By the time we did our lap of honour I had completed a 14 hour day.  It was time for dinner and a sit down.  I needed to be fed and watered.  


We sat through a few speeches, mostly announcing the biggest fundraisers.  One woman raised $50,000.  On her own.  The total amount raised was the largest sum ever raised in Queensland for a charity.  The final figure?  $4.7 million.  Let me say that again.  $4.7 million for cancer research at the Queensland Institute of Medical Research (QIMR). The CEO of QIMR, Irish-born Frank, a more distinguished grey-haired gentleman made a wonderful speech.  Frank participated in the ride that day however he decided beforehand not to do any training or preparation for the ride, quite deliberately because, as he said, no one is prepared for cancer they just have to face that challenge with true grit.  That is how he wanted to face this ride.  


The speeches ended and the band started up.  In my head I was on the dance floor but after a 3:30am rise and a 14 hour day I was off to the showers and in my tent by about 8pm falling asleep to the distant sound of the cover band, who was playing very similar music as the cover band from last week's Coke party (see #76 - Go On A Date).  In fact I'm convinced it was the exact same set list! 


Up early next morning 5am, a quick breakfast and back on bike parking team duties, checking wristband matched name and rider number on bike.  A handful of people were not riding on day 2.  Their bikes were transported back to UQ via Thrifty hire truck.  We volunteers loaded them onto the truck (bikes, not riders) and riders were ferried in air conditioned comfy seat comfort via coach.  I don't blame them really.  There's no way I'd ride that far.  I mean, the bike seat is enough to put me off.  If the bike seat was a bit wider and a bit more comfortable, kind of like an armchair and you didn't have to pedal - say if it was a motorised bike and you could just recline, have a nap and the bicycle rides itself then yeah, sure, I'd ride 236kms in two days.


A few hours later the last rider had left, we did a quick scenic tour of the dam - it was gorgeous and a good place to camp - and were back at UQ, taking bikes off the Thrifty truck and parking them.  The first few riders had already arrived, at 10:30am.  There wasn't much else for us to do and so the weekend's work finished at around midday.


As I reflected on the weekend, I realised there were many times when I caught myself way out of my comfort zone and loving every minute of it.  I used to look at people who did volunteer work and think to myself "why would you do that?" both with curiousity and admiration.  I used to think it took a special person.  I'm not sure about that but I can say the reasons why I volunteer and why I'm interested in doing more volunteering is that as I get older, values, ethics, karma, compassion, teamwork and altruism become more important and I am now more interested in giving than taking.  

#76 - Go On A Date

Everyone makes mistakes for which they should not be judged and in a haze of optimism I agreed to go to a singles night back in June at the Regatta Hotel, Toowong.  It was pitched at the 25-45 year old age bracket.  The 40-45s were over represented, some folks were clearly in their late fifties and there was a smattering of thirty-somethings.  When I say smattering I mean my two gal pals and I and two other chaps.  

The two chaps who befriended us seemed innocuous, nice enough and kept our company for the 2nd half of the evening.  It literally was the second half because some of the singles had moved to the room next door where a significant rugby match was being televised.  Personally football is not a passion of mine but compared to the singles event let's just say that I was cheering on someone's team, yelling at the mesmerising plasma screen.  One of our newest friends, let's call him Charles appeared to take a little bit of a shine to me.  Towards the end of the evening he requested my company on a forthcoming occasion, his work party in a couple weeks time.  Considering his polite demeanour and gentlemanliness I accepted the invitation and we exchanged phone numbers.

Over the course of the evening it turns out that my gal pal works at the same company as Charles.  And the workplace in question?  Coca-Cola Amatil.


Fast forward to August 13, I arrive at the venue, the Brisbane Exhibition and Convention Centre in suitably prescribed after five attire.  The ladies were dressed to kill and some of the fellas went to the trouble of suit and tie.  Pre-dinner drinks were served - all Coca-Cola products of course - and after the necessary preamble we made our way into the Great Hall, greeted by red carpet!  


The tables were set with all the trimmings to be expected from a multi-million dollar world dominating company.  Two massive screens were suspended from the ceiling broadcasting Coca-Cola tv advertisements from the 1960s and 70s through to the naughties.  I'm ashamed to admit that I remembered quite a few of them.  Every person had a silver Coca-Cola yo-yo gifted to them in a little black box, commemorating 125 years of Coca-Cola beverage market supremacy.

There were awards given out on the night for folks who had completed a significant amount of years at the company.  Among them, there were employeess who had dedicated 15, 20, 25, 30 years and, astoundingly one chap who started working for Coca-Cola in 1971.  Forty years of continuous service.   Imagine!

Proceeding the awards we were served a delicious but not over-the-top 3 course meal and for the first time in literally a number of years I had a Coke!  It seems marketing actually works.  

Now for some daggy bits.  There was an entertainer who was yo-yo mad.  He knew all the yo-yo tricks, in fact too many.  And to think he would actually spend a significant amount of time practising them with all the different types and sizes of yo-yos that he had on stage with him on this particular evening.  There was even a yo-yo competition between about ten or so Coke employees who were summonsed on to stage and televised on the massive screens in the Great Hall.  Meanwhile, my date Charles entertained me with not one but two 3 minute videos on his phone of an SES helicopter which had landed on the tarmac at his workplace.  It was difficult to pick which of the giant yo-yo and the helicopter was worthy of my attention, so I stole a brand name bottle opener instead, slipping it into my handbag.  It was my way of rebelling.

Dinner was over and it was time for ripping up the dance floor.  

Not my date, but damn he should have been

I spent most of the rest of the evening getting my groove on and snacking on dessert and chocolates in between songs.  The cover band was great, at least as great as cover bands can be.  They really were true professionals.


Out of respect for Charles, I won't say how the date panned out but suffice to say I haven't been in contact and I declined his request for further dates.   However I had a good time at the party and spent some time getting to know my date both on the night and in between our first and last meeting, on 3 or 4 outings.  There was nothing, literally to base a potential friendship or relationship on with Charles.  Having said that I am grateful for having met him and given the opportunity to spend a small amount of time getting to know him.  He is not the one for me so for now I have released him back in the wild so he can meet his perfect match.

#34 - Buy a Pair of Crocs

For years they were the subject of my ridicule... and they will continue to be for they truly are a remarkably U N A T T R A C T I V E  shoe.  However I had to find out what all the fuss was about and I can state with absolute certainty that Crocs offer unforeseen comfort.  For $50 a pair they'd want to offer something.  Given they are irrefutably repulsive they also offer one of the greatest known contraceptives to humankind.   Aint nobody gettin' lucky wearing a pair of these!

Crocs are a little bit like a car crash.  You know you shouldn't look, partially out of respect for the victim and partially because the moment you do look you know that you will be horrified by the abhorrent scene.  


Stepping inside the Crocs store in the Queen Street Mall, Brisbane I was jolted by the range of styles, which you can view at the Crocs website.  Alongside the original Crocs, which I promptly ignored, were sparkly slip ons, high heels, faux deck shoes, shoes in animal print with bright colours and sensible designs.  

I ran my eyes over some of the Crocs and even tried on a few, sans inspiration.  After a short while I rested my eyes on a cheeky pair of red sailor shoes for near on $60.  Sixty dollar for plastic shoes?!  I had plastic shoes in the 80s as a kid, they were all the rage and they weren't $60.  More like $6 and from K-Mart to boot!  I slipped them on and walked around a little in the store.  They were indubitably agreeable and a happy halo encompassed my feet.  However, hesitation ensued momentarily.  Did I really want to offload such an expense for a pair of plastic shoes??? 


After pausing, reconsidering and recalculating I convinced myself to proceed nonetheless to finalise my purchase.  The checkout was busy with tourists so I entertained myself by glimpsing around at the surroundings and there on display on the Sale! stand were these little beauties.

Allow me to recapitulate my cohorts, these Crocs are off the hook when it comes to comfort,  versatility and convenience.  A casual little pair of rubicund ballet flats, they are suitable for work (casual Fridays) and play, jeans and skirts.  And for a paltry $30 I am more than happy with my frugal bargain spotting.

I love the reactions from my friends to whom I have announced "I bought some Crocs".  Typically the response has been a loathesome "urgh God, you didn't did you?"  But when I reply "yep!" and shove my foot in their field of view the reaction changes from disgust to curious animated delight.  It seems most of us are oblivious to the full range of Crocs footwear, understandably so.  They haven't exactly promoted themselves as fashionistas in the field of haughty hoofers.

Suitably chuffed with the purchase they are now a favourite of mine.  I believe I have unravelled the mystery of why so many had to rush out and buy the most hideous looking shoes at the height of their popularity. The comfort sought in a shoe is available in Crocs footwear, however don't wear them to impress for you will be disappointed...

#93 - Visit The Big Pineapple and #94 - Visit Ettamogah Pub

Global Financial Crisis or GFC as a substitute or weakened version of calling the current 'economic tough times' a recession is as effective as calling a spade a shovel.  We all know it's a spade, why don't we just call it a spade?  And what's with the pack of cards reference?  When the Global Financial Crisis is finally over, and the pendulum swings again in favour of economic not-so-tough times are we going to refer to the state of the economy as hearts?  Diamonds?  No.  More likely we'll just say it's ace, and rightly so.  Not so ace is the closure of the Sunshine Plantation aka The Big Pineapple on Queensland's Sunshine Coast.  It went into receivership in 2009, however enjoyed many years of success as a tourist attraction after it was opened in August 1971. 

I don't recall the first time I went there, as a youngster with my family.  I was too young, naive and inexperienced to appreciate the kitsch candour of Pineapple: Big.  As an adult I was looking forward to pinapple this and that.  Pineapple pencils, pineapple stickers, pineapple coffee, pineapple post-its, other pineappley tacky tourist tidbits and of course pineapple lumps.  Not to be.  Oh well.  Just one thing though, why is the Big Pineapple website still up and running??  It's false advertising man and now that I know about it, I want to ride on the Nutmobile!!!  The website also boasts of leisure wear.  Does that mean pineapple yellow velour tracksuits in anyone else's book?? 

Next stop on this road trip was Ettamogah Pub.  It really should change its name to Ettabogan Pub.  Check out their car park:

There was beer guts and goatees everywhere!... and that was just the women.  This place was swarming with wall to wall bogans of every description and yes, there are bogan sub-cultures within bogan sub-cultures.  These were your Car Enthusiast Bogans.  Also present, Biker Bogans.  I dare not photograph them though.  Not unless I was willing to get my norks out.  They probably haven't seen fully clothed women in a long time, what between the topless bars and the wet t-shirt competitions.  I'm sure that if I requested a photo the response would have resulted in polite gentry tete-a-tete, such as "sure luv, just show us yer tits", which is bogan for "sure luv, just show us yer tits".  Bogans are known for calling a spade a fu*ckin' spade, unlike ill-named Global Fried Chicken in the example above.


With beer in hand we're on the verandah upstairs when the car club collectively decided to call it quits and revved up their engines. A number of clientele peered curiously over the verandah at the ruckus below.  I entertained myself with the decor de la bogue.  The sign on the ladies - sorry, I should say 'sheilas' -  proudly displayed its extensive vocabulary with half a dozen names for 'toilet' including but not limited to: thunderbox and dunny.  Classy.


Why must we resort to the cringe-worthy stereotypes of Australians like the blue singlet wearing, beer-guzzling larrikin type for a laugh when Australians are, by definition so much more diverse?  Ocker culture, thankfully appears to be fading, lost in the blend of more interesting, substantial cultures, replaced with a broader sense of 'Australian'.  Naturally, our 'Australian-ness' has earned us a reputation on the world stage and is one of the reasons why visitors have selected Australia as a preferred destination both temporarily and permanently.  The Ettamogah pub embodies its fair share of Australia that international visitors come to see and the novelty hasn't worn off.  Yet.   

I'm left wondering if the tourist icon, once basking in its splendour will suffer the same fate as the Big Pineapple as the world grows weary of crocodiles, koalas and cans of Fosters.

#79 - Eat Dessert First

Pascall's do great confectionery.  Chocolate eclairs, clinkers, pineapple lumps and fruit bon bons to name a few.  My Dutch grandparents used to come armed with fruit bon bons on their visits to the farm which I grew up on in the Lockyer Valley.  Marshmallows however are a bit of a favourite, a classic, if you will.  T'was marshmallows for dessert on this occasion.  The dessert that I ate first, before the main meal.

Last full moon, 15th July, one of my gal pals invited me to a full moon party and as per chance it was held in the suburb where I reside.   This full moon shin dig was being hosted and attended by a group of folks, some of which were known to each other, bonded by their mutual enrolment at a yoga teacher training course, taught by the reputable Radiant Light Yoga.  I was a ring-in.  An outsider, however it didn't matter.


Gal pal, Claudia picked me up on the Saturday night and we drove half a dozen blocks from my place to the party.  The first to arrive, we were greeted by the hostess who, by a desultory coincidence, I immediately recognised.  "Nicola!  Hi!  We've met before!" I exclaimed and proceeded to tell the story, reminding her of the time her son Brock befriended me on the train (see post #1 Talk To A Stranger At A Set Of Traffic Lights). How's that for a SECOND incidental meeting??    Brock, was not in attendance that night due to a prior engagement with grandparental units.

It was to be an outdoor affair complete with a campfire, which was being dutifully stoked and attended to by Michael and Rohan.  Michael is one of the yoga students and Rohan is his young and brilliant son.  Brilliant because it was Rohan who suggested we needed marshmallows.  Thoroughly concurring Claudia and I journeyed off back home to pick up camp chairs from my place and a packet of Pascall's from the local Friendly Grocer.  The last packet mind you, fate was the order of the night!


Back at the campfire, we tore open the pack of marshmallows and I had to jump (a few times) to grab a couple of long, thin sticks off the nearest tree, tall that it was.  Rohan and I quickly took up residence as Short Order Marshmallow Chefs.  I prefer to roast marshmallows over coals while Rohan preferred the flame grill method... until of course the flame caught the better of his first few marshmallows.  

By now a few more people had turned up and Rohan and I had marshmallow orders to fill.  We had fun spotting out different coloured flames.  Blue, white, all shades of yellow, orange and red and even the occasional green flame.  I had really gotten to know the coals, as a chef might get to know his or her oven and kitchen.  Cook one, eat one, cook one, eat one.  We alternated between offering toasted marshmallows to guests and eating one ourselves, whilst a luscious vegetarian dinner of naan bread and an aromatic curry was simmering away in the kitchen upstairs, making its presence known by languidly wafting down the stairs and intermingling with eau de campfire.  Little wonder that everyone tucked in heartily once it was ready.  


The party continued until the last piece of wood had been placed on the embers and one by one guests announced their resignation.  We too thanked our host, Nicola for the evening, saying we'd probably meet again, and bid our farewells.


Reflecting on the evening later I thought about how I really didn't want to go.  Before Claudia picked me up I considered calling, nay - texting her, armed with any one of my pathetic excuses.  I also thought about little needed social networking websites.  Given the chance meeting with Nicola on two occasions now, unplanned, people turn up constantly in our lives, achieved by a simple method known as Just Leaving The House.  All you have to do to meet the right people at the right time is leave the house and who knows what fun you might end up having?  Toasting marshmallows and having a sing-a-long around a campfire by moonlight is what I risked missing out on and I am grateful for the lovely evening that unfolded, like origami.  And like someone who unfolds origami out of curiousity, I'd like to repeat the process 1000 times over........  Peace.

#16 - Go To A Car Show

After a couple days of light rain, drizzle and a paltry 15 degrees celcius the weather was as effulgent as some of the chrome bumpers on display at MotorFest.  The age of the cars ranged from old to really old.  Meandering through the exhibition, the crowd was clearly and unanimously smitten with the cars that bore the most mystery and nostalgia, otherwise known as 'Veterans'. (Definitions for 'Veteran' varies, but is loosely defined as cars manufactured before the end of 1919).  There were a couple Model T Fords which, dating back to 1910, have outlived many of their previous owners, illustrating a combination of clever engineering and dedicated restoration.  If only these cars could speak, they'd have some stories no doubt.

Next stop was the British section.  My dad, who accompanied me for the day started explaining that British brands Wolseley, Morris and blah blah were bought out by British Motor Something - or - Other Whatever Dad Company and slowly went out of product - hey! look at those necklaces!  Thankfully the women at this shin dig were given a little break from the wall-to-wall testosterone with a little bit of bling... 


Next stop, French cars.  No berets and baguettes, just Peugeots and Citroens, old and new. 
Representing Germany, Volkswagens and Volvos, or 'Iced Vovos" as I like to call them, except more tasteful.  (The biscuits I mean, not the cars).


But, my sixth sense told me something was wrong.  Where was the Bogan section?  The whole place is a bogan section, but my point is, where were all the Typical Aussie Blokes and the Holden display, inparticular, where were the Toranas??  It was eerily quiet without them.  If they were to be excluded it would be a reprehensible crime.  I searched high and low - at the very least I turned a corner - and there in all their glory were the beloved, exquisite, stock-standard / standard-issue Bogan Mobile, the humble Torana.  I felt it necessary to gesticulate my deference by curtsying.  And posing for a photo. 

A 1977 model... and so is the car...

What drives a car enthusiast to care for and manicure an inanimate object?  In the news recently we've poked fun of the woman who's in love with the Eiffel Tower, but is the unconditional devotion to a car any different?  There was at least a few million dollars worth of automotive restoration on display today, and that's just the cost of parts, panels and paint.  That does not include the labour costs of such projects which for the most part, one can only guess is done out of love, determination and at times, frustration.  

You can not put a price on love.  Usually.  However we can put a price on the cost of search and rescue efforts.  MotorFest proudly donated all gate takings from their 2011 show to the RACQ Helicopter Rescue Network which provides lifesaving air medical and rescue services for Queenslanders.  For $2 it was an exceptional return on investment and a great day for father-daughter bonding.

My personal fave...

and its immaculate, pristine interior.  Remarkably impressive..

Red, black and old... and then there's the car...

Same model as a car dad owned in 1970... cost him $80

#77 - Make Banana Bread For Tara

For those of you have may have seen "Bridesmaids" recently, not a 'chick flick' by the way, there were dudes in the cinema when I went and saw it and they were loving it - evident by their outbursts of laughter - you'd be familiar with the concept of perfectly (in)sane people railroading their (dys)functional friends into doing things in times of crises to help a friend in need.  Want friendship?  Need banana bread. 


Monday night I turned up the radio, busted out the electric beater and stoked up the stove.  I was elbow deep in flour, sugar, eggs and of course bananas in preparation for "Tara Day".  

I've been stealing ideas left, right and centre from this chick since we started working together and in fact this 100 Things To Do In One Year was originally Tara's brainchild.  The concept is simple and in fact, each one of us should have a "Tara Day".  Just follow these steps:

1. Schedule the day off work in advance
2. Spend the day doing stuff to pamper yourself.  Sleep in, get a massage, go out to lunch, go to a good hairdresser and get your hair cut, buy yourself something you've been eyeing off for the last 6 months, go out for breakfast in a lovely cafe on the water and sit in the sun.
3. Do not, repeat, DO NOT feel guilty about spending the day exactly as you want to.

In an effort to help Tara celebrate Tara Day, I felt it was in order to bake something special.  Considering she has been a great mentor, awesome friend and all round cool chick, deservey of home made banana bread.  

Banana bread is a staple 3pm snack salubriously restoring sanity for colleague and gal pal, Tara.  Noted that they don't make bananas like they used to, I had to save up for the lady fingers only because, due to childlessness and yes ok maybe principle, I could not sell my first born. If I was a guy I could have sold my first porn, though I can imagine for some parting with one's "first porn" could almost be as sentimental as selling one's first born.  Err... whatever.... Happy Tara Day everybody!!!!

#87 - Wake Up Every Morning At 5am For A Month

Typically winter in Brisbane records overnight / morning temperatures of around 11 degrees.  For us here in Brisbane, that's about 20 degrees less than what our bodies are typically accustomed to.  I'm speaking very broadly of course, but generally we are adapted to a warmer climate.  June 2011 has seen some slightly cooler than average temperatures, yet for the entire month of June I woke at 5am and went for a 30 minute run, sometimes braving single figure temperatures.  The coldest morning was 5 degrees.

I didn't deliberately choose June.  I believe June chose me because waking every morning at 5am was something which eventuated naturally and automatically, without a pre-conceived strategy.

Surprisingly it was rather easy to wake at this hour as I found myself really enjoying it, once dressed, outside and running.  It did not come without the usual nagging thoughts of going back to bed, especially since the purchase of an electric blanket. 

There are four other people in the neighbourhood who are also early morning exercisers, and I soon found myself recognising them and seeing them in roughly the same places on the same streets at the same time, morning after morning.  There was Asian Lady With The Pink Gloves And Big Straw Hat who was very focused on her power walking.  Also, The Couple With The Two Dogs who were regularly spotted walking rather casually near the local bowls club and Big Running Bloke who would pass me after about 5 minutes into my run, with a breathless "g'day" and a smile.  

Then there's the local bakery, a family run business which was always open, beckoning me inside with its delicious baked pastry aroma filling my nostrils from no less than a street away.  Countless times my tastebuds wanted to run right into that bakery however my feet carried me past the bakery and around the corner into a leafy suburban street where families, couples, the elderley and children were still counting sheep, snoring peacefully, oblivious to my 100 Things To Do and the waking sounds of the neighbourhood as night turned into dawn and birds started their morning chorus lines and feeding frenzies.  They were missing out on the most serene and delicate part of the day. 


Early mornings are truly exhilirating and a sunrise is a miraculous, moving event which can be experienced every day.  Beautiful sunrises occur unpredictably by chance.  You have to risk a few to get a good one.  Kind of like finding a life partner.  Which reminds me... Statistically speaking most people find partners close to home, often within a 5km radius... I wonder if Big Running Bloke is single???  Might put my running shoes on in the morning...

#39 - Take One Photo Every Day For A Month

One of the most beautiful things I have ever seen was a Queenslander style house in the process of being deconstructed, presumably for the purpose of being moved off site.  I spotted it as I was parking in West End a couple of years ago.  Cautionary signs on the temporary fencing warned of the danger within the construction site.  Some of the walls had been stripped of, well, walls and all that was remaining was roof and frame.  

Why was such an unlikely subject considered beautiful?

As I gazed at the house, I imagined it as a home for various families through its 100-odd year history.  I could see some of the old grey, white and pink speckled linoleum, mustard coloured stained shagpile carpet and green ceramic bathroom basin beyond the stripped walls.  I pictured the families, their dynamics, the comings and goings, the children's laughter, the arguments, the dad coming home from his exhausting work being greeted by an apron-donning wife, the renovations though not pretty but necessary for new additions to the family, the black and white photo taken of the family on the steps, the hard times, the children leaving home and the inevitable selling up, moving on or death and transformation of the home into a boarding house for single men, transients and drunks.  That is the beauty.  The history.  

History, in its imperfection is beauty as it captures human spirit, error, ideas, pain, grace.  Photographs capture and make you think about history.  A 'good' photo uses elements such as clever use of light and shade, composition and the rule of thirds to name a few, and in doing so will provoke thoughts for the viewer.  Good photos make you 'feel'.

The point of taking one photo every day for a month was simply to open one's eyes and look around.  There were two days when I didn't take a photo, some days where I found it difficult to find new subjects and a few days where I took more than one.  The photos can be viewed on flickr.com.  Simply visit this page by clicking here. 

Thank you for viewing my photos.
  

#48 - Go To A Protest Rally

This week, SBS aired a special television event named "Go Back To Where You Came From" featuring 6 Australians with differing views on asylum-seekers to coincide with Refugee week.

The synopsis, from the SBS website: "The six participants start their journey living locally with recently settled refugees and asylum-seekers, before being stripped of wallets, phones and passports and put on a leaky refugee boat.

They end up in Malaysia sharing a flat with 52 refugees from Burma.

Some then travel via a Kenyan refugee camp to Goma and others to the slums of Jordan and on to Baghdad.

Both journeys were dangerous, with UN peacekeepers and the US military called on to safeguard the groups."

Undoubtedly the refugee debate is a big one here in Australia.  "Go Back" received record ratings and created a whirlwind of comments on SBS's twitter page.  World Refugee Day was on June 20 and on Saturday June 25, there was a protest rally in the Brisbane CBD from 1pm.

There was a number of stalls set up by various organisations, with petitions to sign and badges for sale.  The crowd, a few hundred strong, was a blend of young, old and all nations seemed to be represented.  The theme for the day, the message the protesters wanted to convey, judging by the nature of the banners was a) abolish mandatory detention and b) the Malaysian solution is not a good one.

A well-dressed young man addresses the crowd.  He is an Australian citizen but was once a refugee from Liberia who left behind his siblings.  He risked his life aboard a boat and has spent time in detention centres.  He tells stories of hearing women being raped during the night in Liberia.  He believes Australia is a compassionate country and is grateful for the chance of building his life here in Brisbane.  He urges the crowd to show compassion towards refugees and believes that Malaysia has a reputation for mistreating refugees.  

Whichever side of the debate your allegiances lie with there is no doubt that many refugees are in desperate situations.  So desperate that they must leave loved ones behind for an uncertain future, risking their own safety, for the chance of a prosperous new life in a country whose stance on illegal immigration is stoic.  If you think briefly for a moment about the poverty, famine and crime such refugees face every day in their homelands then you can not help but feel compassion.  

I am aware that solving the issue of illegal immigration is a complex one, regardless of my personal opinion.  However I do believe that as a nation Australia can afford to show more compassion than the 'f#$k off we're full' and 'we grew here, you flew here' emblazoned on tshirts and imprinted on narrow mentality, the population through.  Most people agree that multiculturalism is what makes Australia truly rich.  Immigrants and refugees have contributed, and will continue to do so, to the success and development of one of the most wonderful places on Earth to live, if we welcome new Australians from all walks of life.  Remembering that each and every one of us, aside from Indigenous Australians are indeed refugees of some kind.

#14 - Go To A Jazz Concert

I confess I am a serial sign-er up-er.  If there's a mailing list, I'm on it.  Rather than a panolopy of excuses why I can't talk to the Red Cross volunteer who has me cornered on the walk from office to train station in peak hour, I'll simply sign up for their e-news.  And yet I seem to spend half the time in my inbox unsubscribing to mailing lists which no longer interest me.  The beauty of being list-happy is that the recipient is forever being presented (inundated) with ideas on what to do, who to see, where to visit, thus ensuring the fool and their money soon go their separate ways.  Funny that.  Marketing, it seems, actually works a treat.

The Brisbane Jazz Club is one mailing list whose newsletters I actually read.  Jazz gigs for the week are emailed and week after week some of the same names appear on said list.  The Jason Recliners are one band who could draw a crowd based on name alone!  (I haven't seen them yet).  A couple of weeks ago one band caught my attention, Pascal Schumacher Quartet, who are apparently big in Belgium, so, former housemate and all round good guy John B and I arrive Thursday night at Jazzworx, with absolutely no notion or inkling of what was inside the front doot.

Jazzworx is a dark but cozy venue positioned in an industrial area of Bowen Hills, Brisbane.  There would be no soft edges to the venue however, cleverly, someone had the gumption to install sound absorbing panels on the ceiling and walls to deal with the harsh acoustics. 

The first band takes the stage and I am impressed with what the trumpet player can do with the embouchure of his chosen instrument, less so with what he has done with his hair i.e not washed it.  The xylophonist and in fact the entire band's ability as musicians is impeccable, truly impressive but it's Pascal Schumacher Quartet that the intimate crowd has come to see.  Translation: no one would have remembered the name of The First Band.

Impressive as they were Schumacher and his quartet deliver a standard The First Band can not match.  Schumacher's ability on the vibraphone, quote "inject(s) panache and flamboyance into every performance".  (Ruth Fisher, www.pascalschumacher.com) and tonight is the rule.  No exceptions.  He makes it look like an afternoon in a park, lying in the sun on a picnic blanket as he frantically yet perfectly picks out and strikes the notes on the vibraphone with unimpeachable timing, speed and force.

Promoting their latest album 'Bang My Can', it's difficult to define the genre, particularly when your knowledge of jazz is - ahem - limited but it's definitely experimental.  Waning in and out of more recognisable jazz, crossing boundaries, seemingly "keen to explore the links that exist between many musical genres, it is difficult to pigeon–hole his talent, his taste or his musical influences." 

Schumacher and his quartet are indubitably talented however it's the drummer, German Jens Duppe, who is most mesmerising.  Transfixed, as I often am to the drummer, who is the true leader of any band, his skill matches Schumacher's and their natural synchronisity eludes to a lengthy affiliation.  The quartet formed in 2002 and I am hoping the partnership between myself and the drummer could form in 2011, he's the one on the far right in the picture.  Bang My Can?  Thanks, but how about the drummer instead?

You can read all about Pascal Schumacher, see some photos and even listen to some tracks, by visiting www.pascalschumacher.com  My favourite is 30 Little Jelly Beans and the title track, Bang My Can.


I wonder if the clairvoyant I consulted with a little while ago foresaw me at a number of jazz clubs and gigs?  With certitidue do I declare that more jazz gigs are on my unofficial list of things to do!   

#58 - Do Some Volunteering and #59 - Get A Free Tshirt

Oxfam has numerous community projects both here in Australia and abroad.  They actively raise money, in a variety of ways, to support such projects, one of which is the Oxfam Trailwalker.  To summarise: teams of 4 walk 100km within 48 hours.  Brisbane's first Trailwalk was held over the weekend of June 17-19 with some 300 teams participating in the event, starting at Mt Glorious and ending at Mt Coot-tha.  The top fund raising team gathered an astounding $15,840 and the quickest team crossed the finish line, presumably salubriously, in 11 hours 58 minutes.


Shortly after I registered to volunteer at the event almost 2 months ago I had the option to choose from a list of jobs available.  I chose: Catering Delivery Van Driver, working as a team of two with a navigator.


Arriving at Trailwalker HQ at the charming Brisbane Forest Park at 4:30pm for a 4.5 hour shift, I met my offsider and navigator Wendy, another volunteer.  Announcing our arrival, we were briefed by Kay on our role which was to deliver pre-packaged meals for volunteers to the various checkpoints along the trail, given the keys to the van, several maps for all the check points, directions to each of the checkpoints laminated and detailed incontrovertibly, a mobile phone to contact HQ, our identification lanyard and our free long sleeved tshirt.  We loaded up the van with meals and Wendy and I were on our way for a roooooooaaaad triiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip!!!!!!!!!!!!

Using the meticulous directions provided, we delivered meals to 12 checkpoints.  Along the way we met with trail marshalls in teams of 2-4 whose job was to sit / stand in the cold night air in high visibility vests to meet and greet with the teams for the purpose of support and encouragement as they made progress along the trail.  The checkpoints were well equipped with physiotherapists, podiatrists, first aid, meals, water, snacks, supplies, friendly faces, volunteers and amenities. 

After dispensing meals to several checkpoints and trail marshalls, Wendy and I soon realised it was we who had the most agreeable role.  We had the pleasure of meeting umpteen devoted volunteers who were happy to greet us, drive a cozy van with a toasty heater to the soundtrack of triple J's mix up / house party tunes on a Saturday night - think: cranking up the volume, singing along to Young MC's 'Bust a Move' and being thrilled at one's own ability to recall all lyrics in spite of several years between listenings - and, AND score a free tshirt in the process! Win-win-win-win-win!  Most of the checkpoints were on the boundary of D'Aguilar forest, away from suburbia.  It was a mild, clear night like crystal, the moon was bright and big and the stars were putting on a show for us.  I pulled over a few times so we could consider the universe, marvel at the moon and the diamonds in the sky.

We finished our shift and were back at Trailwalker HQ by 8:30pm, half an hour before our scheduled finish time.  The crew at HQ were tickled pink with our work and sent us on our way with a meal and some snacks.  Wendy and I bid each other farewell, musing that we would meet again next year, same venue, same van.  Feeling appeased, this was decidedly one of the most gratifying ways to spend a Saturday night.

Some might argue that only a small percentage of funds raised by charities actually makes it into the plams of the people who really need it.  The reality is that charities have all the expenses and overheads just like any other big business.  The way I see it is this: the amount of financial assistance that does make it to those in need is more than what it would be if organisations like Oxfam didn't exist and, I am cheerfully and pleasantly astounded at the lengths some people will go with their selflessness, in an attempt to alleviate suffering in lives of others.

#55 - Put A 'Here's Looking At You' In The MX Magazine

A couple of Mondays ago engrossed in book, I didn't look up until I was two stations away from my destination. I was on my way to work.  Glancing up and to my left I saw someone familiar.  I knew his face as we'd met on a prior occasion.  I recalled he had an accent.  Was it French?  Italian?  Something South America perhaps?  I couldn't remember and I couldn't pick it.  'He wouldn't remember me' I thought to myself as I often do if I see someone I've met only once before.  The train pulled into Central station, I disembarked and walked to work without another thought about the French / Italian / South American man.


Later, settling in at my desk for the usual 'Moanday mourning' as I like to call it, switching on the computer, shuffling papers and sipping tea, a voice to my right says to me 'Hey, I saw you on the train this morning."  I turn towards the voice and ... it's Him!  The French man / Italian Stallion / South American!  Frog / Ferrari / Fajita!  Where is he from anyway??  Frog is speaking to me about seeing me on the train.  I, aghast and shellshocked at how instantly I am drawn to this man, can barely stop myself from ...  Coming.  Across.  Weird.  How can I not notice how cute he is?  Frog and I continue to talk but he's picked up on my reaction and I have weirded him out.  Nice one.  Good on me.  We finish chit chat and he walks on by.


Sacred bovine, now I know where I've seen him before.  I work with him!!  In my defence I must point out that I only recently moved desks, onto the same floor as Frog.  Otherwise interaction has been minimal. 


The next day I see him at his desk in the morning.  He waves at me, I smile at him.  That afternoon I am walking up the stairs, he can not see me but he can hear someone's footsteps on the stairs, waits and lets me in the door to the office.  The next morning I'm walking up the stairs, I can hear someone's footsteps behind me but I can not see them.  I wait and hold the door open.  It's Frog.  We exchange smiles and he says thank you.  I see him at work.  I am compelled to steal glimpses of him when he's not looking.


Tuesday I decide to put a 'Here's Looking at You' in the MX magazine.  Wednesday they print it.  Thursday morning I arrive at my local suburban station to catch the train into the city for work.  He is there.  We board the train together, stand in the crowded aisle together chatting about this and that and then walk to work together.  I have no idea if he has seen the MX or not: 

Turns out Frog is not French after all.  A few sentences into our conversation I pick his accent as South African.   He grew up on a farm, like me.  He wears no wedding band and when he speaks about his plans, his weekend, his house there is no mention of "we" or "my wife and I".  I sneak  some glances his way when he isn't looking and really study his face.  He's not so much hot or good looking as 'cute'.  It's a comfortable chat with some comfortable silences.  Was there spark?  Not sure.  Should there be?  That's up for debate.


Once upon a time, I gave up on spark, dismissing it as minutia.  A question I have previously asked of a few friends in regards to romantic engagements 'Do you think spark is important?' resulted in most people saying they didn't know and a lesser amount replying a definite 'yes'. My recent relationship with a wonderful, warm, intelligent, funny, awesome guy was everything it should have been minus that indefinable feeling, that spark, the 'must have' x factor that completely magnatises one to another.  Maybe if we had spark, I would still have him.  Sigh.


While I'm not saying I'm definitely interested romantically in Frog, I have noticed him and perhaps he, me.  All I can and am willing to do is continue to be friendly and warm, if it's reciprocated.  Maybe I'll make a new friend?  Maybe I'll just have someone to talk to on the train occasionally or maybe we'll never speak again.  Meanwhile though with no expectations I have a small piece of excitement to look forward to each day and the possibilities are yet to be written...