Oh Susanna

I am trying out a new method of web communication which is called Tumbler... It's much easier to post all sorts of things, including photos, text, quotations and twitter comments.

If you want to check it out, have a look at my site:  susannainoz.tumblr.com

So far, I haven't found out a way to post here automatically, but I am hoping to be able to work out how to do that.

It is a bit hard to know whether new technology is a good thing until you've actually tried it out. With tumblr I can email a photo, which will automatically get posted (like Flickr) tweet into Twitter and just generally have a web presence which is much more easily managed.

Going to the football on a Friday night is a good excuse to get out of the office on time, and this year, since the changes to the Westgate/ Citylink interchange, Friday night traffic is usually not too bad. In previous years, the journey home on Friday evenings often took more than an hour, with traffic sometimes backing up as far as Burke Road, and occasionally even further.

Our outing had been planned for some weeks, and we went with our lovely neighbours who are avid Bulldogs fans, to see them play St Kilda. We went early enough to get good seats, and settled down to munch on our dinner, brought from home, as we waited for the match to start. The tension before the game was not at the fever pitch that it was when we played Collingwood, and the punters largely were supporting the Bulldogs before the match. The rationale? Although St Kilda had beaten the Dogs three times last season, Riewoldt was out, and he was the difference in the very close preliminary final last September.

The weeks slowly tick by without the Saints star forward, Nick Riewoldt, who had a bad hamstring injury requiring surgery a few weeks ago. Saints fans are hopeful that he will return in time for the finals.The newspapers were full of analysis and opinion, could St Kilda win without Riewoldt? Would his absence mean that the season was virtually over? That speculation started, within minutes of him being injured, with radio commentators giving up on the Saints chances almost immediately. One thing is certain, and that is that Nick will not be back playing for at least another two months. His teammates have demonstrated that they have other ideas, and, that they intend putting them into action.

Friday night's game was an agonising, defensive game, except for a two minute and fifty one second burst of play by St Kilda in the final quarter, which tore the game out of the grasp of the shattered Bulldog players. Like in the game against Collingwood a few weeks ago, St Kilda were never out of touch, and that sense of team and determination and will to succeed got them across the line by 3 points.

The game was ugly to watch for the most part, but afterwards, I watched most of the final quarter on delayed telecast, and then again the next morning on replay, and that magical burst of play seemed to have been the result of a pressure cooker atmosphere, where the build up of tension eventually caused a boil over, and many of the chances which fell to the Saints were taken, and those which the Dogs had at the crucial times were not. Did the Dogs take the foot off the pedal, just a wee bit, or was it a combination of psychological pressure after ninety six minutes of an incredibly tense and close match?

Whatever the answer is, we came home marvelling at how awful a game could look, and I was careful to keep a lid on the excitement bubbling up inside me, for it's becoming clear that St Kilda are formidable with Riewoldt, but the team are very hard to defeat without him..

GO SAINTS!

I had one of those strange dreams last week, in which my mobile phone kept on ringing, but I couldn't answer it, despite frantically pressing the green answer button. Grabbing the phone with both hands, pressing, almost punching it. Nothing made any difference at all...

It's a strange thing, the telephone...for some reason; we will drop almost any task to take a call, even when we are incredibly busy. And I do feel a wee bit guilty if, through pressure of deadlines, I put the phone through to voice mail, to manage the workload. I think it is because we have innately within us, a need to feel needed, that we can solve any problem, given the chance.

When the phone rings, at some hours of the day, there are automatic assumptions made.

A call before 7am will undoubtedly mean some sort of news, often bad. About twenty years ago, we received a call at precisely 5.30 am. Why 5.30 am? Because that was the time that my family thought was the absolutely earliest that they could call, given that there had been a catastrophe in their home, but no one was injured despite extensive property damage.

Bereavement in the family can wait till a little later in the day, depending on the circumstances, and timing of the news, but not too much time.

For many years we received calls at all hours of the night when we were on call for the fire brigade in country Victoria. We would usually both get up, at least initially, and if I was working next day, I would head back to bed if the call was of a lesser incident, but very hard to go back to sleep when you can hear fire radios crackling in the background. If the incident was more serious, the work day might be rearranged if possible, for my client base were almost always just as attuned to the fire radios as we were.

A call up to 11 pm, in the fire brigade days, was often just for a chat, or for some operational reason, that was not seen as of critical importance during the day, but could wait until the evening, after dinner, when all the other issues of the day were dealt with.

Last week, after my imagined missed call, the realisation came in the cold, hard and logical daylight hours that people who really need to talk to you, will try again, if they really want to talk to you, or the call really wasn't important. But as it was a dream, then the caller wasn't really trying at all.

And I was only dreaming...

After a record 123 days in a row with a maximum temperature of at least 20 °C in Melbourne, we have now had three days in a row under 20, with more to come.

On my foot journey across the Yarra yesterday evening to attend my French class, the change in attire since the previous lesson, two weeks earlier was amazing. Boots, coats, scarves, hats and wraps aplenty. Aussie Lass in Paris is probably laughing at the notion of wearing these things when the temperature is 17 deg, but here, after months of balmy weather we are suddenly feeling the (relative) cold.

It's nice to look at my winter wardrobe, and bring out some of the clothes that have been at the corner of the wardrobe for more than six months. The caramel coloured ankle boots that I bought at the Jag outlet at DFO in August are finally getting some wear; and new combinations can be pulled together, with the luxury of a few kgs less on my back than last winter.

The worst thing, since the ending of daylight saving on Easter Sunday, has been the fact that it's dark at 6.30pm. If I have a long day at work, I get no daylight to speak of, and that will only get worse. At least when we were finishing daylight saving earlier in the year, the transition did not seem so bad.

A departing colleague mentioned yesterday that she had a three week contract position coming up in Germany, and my already itchy feet are wishing for longer days, and a trip to the Northern Hemisphere. Of course, it is probably still much colder there, it's just me wishing again...

The cold weather here really is only relative- I can still wander around the house and grab the washing off the clothes line in bare feet. The cats beg to differ, however. They consider that the weather has taken a terrible turn for the worst, turning them into extremely cuddly companions for as long as they can pin their humans down, whether on a chair, or in a bed or wherever else...

They seemed to have forgotten the sound of the central heating turning itself on, and still get startled by the sudden sound, but soon settle down again, especially if the knees they are enjoying don't move.

Oh yeah, the Footy season. AFL. (Australian Football League) has definitely started...

As long term readers of this blog know, I am a totally foccussed St Kilda supporter, who has been following them for many years.

Last Friday night, after somehow managing to get tickets to see the sold out match, G and I set out on the train to travel the short journey into town. Alighting at Southern Cross Station (aka Spencer Street Station) it's a short walk down the Northern end of the platform along the walkway that joins Bourke Street to the Docklands Stadium.

I always find my pace lengthening as I approach the Stadium, until we met the crush of excited St Kilda and Collingwood supporters thronging around Gate 3, where loud speaker announcements constantly advising supporters to go to other gates where the queues were less. One of the rewards of pre-booking tickets, is that you can walk in at any time, and your seat will still be available. But I was a bit sorry that we came in at the last moment, because you miss the build up before the start of the game. In this case, we got to our seats to see the start, and the aggression and ferocity of tackling, stupid free kicks given away on both sides and low scoring had us on the edge of our seats. I find watching a close match on TV to be much more stressful than it actually is at the game, and although it was very close for three quarters it was not from brilliance of forward moves, generally, rather the defensive pressure which made the game so riveting. Add to the mix, the serious hamstring injury to Saints star, Nick Riewoldt just before half time, who would surely miss 10-12 matches. Then, serious injuries to two other key Saints, Sam Fisher who was knocked out, and carted off on a stretcher; and Lenny Hayes with a badly broken nose. By mid way through the third quarter the radio commentators were giving St Kilda no chance of winning the match. Indeed, all was poised at the start of the last quarter, for a rout, according to all the experts.

However, St Kilda had not read the revised script, and burst out of the blocks, scoring two goals in two minutes, followed by another three to break the game open, and it was all over.

As we left the ground, the forlorn sight of Nick on crutches, at some distance from his celebrating team mates brought a tear to my eye, but also raised the question: How do the rest of the team carry the weight of a superstar in their midst, on a week to week basis? Do they feel that an undue amount of praise is given to him, when AFL is surely a team game, and there must be significant contributions from the other 21 players on the team to win one game, let alone for the 22 out of 25 games which they won last year? Without question Nick Riewoldt is a superstar of the game, and he will be sorely missed. But labelling St Kilda as entirely reliant on one player denies the effectiveness of a polished, resilient and flexible team who will be able to cope, and who will rise to the challenge.

The real footy season has now started, and I have once again put the St Kilda matches into my diary, so that social events can be planned around my attention span for other things besides football.

Saturday week ago, we had guests for dinner, and dinner was not ready to be served until the St Kilda-Sydney match had started. This created something of a dilemma: should I be rude and stay in the family room watching the direct telecast on TV, or should I be sociable and sit with our guests. Fortunately for me, the game got off to a slow start from the Saints' point of view, and in the first quarter they failed to score a goal for some time, so I was happy enough to catch the occasional glimpse as I went back to the kitchen.

By half time, I was able to find a seat in the family room, without offending social sensibilities, then grab some knitting in an attempt to hide my nervousness at the close game, and watch the end.

Pink Ukulele was very impressed at the speed of knitting when the tension was at it's highest and will be pleased to know that both sleeves have now been completed.

Last Saturday, a headache dared to intrude on my pleasant six days off in a row, and we decided not to go to a birthday party or the footy, instead, we stayed home and watched the game on delayed telecast. Unbelievably, St Kilda kicked eight straight goals to North Melbourne Kangaroos' no score. After that, the end result was academic, and I was able to enjoy the sight of Nick Riewoldt kicking 7 goals, and do a bit more knitting at the same time.

More enjoyable weekends over the winter will follow

Crossing the Yarra River last evening at Southbank, I was interested to observe the 40 something couple standing on the river's edge. Somehow the tenseness of the body language did not match the hand holding. Could it have had something to do with the teenage boy who was clearly standing with them, but not with them? Could there have been a step-relationship in there which was upsetting the balance? Who knows, and I never will...

I have been learning how to speak French for quite a few years now, and there has definitely been quite a bit of improvement since our first visit to France in 2003.

The number of times that my classmates and I have gone over the various tenses is almost embarrassing when I think about it. Slowly but surely we have all got better at it.

The tense that gives us the most trouble is subjunctive and it seems to be because that tense is so rarely used in English, it is hard to understand when and how it would be used.

I am lucky enough to have a comprehensive collection of French music, which means that while I am not particularly comfortable with using subjunctive on the fly, I can at least recognise it when I hear it. (sometimes even without thinking about it)

The trouble is that to recognise in the lyrics that phrases are shortened, to make them easier to sing or to say, as well as use of the subjunctive is quite difficult, as this phrase extract from Francoise Hardy's "Fais-moi une place" shows:

Fais-moi une place
Au fond d'ton coeur
Pour que j't'embrasse 
Lorsque tu pleures
Je deviendrai
Tout fou, tout clown, gentil
Pour qu'tu souries

J'veux q't'aies jamais mal

Qu't'aies jamais froid

Et tout m'est égal
Tout : à part toi
Je t'aime

And from Jean Jacques Goldman's Confidentiel :

 
Peut-être que l'on se retrouvera
Peut-être que peut-être pas
Mais sache qu'ici bas, je suis là
Ça restera comme une lumière
Qui me tiendra chaud dans mes hivers
Un petit feu de toi qui s'éteint pas.

Of course we run words together in English all the time. We also use the phrases (in subjunctive)  "let it be", "be careful", "be on time" without even thinking about the tense. It's only when learning another language that one can be confronted with the knowledge that there's a lot about our own language that we do not know. And that most people don't care, either!

(And of course there are also the Il faut, and que cues for subjunctive- pity it has taken so long to sink in)

If you want to listen to the beautiful songs these extracts are taken from, check out iTunes...or numerous other sites on the internet. And I can (now) provide a reasonable translation...

The words of a man who lost his wife and 2 teenage sons at one of the memorial services in Victoria yesterday are haunting. A year has past, but it is a clear reminder that for those who were directly impacted, the suffering goes on.

And we will do our best to learn from the experience. I was moved by this display at a winery at Kangaroo Ground yesterday.

A couple of surprises this week: Who says "No, thanks", when you are asked if you would like a ticket ( and dinner) at the Australian Open Tennis? Certainly, not me.  First match of the evening will feature Rafael Nadal, ranked 2,  playing Philipp Kohlschreiber at 7pm, followed by Svetlana Kuznetzova, ranked 3,  v Angelique Kerber.

Living in Melbourne at this time of year is fun, some of our team managed to be only a few steps away from the second in line to the British throne last night at the tennis, and there are many other celebrities and sportspeople in town.

And in another unexpected, but welcome surprise: two tickets each for Gold Class Cinema have arrived on the desks of my colleagues and me.

A long weekend is about to start, too, which I hope will mean several long sleep ins, if the cats allow. Sometimes, they just want to get up and play. But if the morning is cool, they love to luxuriate in the bed, liking nothing better than a slumbering human to smooch up to.

Australia Day is the official reason for the long weekend (on Tuesday) and of course , there may have to be a lamb chop on the barbie to celebrate....(BBQ)