1. Clean, dry laundry.
2. A good shower.
3. The smell of brownies baking in the oven.
4. Opening a sealed box.
5. A gentle breeze.
6. Bits of code that compile.
7. A ray of sunshine on a cold, wet day.
8. Turning on my phone.
9. Leveling up in games.
10. Knowing that you're never really alone.
Cheers!
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Showing posts with label world true my eyes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label world true my eyes. Show all posts
Friday, December 30, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
My Devious Plan
It is autumn. Almost winter. The premature cold pinch in the air forces shivering bodies to seek the shelter of thick hoodies, sweatpants and other warm bodies. Limbs flail around in strange dance-like movements to increase the heat within bodies. But it is not my fight, because I have a plan.
A devious plan.
"Mom, I'll wash the dishes today." The bait is thrown and the prize is caught. When I turn on the tap, the icy shower further numbed my fingers. However, patience is a virtue. Dabbing the cleaning sponge with some soap, I await the magic as I hold the first dirty dish under the stream of water.
Oh, the sheer pleasure when a gentle heat washes over my hands and carries the cold down the drain. I wash every dish with care and detail, lingering longer than necessary for a mere rinse, savouring the heat that radiates from my hands and spreads through my body. Around me cold humans complain and whine about the unforgiving forces of nature, but I keep my peace, focused on channelling energy to my core.
Alas, all that is good must come to an end. There is no more dirty kitchenware to wash. As I cast one last look at the sink, I smile, secure with the knowledge of my own battle plan.
--
Cheers!
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A devious plan.
"Mom, I'll wash the dishes today." The bait is thrown and the prize is caught. When I turn on the tap, the icy shower further numbed my fingers. However, patience is a virtue. Dabbing the cleaning sponge with some soap, I await the magic as I hold the first dirty dish under the stream of water.
Oh, the sheer pleasure when a gentle heat washes over my hands and carries the cold down the drain. I wash every dish with care and detail, lingering longer than necessary for a mere rinse, savouring the heat that radiates from my hands and spreads through my body. Around me cold humans complain and whine about the unforgiving forces of nature, but I keep my peace, focused on channelling energy to my core.
Alas, all that is good must come to an end. There is no more dirty kitchenware to wash. As I cast one last look at the sink, I smile, secure with the knowledge of my own battle plan.
--
Cheers!
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Sunday, August 22, 2010
Asian, Smasian
There's more to just being an "Asian" nowadays. Ever since the process of globalisation started making its way across the 7 continents, being multilingual is no longer something special. Nowadays, it takes more than being born of a certain race to be considered an "Asian" by society.
The three main stereotypical (and racist) representatives of the Asian race are the Japanese, the Koreans and the Chinese. That is, when ever people think of "Asian", they are generally referring to these races. When three big races coexist alongside each other in their fight for their positions in the world, cultures and backgrounds will eventually mix. Our interaction with each other has led to a complete disregard of racial and language boundaries. It's common practice to hear a Chinese suddenly belt out a Japanese or Korean song, and for Koreans or Japanese to speak Mandarin or Cantonese. Good news for the multilingual new generations - your future will be secure socially, internationally and most probably professionally. Bad news for the old monoglots or bilingual generation - you will have no idea what we are talking about. Haha...
Ahem. Sorry for that digression. (turns page)
The main point is, nowadays, to be considered truly Asian, one has to master the language of more than two Asian cultures. It is no longer enough to understand just Mandarin or just Japanese - further advancement in friendship bonding among Asian teenagers will be bared from you forever. And if you are an Asian yourself, woe be you should you fail to even understand one "Asian" language for you will be given the term "banana" and hence be left out of all conversations concerning drama and music. And teenage Asian girls being what they are, majority of our conversations will be focused on Asian drama and music.
Actually, majority of our conversations are about whatever topic comes to mind, which is usually a whole heap of airy, non-earth shattering matters. A great example would be this wearisomely verbose post concerning what it means to be "Asian".
Then there are the few of us who can't even master one Asian language, let alone two or three. People like us bring the definition of "multilingual" to a whole other level - we frequently switch between two or more languages in one sentence when our knowledge of a certain language fails in practice. Perhaps I should come up with a new category - Asians pretending to be "Asians"...that doesn't even make sense. An even better idea would be to do away with the whole idea of class differentiation completely and hence reduce this blog post into a bunch of meaningless words. As I have said before, globalisation has lead to constant interaction between different races, which has resulted in the blurring racial boundaries.
How I ramble on. Thank you.
Cheers!
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The three main stereotypical (and racist) representatives of the Asian race are the Japanese, the Koreans and the Chinese. That is, when ever people think of "Asian", they are generally referring to these races. When three big races coexist alongside each other in their fight for their positions in the world, cultures and backgrounds will eventually mix. Our interaction with each other has led to a complete disregard of racial and language boundaries. It's common practice to hear a Chinese suddenly belt out a Japanese or Korean song, and for Koreans or Japanese to speak Mandarin or Cantonese. Good news for the multilingual new generations - your future will be secure socially, internationally and most probably professionally. Bad news for the old monoglots or bilingual generation - you will have no idea what we are talking about. Haha...
Ahem. Sorry for that digression. (turns page)
The main point is, nowadays, to be considered truly Asian, one has to master the language of more than two Asian cultures. It is no longer enough to understand just Mandarin or just Japanese - further advancement in friendship bonding among Asian teenagers will be bared from you forever. And if you are an Asian yourself, woe be you should you fail to even understand one "Asian" language for you will be given the term "banana" and hence be left out of all conversations concerning drama and music. And teenage Asian girls being what they are, majority of our conversations will be focused on Asian drama and music.
Actually, majority of our conversations are about whatever topic comes to mind, which is usually a whole heap of airy, non-earth shattering matters. A great example would be this wearisomely verbose post concerning what it means to be "Asian".
Then there are the few of us who can't even master one Asian language, let alone two or three. People like us bring the definition of "multilingual" to a whole other level - we frequently switch between two or more languages in one sentence when our knowledge of a certain language fails in practice. Perhaps I should come up with a new category - Asians pretending to be "Asians"...that doesn't even make sense. An even better idea would be to do away with the whole idea of class differentiation completely and hence reduce this blog post into a bunch of meaningless words. As I have said before, globalisation has lead to constant interaction between different races, which has resulted in the blurring racial boundaries.
How I ramble on. Thank you.
Cheers!
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Sunday, August 8, 2010
How my "three step" marble cake gained a million steps
Sometimes, life can be very unforgiving, even when you're trying to do something as mundane as bake a marble cake.
I like to think that the first sign of trouble was when I found out I was about 20grams short of caster sugar. It's not actually a major problem because (the older generation of) my family thinks most recipes are too sweet anyway. I just added 10 grams of normal sugar (gasps from chefs around the world) and I was good to go.
I thought it was a good time to try out the brand new cake mixer (Mr Evil) that my parents had brought over from M'sia. I was happily taking off the plastic wrapper, putting away polystyrene packaging, assembling things together and just about to plug it in when...wth? Instead of a plug, my cake mixer's main wire ended with stripped brown and blue wires.
I figured that dad must have removed the M'sian plug head so we could attach an Australian plug head for future convenience. Having reattached plug heads sporadically over the past few years, I didn't think it would be too hard to attach yet another one. The problem was finding one. I am sincerely grateful to the person who invented step ladders because they enabled me to reach the "spares" appliance box located at the top of the laundry cupboard. What I wouldn't give to gain three extra inches.
Not that my search was fruitful. At the end of my ransacking expedition, I came to the conclusion that we were out of plugs.
Fine. There was still the hand mixer, which I would have originally used if not for the "convenience" of an actual cake mixer. I plugged it in...and it went crazy. I had absolutely no control over it - I wasn't pressing any buttons - and the motor just kept running. I was still being optimistic that I could use it like this, but the velocity wasn't constant and so bits of butter and sugar kept flying out of the mixing bowl whenever my wayward hand mixer became overexcited. At this point I lost it, wailed something about "This must be a sign, life is unfair, all I wanted to do was make cake, blah blah blah," and then left the war zone to take a long bath.
For me, baking is like playing the piano. It's a leisurely activity during which I can relax, and with baking, I get to eat my cake. That concept flew out of the window today and left me more frazzled than ever.
I decided I still wanted to eat my cake, so I ran down to the local hardware store, wet hair and all, whereupon this physics student made a complete fool of herself by having a ridiculous conversation with the hardware man who obviously knew his stuff.
Hardware man: May I help you?
Me: I need a plug.
Hardware man: A plug?
Me: You know, the thing at the end of electrical appliance wires which connects to the socket. (cue stupid hand motions - I was worried he might confuse my plug with a sink plug, which is something entirely different. And then, to make myself seem more stupid:) It's called a plug right?
As soon as I got my plug, I bailed out of there, trying to pretend I was going for a morning run at 10am. I got home, attached my plug and voila, the world was working right again. My cake mixer was mixing, nothing was flying out, and the neighbour gave me some Macedonian sweets. I finally reached "step 2" of my recipe; the marbling of my cake and placed it in the preheated oven (step 3). A few minutes later, lovely smells were coming from the kitchen oven and soon, I was eating cake. Just how I expected it to happen, only I had meant it to happen a couple of hours earlier.
Now that I'm happy, it's back to studying for my physics trials on Wednesday. I better know my stuff right or face repeating a similar episode of "the thing at the end of electrical appliance wires...".
Cheers!
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I like to think that the first sign of trouble was when I found out I was about 20grams short of caster sugar. It's not actually a major problem because (the older generation of) my family thinks most recipes are too sweet anyway. I just added 10 grams of normal sugar (gasps from chefs around the world) and I was good to go.
I thought it was a good time to try out the brand new cake mixer (Mr Evil) that my parents had brought over from M'sia. I was happily taking off the plastic wrapper, putting away polystyrene packaging, assembling things together and just about to plug it in when...wth? Instead of a plug, my cake mixer's main wire ended with stripped brown and blue wires.
I figured that dad must have removed the M'sian plug head so we could attach an Australian plug head for future convenience. Having reattached plug heads sporadically over the past few years, I didn't think it would be too hard to attach yet another one. The problem was finding one. I am sincerely grateful to the person who invented step ladders because they enabled me to reach the "spares" appliance box located at the top of the laundry cupboard. What I wouldn't give to gain three extra inches.
Not that my search was fruitful. At the end of my ransacking expedition, I came to the conclusion that we were out of plugs.
Fine. There was still the hand mixer, which I would have originally used if not for the "convenience" of an actual cake mixer. I plugged it in...and it went crazy. I had absolutely no control over it - I wasn't pressing any buttons - and the motor just kept running. I was still being optimistic that I could use it like this, but the velocity wasn't constant and so bits of butter and sugar kept flying out of the mixing bowl whenever my wayward hand mixer became overexcited. At this point I lost it, wailed something about "This must be a sign, life is unfair, all I wanted to do was make cake, blah blah blah," and then left the war zone to take a long bath.
For me, baking is like playing the piano. It's a leisurely activity during which I can relax, and with baking, I get to eat my cake. That concept flew out of the window today and left me more frazzled than ever.
I decided I still wanted to eat my cake, so I ran down to the local hardware store, wet hair and all, whereupon this physics student made a complete fool of herself by having a ridiculous conversation with the hardware man who obviously knew his stuff.
Hardware man: May I help you?
Me: I need a plug.
Hardware man: A plug?
Me: You know, the thing at the end of electrical appliance wires which connects to the socket. (cue stupid hand motions - I was worried he might confuse my plug with a sink plug, which is something entirely different. And then, to make myself seem more stupid:) It's called a plug right?
Hardware man: Yes, a plug.
As soon as I got my plug, I bailed out of there, trying to pretend I was going for a morning run at 10am. I got home, attached my plug and voila, the world was working right again. My cake mixer was mixing, nothing was flying out, and the neighbour gave me some Macedonian sweets. I finally reached "step 2" of my recipe; the marbling of my cake and placed it in the preheated oven (step 3). A few minutes later, lovely smells were coming from the kitchen oven and soon, I was eating cake. Just how I expected it to happen, only I had meant it to happen a couple of hours earlier.
Now that I'm happy, it's back to studying for my physics trials on Wednesday. I better know my stuff right or face repeating a similar episode of "the thing at the end of electrical appliance wires...".
Cheers!
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Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Ramblings of a Klutz
It's a Wednesday. I have cuts on my arm and foot, a strained muscle and a yellow/green bruise on my hip. I would have liked to say that these are my victorious scars from a glorious battle to death with some maniac that was twice my size. Sadly, the real story is about a table.
Ever have one of those moments where plans look really nice in your head but when you carry them out it isn't smooth sailing at all? Yeah, well, this was one of those moments.
The new table arrived. A completely ordinary table, made of pine, about waist high and a meter wide. Not very scary. My dad and I lugged the old table down into the garage. Just the normal process of shifting furniture. Then he decided to move the things around in the garage, and I was left alone with the new table. No problem, I thought. I can do this by myself. All I have to do is move the table from spot "A" and up the stairs to "B". Then laugh it off with dad and tell him it was magic that brought it upstairs. It was the perfect plan.
I picked up the table, using my right hip to support it a little. It wasn't too heavy; the rectangular shape was just a bit awkward to handle by myself. I had to carry it at my side other wise it wouldn't fit up the stairs. The table tilted dangerously as soon as I got up the first flight of stairs. WHAM. That was my foot. No worries. Just a bit of epidermis scraped off. Looks like a little blood, but it doesn't hurt too much. On with the journey. Take a small break on the landing.
So I was there on the landing, enjoying the bit of sunshine that came in through the door when Oh, shoot, wind, doorknob, protect new table, SLAM. That was the arm. No, the door didn't crush my arm. I was lucky. I only got off with the doorknob scraping more epidermis off the side of my arm. Aaaah. Stings. I can hear dad. Okay, hurry up, just a bit more. Push, heave, pull, don't give up on me you lame arm muscles. Maybe I should do more push ups. Adjust the hip bit. Hmm. Wood is hard. =.= Yes, we're there hooray!!!! Just as I shifted the table into place, I banged my head into the shelf above me. My thick skull finally came into some good use.
When my dad finally came up the table was where it should be and I was watching TV. I tried to make the joke about magic, but my dad noticed my new dinosaur cartooned plasters on my arm and foot. He laughed, shook his head, and muttered something about "hopeless case". So much for the grand plan.
And don't worry, Kristy. I'm on the mend already. Us klutzy people have developed speedy recovery systems over the years to combat the numerous injuries that we unintentionally inflict on ourselves. Besides, the brontosauruses on my foot is smiling at me. That's a good sign. XD
Cheers!
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Ever have one of those moments where plans look really nice in your head but when you carry them out it isn't smooth sailing at all? Yeah, well, this was one of those moments.
The new table arrived. A completely ordinary table, made of pine, about waist high and a meter wide. Not very scary. My dad and I lugged the old table down into the garage. Just the normal process of shifting furniture. Then he decided to move the things around in the garage, and I was left alone with the new table. No problem, I thought. I can do this by myself. All I have to do is move the table from spot "A" and up the stairs to "B". Then laugh it off with dad and tell him it was magic that brought it upstairs. It was the perfect plan.
I picked up the table, using my right hip to support it a little. It wasn't too heavy; the rectangular shape was just a bit awkward to handle by myself. I had to carry it at my side other wise it wouldn't fit up the stairs. The table tilted dangerously as soon as I got up the first flight of stairs. WHAM. That was my foot. No worries. Just a bit of epidermis scraped off. Looks like a little blood, but it doesn't hurt too much. On with the journey. Take a small break on the landing.
So I was there on the landing, enjoying the bit of sunshine that came in through the door when Oh, shoot, wind, doorknob, protect new table, SLAM. That was the arm. No, the door didn't crush my arm. I was lucky. I only got off with the doorknob scraping more epidermis off the side of my arm. Aaaah. Stings. I can hear dad. Okay, hurry up, just a bit more. Push, heave, pull, don't give up on me you lame arm muscles. Maybe I should do more push ups. Adjust the hip bit. Hmm. Wood is hard. =.= Yes, we're there hooray!!!! Just as I shifted the table into place, I banged my head into the shelf above me. My thick skull finally came into some good use.
When my dad finally came up the table was where it should be and I was watching TV. I tried to make the joke about magic, but my dad noticed my new dinosaur cartooned plasters on my arm and foot. He laughed, shook his head, and muttered something about "hopeless case". So much for the grand plan.
And don't worry, Kristy. I'm on the mend already. Us klutzy people have developed speedy recovery systems over the years to combat the numerous injuries that we unintentionally inflict on ourselves. Besides, the brontosauruses on my foot is smiling at me. That's a good sign. XD
Cheers!
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Saturday, February 13, 2010
Going out for dinner on CNY's Eve
Chinese New Year's Eve was epic!!! XD
First of all was the car incident. To day, we drove to Bankstown's RSL for dinner (along with a million other Asian families that were too lazy to cook). After successfully avoiding the highway jams by corkscrewing through back lanes with the help of the mighty GPS, we came to the worst of the worst horrors all drivers experience at any stage in their lives...FINDING A PARKING SPOT.
Actually, that wasn't too hard. We found one almost immediately. It was the parking that was difficult.
It doesn't look that hard, does it? Well, because the car had its headlights right up to the fence, and since the lane was only as wide as the length of one car...we were in a very tight spot. How were we going to turn the car to back into that parking lot? After spending half an hour of inch by inch progress in turning 90 degrees (navigated by father with flamboyant hand motions and driven by mother who pushed the steering wheel to its limit), we made it. It was the first time it took longer to actually park than find a parking space. EPIC!!!! It wasn't until the amazing feat was done that we realized it would have been easier to reverse all the way out, turn 180 degrees in big open space, then reverse back into the parking lot. =.=
The next epic thing was the lion dancing!!! Okay, so we've parked the car, we've gotten into the restaurant, we've bypassed the crowd, we're at the counter paying for our all you can eat buffet, it's all good...when cymbals sound and the huge drum starts up. Gaaaah!!! It's the lion dance troupe! It's starting! Where's it going? Where's the cabbage? <.< >.> <.< OMG!!!! The cabbage is right next to us, at the counter!!!!
As it happens the lion was basically staring us down, bobbing it's huge head at us. Why are mere mortals blocking my heavenly way towards my bribe of cabbages and money? Then it decided to change position and back right up to us, with its fluffy tail now bobbing in front of me. Here, I'll show you my butt. You can have a nice lovely rear view of me tearing my cabbage up. YUM. Gong Xi Fa Chai, Happy Chinese New Year, I have accepted this bribe so this restaurant will have prosperity all year long! I'll let you mere mortals who have seen me reap the benefits of this amazing phenomenon as well! I couldn't resist. I had to grab that tail. Boing. AWESOMENESS!!! I have touched the amazing heavenly lion's tail!!! Now I'm positive I'll be getting that high ATAR of mine this year! ...
On another note, more than half the crew of that lion dance troupe were white people. Interesting. I also had an amazing sugar high from the desserts served at the buffet. Aaaaah...Meringues. I saw heaven for a minute there. ^.^
The car ride home was also fun. The GPS has a habit of saying "Follow the course of the road for 5km" and then not saying anything for 5km and hence freaking my mom out because she has no sense of proportionality. Without prompting, as soon as she thinks the 5km is done, she will make a turn to the left or right, provoking a reaction of "Recalculating route" from the GPS. So my sister and I had the job of reminding her to stay on course and telling her periodically how long more she has to go.
New word learnt :
Odourmeter - the device that determines the strength of smells in the car, hence prompting a requirement for an internal car wash.
Actually that was just me misinterpreting the word "odometer" when I heard my dad asking my mom to check it. Haha.
Have a wonderful, wonderful Chinese New Year Eve everyone!
Cheers!
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First of all was the car incident. To day, we drove to Bankstown's RSL for dinner (along with a million other Asian families that were too lazy to cook). After successfully avoiding the highway jams by corkscrewing through back lanes with the help of the mighty GPS, we came to the worst of the worst horrors all drivers experience at any stage in their lives...FINDING A PARKING SPOT.
Actually, that wasn't too hard. We found one almost immediately. It was the parking that was difficult.
It doesn't look that hard, does it? Well, because the car had its headlights right up to the fence, and since the lane was only as wide as the length of one car...we were in a very tight spot. How were we going to turn the car to back into that parking lot? After spending half an hour of inch by inch progress in turning 90 degrees (navigated by father with flamboyant hand motions and driven by mother who pushed the steering wheel to its limit), we made it. It was the first time it took longer to actually park than find a parking space. EPIC!!!! It wasn't until the amazing feat was done that we realized it would have been easier to reverse all the way out, turn 180 degrees in big open space, then reverse back into the parking lot. =.=
The next epic thing was the lion dancing!!! Okay, so we've parked the car, we've gotten into the restaurant, we've bypassed the crowd, we're at the counter paying for our all you can eat buffet, it's all good...when cymbals sound and the huge drum starts up. Gaaaah!!! It's the lion dance troupe! It's starting! Where's it going? Where's the cabbage? <.< >.> <.< OMG!!!! The cabbage is right next to us, at the counter!!!!
As it happens the lion was basically staring us down, bobbing it's huge head at us. Why are mere mortals blocking my heavenly way towards my bribe of cabbages and money? Then it decided to change position and back right up to us, with its fluffy tail now bobbing in front of me. Here, I'll show you my butt. You can have a nice lovely rear view of me tearing my cabbage up. YUM. Gong Xi Fa Chai, Happy Chinese New Year, I have accepted this bribe so this restaurant will have prosperity all year long! I'll let you mere mortals who have seen me reap the benefits of this amazing phenomenon as well! I couldn't resist. I had to grab that tail. Boing. AWESOMENESS!!! I have touched the amazing heavenly lion's tail!!! Now I'm positive I'll be getting that high ATAR of mine this year! ...
On another note, more than half the crew of that lion dance troupe were white people. Interesting. I also had an amazing sugar high from the desserts served at the buffet. Aaaaah...Meringues. I saw heaven for a minute there. ^.^
The car ride home was also fun. The GPS has a habit of saying "Follow the course of the road for 5km" and then not saying anything for 5km and hence freaking my mom out because she has no sense of proportionality. Without prompting, as soon as she thinks the 5km is done, she will make a turn to the left or right, provoking a reaction of "Recalculating route" from the GPS. So my sister and I had the job of reminding her to stay on course and telling her periodically how long more she has to go.
New word learnt :
Odourmeter - the device that determines the strength of smells in the car, hence prompting a requirement for an internal car wash.
Actually that was just me misinterpreting the word "odometer" when I heard my dad asking my mom to check it. Haha.
Have a wonderful, wonderful Chinese New Year Eve everyone!
Cheers!
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Wednesday, February 10, 2010
It's HOT.
Walking home in the summer is pure torture. ""=.=""
The first five minutes out of the air conditioned train are no worries. I just listen to my music and walk with the beat to beat the heat.
The next five minutes requires a struggle of concentration to put one foot firmly in front of the other while sweat pours off me in torrents. I can feel myself melting under the intense heat. I can hear the sun evilly chanting "BURN baby BURN."
The final three minutes stretches on into eternity. So near yet so far. The upbeat music in my ears are nothing more than a drone of noise. I am now a mere pile of goo just dragging my body around.
The cool relief offered by the sanctuary of my house is bliss. I just lie down on the tiled floor and go into a convalescing sleep. ^.^
Cheers!
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The first five minutes out of the air conditioned train are no worries. I just listen to my music and walk with the beat to beat the heat.
The next five minutes requires a struggle of concentration to put one foot firmly in front of the other while sweat pours off me in torrents. I can feel myself melting under the intense heat. I can hear the sun evilly chanting "BURN baby BURN."
The final three minutes stretches on into eternity. So near yet so far. The upbeat music in my ears are nothing more than a drone of noise. I am now a mere pile of goo just dragging my body around.
The cool relief offered by the sanctuary of my house is bliss. I just lie down on the tiled floor and go into a convalescing sleep. ^.^
Cheers!
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Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday is Spent outside
At the painful hour of 6.00am, my dad turns on the radio to the rock music station and puts it on loud, evilly cackling, "No torture, no fun...Come on, we're going on a hike."
An hour and a half later, our booties are finally on the sidewalk. The train ride from Mortdale station to Circular Quey takes another hour and 10 minutes before we hop onto the ferry to Taronga Zoo (which is situated on an island), our hiking destination for the day. As I look back to the mainland, I see ominous rolling black clouds in the distance, hovering just above the edge of the city, and I wonder, what is going to happen next?
The hike starts off uneventful. My dad is more obsessed with making his mobile GPS find him than with nature. Looking at him (and remembering the Indonesia trip where he was obsessed with taking photos of a live volcano wherever we went) I figure out where I get my own occasional idiosyncratic obsessions from.As we walk on, we come across two parakeets loudly calling out to each other. How are you? I'm just fine! My husband went to visit the harbour bridge today. My husband is off mating. Hey look someone's taking a photo! How do I look? It's fine, it's fine.
The trail we are following is called the "Bradleys Head Walk" and leads to a gun battery, built after four American warships managed to sail undetected into Sydney Harbour in 1839. As I gaze at the cannons and bullet pitted firing wall (my dad says the wall is just weathered), I imagine the carnage and bloodshed that must have happened during those times. [If you look carefully the cannons are on rails that rotate 360degrees. My sister and I tried to push one but it refused to budge.]
We come across a small staircase that leads to the clear waters of Taylors Bay and decide to take a break. Taking off our shoes, we wade into the water and enjoy the cool breeze. Midway through our break, my left shoe decides to go off on a paddle, drowning before I could save it from getting wet. After transferring some weight from our backpacks into our stomachs, we set off again, me with a one wet shoe squelching through the bush.
Our hike brings us through a maze of tree skeletons (bushfire reigns supreme in Australian bushland). On the way we come across the equivalents of ant high rises (ginormous ant mounds on trees) with beautiful views of the bay. The living standards of ants are high in Australia.
Heading towards Clifton Gardens, we emerge on a beach, whereupon I fall in love with an absolutely gorgeous Mountain Bernese. This dog [Dunlop] is twice the size of my own golden retriever. An amiable dog, Dunlop allows me to fuss over him and even gives me his paw! ^.^ Other gorgeous specimens include an Alsatian mix who loves swimming in the water and a Huskie (omg their eyes. I. Love. Their. Eyes.).
There is a cute little boy happily running around bottom naked in the playground near the beach. After awhile, he pees on the sand, and even squats for better leverage. It is a big puddle, but he proceeds to cover it up with sand when he is done. Another boy sees the sand pit and dives into it. "Sand!" he cries. O.O
In Georges Head I come across more cannons overlooking the harbour [FYI these cannons are extremely long range. They have to be, from their positioning]. As I walk around a couple trying to read a sign, a little bundle of fur startles me. After admiring big dogs, this tiny Chiwawa cross Pomeranian is not in my adjusted narrow vision. XD Max is also the first Chiwawa that I have come across that doesn't yip at anything that moves. After a bit of sniff, he warms up to me and allows me to pet him on his head. When I move away, he growls and asks for more petting. >.> Ruff.
On with the journey to Balmora Beach. We observe the Mercedes and Porches and Mini Coopers amidst the custom built three storey houses on slopes. Here the hike ends and we take a bus back to Taronga Zoo, and catch the ferry immediately after. When we reach Circular Quey, a unicyclist with extremely corny lines advertises his performance. I know it looks easy, but it isn't. So don't try this at home. Hey look, two wheels! How did you guys manage to ride a bike? It took me 20 years to learn how to ride one! After awhile we become bored and so we go home.
And that is my Sunday out.
Footnote: I don't think feet are designed to walk on flat land. And it's not the shoes that cause blisters. It's the tiny grainy bits of gravel and sand that get in your shoes that cause the blisters.
I'm also very sorry that I don't have postcards to send this time round. I forgot to look for them in Taronga Zoo and only remembered in Circular Quey, and their postcards aren't much to look at. I'll remember next time.
Cheers!
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An hour and a half later, our booties are finally on the sidewalk. The train ride from Mortdale station to Circular Quey takes another hour and 10 minutes before we hop onto the ferry to Taronga Zoo (which is situated on an island), our hiking destination for the day. As I look back to the mainland, I see ominous rolling black clouds in the distance, hovering just above the edge of the city, and I wonder, what is going to happen next?
The hike starts off uneventful. My dad is more obsessed with making his mobile GPS find him than with nature. Looking at him (and remembering the Indonesia trip where he was obsessed with taking photos of a live volcano wherever we went) I figure out where I get my own occasional idiosyncratic obsessions from.As we walk on, we come across two parakeets loudly calling out to each other. How are you? I'm just fine! My husband went to visit the harbour bridge today. My husband is off mating. Hey look someone's taking a photo! How do I look? It's fine, it's fine.
The trail we are following is called the "Bradleys Head Walk" and leads to a gun battery, built after four American warships managed to sail undetected into Sydney Harbour in 1839. As I gaze at the cannons and bullet pitted firing wall (my dad says the wall is just weathered), I imagine the carnage and bloodshed that must have happened during those times. [If you look carefully the cannons are on rails that rotate 360degrees. My sister and I tried to push one but it refused to budge.]
Our hike brings us through a maze of tree skeletons (bushfire reigns supreme in Australian bushland). On the way we come across the equivalents of ant high rises (ginormous ant mounds on trees) with beautiful views of the bay. The living standards of ants are high in Australia.
Heading towards Clifton Gardens, we emerge on a beach, whereupon I fall in love with an absolutely gorgeous Mountain Bernese. This dog [Dunlop] is twice the size of my own golden retriever. An amiable dog, Dunlop allows me to fuss over him and even gives me his paw! ^.^ Other gorgeous specimens include an Alsatian mix who loves swimming in the water and a Huskie (omg their eyes. I. Love. Their. Eyes.).
There is a cute little boy happily running around bottom naked in the playground near the beach. After awhile, he pees on the sand, and even squats for better leverage. It is a big puddle, but he proceeds to cover it up with sand when he is done. Another boy sees the sand pit and dives into it. "Sand!" he cries. O.O
In Georges Head I come across more cannons overlooking the harbour [FYI these cannons are extremely long range. They have to be, from their positioning]. As I walk around a couple trying to read a sign, a little bundle of fur startles me. After admiring big dogs, this tiny Chiwawa cross Pomeranian is not in my adjusted narrow vision. XD Max is also the first Chiwawa that I have come across that doesn't yip at anything that moves. After a bit of sniff, he warms up to me and allows me to pet him on his head. When I move away, he growls and asks for more petting. >.> Ruff.
On with the journey to Balmora Beach. We observe the Mercedes and Porches and Mini Coopers amidst the custom built three storey houses on slopes. Here the hike ends and we take a bus back to Taronga Zoo, and catch the ferry immediately after. When we reach Circular Quey, a unicyclist with extremely corny lines advertises his performance. I know it looks easy, but it isn't. So don't try this at home. Hey look, two wheels! How did you guys manage to ride a bike? It took me 20 years to learn how to ride one! After awhile we become bored and so we go home.
And that is my Sunday out.
Footnote: I don't think feet are designed to walk on flat land. And it's not the shoes that cause blisters. It's the tiny grainy bits of gravel and sand that get in your shoes that cause the blisters.
I'm also very sorry that I don't have postcards to send this time round. I forgot to look for them in Taronga Zoo and only remembered in Circular Quey, and their postcards aren't much to look at. I'll remember next time.
Cheers!
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My Mythical Beasts
