tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48846205810244136322024-03-13T10:52:59.421+11:00The Mouse FilesUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger115125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-50381579028077127182013-06-07T11:46:00.002+10:002013-06-07T11:46:18.884+10:00Blog to book!I have a little secret.<br />
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Blurb.<br />
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No, I did not just burp electronically.<br />
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<a href="http://au.blurb.com/">Blurb.com</a> has created the software BookSmart which I am using to create my very own blog book! It's actually very, very fun although checking for typos and re-sizing fonts can get a little tiresome. <br />
Maybe that's just because I've tried to multi-task by editing while babysitting. There are a lot of smudgy fingerprints on my screen right now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUQSnTekrc3et63j0wzpurRsvBT9LOPLSrkz4jKz8qVXJe2vsSSeTF8Cs5S79EJnqY76ArSRHMembL0ARopwuapVSlosx3aYs0hcI4dy0x5rrL0y1TRr61J2-WlwHR4XGlj28wRbuvWqu/s1600/BlogBook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUQSnTekrc3et63j0wzpurRsvBT9LOPLSrkz4jKz8qVXJe2vsSSeTF8Cs5S79EJnqY76ArSRHMembL0ARopwuapVSlosx3aYs0hcI4dy0x5rrL0y1TRr61J2-WlwHR4XGlj28wRbuvWqu/s640/BlogBook.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The idea of having the Mouse Files in hard copy on our coffee table is exciting. But it's also a little sad in a way because it means I have reached the end of one of my projects.<br />
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When I started the Mouse Files I always intended it to become a blog book one day, so I could have an interesting record of a few years of my life. And because I thought Blurb was a really cool website and I couldn't wait to create a book.<br /><br />Years later, it's time to say goodbye to the Mouse Files for a while. Don't worry, I'm not deleting or closing anything! (No way!)<br />I'm just seeing this as one of my very last Mouse Files posts.<br />
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I want to keep blogging though. <a href="http://startcookingwithnonna.blogspot.com/">Cooking With Nonna</a> is an ongoing project. And for the last few months I've had all kinds of interesting blog/social networking ideas bubbling in my brain threatening to boil over into all kinds of bizarre and creative projects.<br />
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This is one project that has come to an end, though. <br /><br />Thank you for reading and commenting. You have all been so lovely and funny and supportive. I'm blessed to know most of you personally and know I'll see you all soon :)<br />
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<img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qfabBXytlgk/T_TiryRXIxI/AAAAAAAACRI/cX2A7HSKwP8/s200/Mouse+Signature.jpg" /><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2HzVHQmna-rPu7mXpFJMIW2ty0Zxkdo1F5EuQnkQLmm-I536rNKDUKKV2_QgMUfgJHJyQaY40Ll1T0-fyy0DdWtwuFp46jTpzZcEfznublG2I7BaAlN4dDmvvL986KS2Kr7G1YTIu_-ju/s1600/SLR+2010+078-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2HzVHQmna-rPu7mXpFJMIW2ty0Zxkdo1F5EuQnkQLmm-I536rNKDUKKV2_QgMUfgJHJyQaY40Ll1T0-fyy0DdWtwuFp46jTpzZcEfznublG2I7BaAlN4dDmvvL986KS2Kr7G1YTIu_-ju/s640/SLR+2010+078-2.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ye olde title banner 2010</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIUlYeJsq10txtBmRXhdgQcCV4eNG6NHFJcB-NJQvhwVJ_oC_zcVxNliWoU9a-t9KNLjtQYaSscThtfRpaRlCtBSz9TRBVXktffaEh8jMH1U0BNIg15xMPeN-dsR-3U2pbWZ8HfFuet9I/s1600/Redone+Mouse+Files+Header.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyIUlYeJsq10txtBmRXhdgQcCV4eNG6NHFJcB-NJQvhwVJ_oC_zcVxNliWoU9a-t9KNLjtQYaSscThtfRpaRlCtBSz9TRBVXktffaEh8jMH1U0BNIg15xMPeN-dsR-3U2pbWZ8HfFuet9I/s640/Redone+Mouse+Files+Header.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Improvement on ye olde title banner</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9nQlTEIsG_jDVeMEWjSPX2N2pSqjenugoomfZdlmsb5ID0SmlWenjIQTt8iSfJVT_f8jShgOaiaCxBZmY50AYRbNZ4Q45oxSd8zmSoKIp4uyICkmA0qlnZTEJ1zPZVjZTe2HK3E5PQdF/s1600/Header+test+with+mice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO9nQlTEIsG_jDVeMEWjSPX2N2pSqjenugoomfZdlmsb5ID0SmlWenjIQTt8iSfJVT_f8jShgOaiaCxBZmY50AYRbNZ4Q45oxSd8zmSoKIp4uyICkmA0qlnZTEJ1zPZVjZTe2HK3E5PQdF/s640/Header+test+with+mice.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And then I stopped lying on the ground to take photos</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-51096546231232725252013-04-20T17:34:00.000+10:002013-04-20T17:34:18.197+10:00What does CWN stand for?<b>C</b>apable <b>W</b>inter <b>N</b>anny?<br />
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<b>C</b>an <b>W</b>rite<b> N</b>ovels?<br />
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<b>C</b>lownish <b>W</b>ord <b>N</b>onsense?<br />
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The title of my new blog. <br />
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Which you can visit at <a href="http://startcookingwithnonna.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://startcookingwithnonna.blogspot.com</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYwoOozX8whPUsvMmuAd9A89eQNvdsSRhlHDn2BXqhrtEBG5VhHtaqOLPAW8kZ3yPqNevl-yexQZcWzK9ssEZ_ISC09qNb3Z3rd3Cfj40qy34BbG6dJ0Iq88AvCzMtCbpHS5JkHJL3LyD/s1600/Second+About+Blurb-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYwoOozX8whPUsvMmuAd9A89eQNvdsSRhlHDn2BXqhrtEBG5VhHtaqOLPAW8kZ3yPqNevl-yexQZcWzK9ssEZ_ISC09qNb3Z3rd3Cfj40qy34BbG6dJ0Iq88AvCzMtCbpHS5JkHJL3LyD/s400/Second+About+Blurb-001.jpg" width="290" /></a></div>
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I didn't really plan to start another official blog when The Mouse Files is so fun to have on its own (and since it's so neglected - I think logic says don't have another blog).<br />
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But since Cooking With Nonna is a project, and since it involves lots of photos and lots of hard work, I thought a blog might be just the thing to keep me going. <br />
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If you've read through some of my past posts you'll probably have noticed Nonna and her cooking have featured on The Mouse Files occasionally.<br />
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We once <a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2010/10/lasagna.html">made lasagna</a>. And also some <a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2011/05/homemade-pumpkin-gnocchi.html">pumpkin gnocchi.</a><br />
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So if you like cooking, and even more importantly, if you like food (and large photos of food), you had better become familiar with what CWN stands for.<br />
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<img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qfabBXytlgk/T_TiryRXIxI/AAAAAAAACRI/cX2A7HSKwP8/s200/Mouse+Signature.jpg" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-75948341648844572732013-03-29T16:15:00.001+11:002013-03-30T17:31:02.424+11:00Hello HomeIt's nice to be back on good, old, dusty and often-dry Australian soil. Where the gumtrees shed their red bark, and the chocolate lillies grow. That same soil where the kangaroos leave their compostable deposits, and the bull ants build invisible nests... just in the place where I'm about to stop and stand... barefoot in my thongs... looking through a camera lens rather than at the ground... <div>
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Yeah, I love Australia.</div>
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But New Zealand was pretty awesome too.</div>
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I have grandparents over there! And there are no snakes! What more could you ask for?</div>
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By the way, the mysterious and disturbing photo was taken in the Auckland Art Gallery. I guess you could say I'm standing in the middle of a piece of art. My Grandad is in that shot too, except I've only captured his reflections - the first of about 50 billion that is.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjxgdujOnFKydyE6VEobc6bR7JVGd5DGYQgyH0oYiDqdyqhCFh2ra7VWxUUUWHzq8o9AIsl5c8znE6YbX5jswkWkiAgH6OEm2Bgc_x9swIbNibVaTapqcdYc4vn84MJdogsDpHQqk5zrs/s1600/IMG_8587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjxgdujOnFKydyE6VEobc6bR7JVGd5DGYQgyH0oYiDqdyqhCFh2ra7VWxUUUWHzq8o9AIsl5c8znE6YbX5jswkWkiAgH6OEm2Bgc_x9swIbNibVaTapqcdYc4vn84MJdogsDpHQqk5zrs/s640/IMG_8587.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It was a trippy piece of art!</div>
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I took 991 photos and right now I'm deciding which ones will go in the album.</div>
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Here are a few which <i>won't </i>be getting printed or immortalised in my photo album.</div>
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A photo of New Zealand's first ever McDonalds (and just to make the picture even cooler, there's my Grandad's ear on the right).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BmYKjCGNsZgbztcyElvAJNVncGfxUubAOnE6HONXUK_f2PWPHk6P3G7dG87c2gLt6s8PML1PvVZNRRyeNpGwEwsdoGQm-AiM4OJI9nGQSfEVdM8cw_X3fB0avmBfHy0ONAX1UcWaO_7c/s1600/IMG_8562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BmYKjCGNsZgbztcyElvAJNVncGfxUubAOnE6HONXUK_f2PWPHk6P3G7dG87c2gLt6s8PML1PvVZNRRyeNpGwEwsdoGQm-AiM4OJI9nGQSfEVdM8cw_X3fB0avmBfHy0ONAX1UcWaO_7c/s640/IMG_8562.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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Here is an excellent action shot of an ant bungee jumping off Sky Tower right in the middle of Auckland. I considered trying it myself ... for all of three seconds (and then I found better things to do, like walking through the art gallery and watching paint peel).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYuv59aGyBb4xQpPodHysZHSYeTXWgAlmgPitIw6BrHIPA5W0epRBAZgKytwhry102Y5tKZcdo4HlVCWrP7bOj46owk_hGzAyyNxj51gl_YHBw4RLgoTQcDSTlkklemfCHCGFnlxpSIjs7/s1600/IMG_8558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYuv59aGyBb4xQpPodHysZHSYeTXWgAlmgPitIw6BrHIPA5W0epRBAZgKytwhry102Y5tKZcdo4HlVCWrP7bOj46owk_hGzAyyNxj51gl_YHBw4RLgoTQcDSTlkklemfCHCGFnlxpSIjs7/s640/IMG_8558.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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Here is a photo of part of my favourite painting in the gallery - I like to call it 'The Expression On His Face Is A Masterpiece".</div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSgJeuD4B_LneVHzmIQL_ba3iH0xb08kGxxYJCnDU2cXcKczVqrbluqcaMb3nYj1rAEfhEo4ZxBNseShwhypbr3_j7V-bhuWv7xyeRoEefIzqImpanTWVfhsAMewlu-ZgxDV5qnMe7Ntl/s1600/IMG_8575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSgJeuD4B_LneVHzmIQL_ba3iH0xb08kGxxYJCnDU2cXcKczVqrbluqcaMb3nYj1rAEfhEo4ZxBNseShwhypbr3_j7V-bhuWv7xyeRoEefIzqImpanTWVfhsAMewlu-ZgxDV5qnMe7Ntl/s640/IMG_8575.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here is another photo which won't be in the album. No matter how many ways there are to look at this shot, I will always think that my foot is coming out of my head. It was a pretty amazing lake though.</div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MR1FRs1oriQlLwtu79fmpYClWB5SdRrGW_a07Pl1eTPasbrTIOo6h24PcGPD0pRKELxrvUznUCGF7pIQ2_g0MWxdlsni9lozSRbnf2Y_m4XcrODJwA7NSUe1GZk1NWqAtDXMyJeBm7Ra/s1600/IMG_8508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MR1FRs1oriQlLwtu79fmpYClWB5SdRrGW_a07Pl1eTPasbrTIOo6h24PcGPD0pRKELxrvUznUCGF7pIQ2_g0MWxdlsni9lozSRbnf2Y_m4XcrODJwA7NSUe1GZk1NWqAtDXMyJeBm7Ra/s640/IMG_8508.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And then there is the Ambitious Shot in which I try to stand in the same place Peter, Edmond, Susan and Lucy stood when the train station disappeared and Narnia was suddenly there (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=39xnFVV4IpQ">Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian</a>).<br />
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I promise, that mysterious shadow is me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxvzIG62t3miSPGW88DLl_H7rAlRv0CN6eXFQnvvpVXndbGduiGvY7Wm1cfdhJDwrnBhKu0PCPFwZx9OTnTxppQYBWRTsMMcs9_d0qBWKOZ4Q1LXrWK50EdA8YJ46cAuAVPxueDWLzNj4/s1600/IMG_8217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxvzIG62t3miSPGW88DLl_H7rAlRv0CN6eXFQnvvpVXndbGduiGvY7Wm1cfdhJDwrnBhKu0PCPFwZx9OTnTxppQYBWRTsMMcs9_d0qBWKOZ4Q1LXrWK50EdA8YJ46cAuAVPxueDWLzNj4/s640/IMG_8217.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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He, he.</div>
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No matter how many photos I cram into the album, I won't be able to capture everything New Zealand showed me... the awe I felt when I stood in front of God's own natural masterpieces, the fun of exploring new cities, the joy of being spoilt by grandparents you've missed, and then that feeling you get when you walk back into your old bedroom with a new sense of how blessed you really are.</div>
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:)</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-29849932452360389902013-03-16T13:09:00.001+11:002013-03-30T17:31:18.667+11:00It's been a while... [a squeak from overseas]I was tempted to get right on with my next post like I hadn't stopped blogging for several months. But that would ruin the flow of my future blog book (which was apparently one of the first reasons I started blogging in the first place. I recall that another reason was to keep myself writing, and another was to keep my camera snapping.)<br />
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Here is a snap from the mysterious location I'm in at the moment. Clue: It's not Australia.<br />
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Actually the location of that photo is definitely too mysterious and disturbing, so maybe I'll try again?<br />
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I'm in a place where...<br />
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The trees hug the rocks (it's a friendly place).<br />
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The sand is black (it's an explosive place).<br />
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The bicycles are parked (it's a cheeky place).</div>
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The sheep like to chill on the beach (there are a lot of sheep).</div>
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Pools of boiling water seem to occur naturally (watch your step).</div>
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Sometimes the tunnels seem to lead into a place which looks like Narnia.</div>
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And I guess the horizons could be a little crooked.<br />
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Blogging is not the only thing I've been taking a break from lately. My degree is finished, I'm a BA like Anne of Green Gables, I'm still run around after small children and I still take a crazy amount of photos and write creative things on small bits of paper. But for the first part of this year I'm letting my brain recharge, giving myself time to smell the roses and the sea air and try new things or pull out old hobbies and interests which have been collecting dust over the last three years.<br />
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I have an exciting new project on my mind at the moment which includes a whole <i>new </i>blog and lots of cooking, and plenty of Nonna appearances. (I know, you're thinking 'she's going to try keep ANOTHER blog going?').<br />
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Yes ;)<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-50364795705584057522012-10-19T13:25:00.000+11:002012-10-19T13:25:18.924+11:00Beach Mouse [still movie]A while ago I did <a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2011/07/city-mouse-still-movie.html">this</a> when I had a random collection of photos from a trip which I couldn't be bothered writing about.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-51203736185360726932012-09-28T16:39:00.000+10:002012-09-28T16:39:24.230+10:00WWW: Inimitable<b>Exhibit A: </b>My younger brother pretending that I'm not taking photos of him at the train station.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SJmKJ6ep0RpSFx7oFxVie8h4VxroacP4BQDKnwPvgpUTcQfO30EUSZF20Ijz0r-zY-ekzEiCKbSCMsvOlmRwdTswN63F1mDbEM9mfMawDgHv1OyzOtC6FEqyaSI44U-XNwmKIKEIRFIs/s1600/IMG_4783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SJmKJ6ep0RpSFx7oFxVie8h4VxroacP4BQDKnwPvgpUTcQfO30EUSZF20Ijz0r-zY-ekzEiCKbSCMsvOlmRwdTswN63F1mDbEM9mfMawDgHv1OyzOtC6FEqyaSI44U-XNwmKIKEIRFIs/s640/IMG_4783.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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(Today is his birthday. He's turning 20. <i>Twenty.) </i><br />
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<b>Exhibit B:</b> My <b>younger</b> brother testing out the photobooth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihOOortdKT0TAQjymJ-QpfOAXrR4G9Ix6MVfRMEscvAhQ7tiXbPquDvcZ2apvg_Qa8fp6-4_axTVkOoqA2kGIj9QjwFznx33xA9AxZSEQZgbYeCwS0T1JSDC6y8Vpo07h4huexgndIshL7/s1600/IMG_4637.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihOOortdKT0TAQjymJ-QpfOAXrR4G9Ix6MVfRMEscvAhQ7tiXbPquDvcZ2apvg_Qa8fp6-4_axTVkOoqA2kGIj9QjwFznx33xA9AxZSEQZgbYeCwS0T1JSDC6y8Vpo07h4huexgndIshL7/s640/IMG_4637.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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(Apparently it's his birthday today and he's turning 20. I'm having trouble grasping this concept.)<br />
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<b>Exhibit C:</b> My extremely old younger brother's natural facial features.<br />
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Today's Wonderful Word of the Week is dedicated to the birthday boy.<br />
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<b>Exhibit D: </b>My no-longer-a-teenager younger brother wearing Nonna's sunglasses.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCcqfsMjaiMo5g6G39qVg47QEV5hsFgjTp4bAhs6PN7csCg28v9RUlXcGX2FeRrFtF2YP8NwyiAnGGH1YmUHmQA6vDDD9PXBLW6cD73BLp5h5nc0_QaNGlw_2t18Mc70QxWM3WlLK_urc/s1600/IMG_4863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfCcqfsMjaiMo5g6G39qVg47QEV5hsFgjTp4bAhs6PN7csCg28v9RUlXcGX2FeRrFtF2YP8NwyiAnGGH1YmUHmQA6vDDD9PXBLW6cD73BLp5h5nc0_QaNGlw_2t18Mc70QxWM3WlLK_urc/s640/IMG_4863.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: normal;">Inimitable</span> {adj} <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">/iˈnimitəbəl/</span></h2>
<span style="font-size: large;">So good or unusual as to be impossible to copy; unique</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwl83KeDQoOJo2oWaEcQz3NrqjvobSDGgXTbJejum2oBE-Lt_VC3VksyQ_7_0hWFkOGGg3nssV7HIX2CV-YQ1lb8yVSw36KWD0C7UW2K9ig_Uh4SkXDlNh8QOktskQKcQE9xaVdAL_rEG/s1600/Nonna's+Birthday+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwl83KeDQoOJo2oWaEcQz3NrqjvobSDGgXTbJejum2oBE-Lt_VC3VksyQ_7_0hWFkOGGg3nssV7HIX2CV-YQ1lb8yVSw36KWD0C7UW2K9ig_Uh4SkXDlNh8QOktskQKcQE9xaVdAL_rEG/s640/Nonna's+Birthday+2011.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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There's really not much else to say (except please don't kill me when you discover that I've blogged about you <i>and</i> included photos).<br />
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Happy Birthday to my inimitable brother!<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-83606111455153866592012-09-11T21:06:00.001+10:002012-09-11T21:06:51.881+10:00Adventures in Omelette: Herb & CheeseToday I was prowling around the garden trying to get some sunshine on my sun-starved winter skin, and I noticed all the herbs growing in our courtyard.<br />
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Time for another omelette adventure.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18qAbjmPvW5o4aNk0qdsdaK7q_a3hXUQgVhriK7wMzyb-i0L0IBzq7MTSAVYKMryEBQyHkWnThhYl_rVnVMRQVODcxAy1UP9yPCePI-o2j8uROQR3vZL0MXnJAZx5PY0fP-rN0MncfSr1/s1600/IMG_4929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18qAbjmPvW5o4aNk0qdsdaK7q_a3hXUQgVhriK7wMzyb-i0L0IBzq7MTSAVYKMryEBQyHkWnThhYl_rVnVMRQVODcxAy1UP9yPCePI-o2j8uROQR3vZL0MXnJAZx5PY0fP-rN0MncfSr1/s640/IMG_4929.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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We didn't have much else in the fridge so I decided to keep it simple and herby. They key here is using two different types of cheese. Tasty cheddar for the taste and mozzarella for the creamy texture. Trust me, The Mouse knows her cheese.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSA3yMoo4k0ENsyTB2oPsObL7g7ShMYac84dSi5HJHLVJBOowXpiXDg_YfALJwRtDl5Y5mZlQJzywKLQVqQ08BA3Udud4zChslwz69YOQ6ts3iuBKnoDrkownHmH5nog18cg4W22UAO6qZ/s1600/IMG_4937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSA3yMoo4k0ENsyTB2oPsObL7g7ShMYac84dSi5HJHLVJBOowXpiXDg_YfALJwRtDl5Y5mZlQJzywKLQVqQ08BA3Udud4zChslwz69YOQ6ts3iuBKnoDrkownHmH5nog18cg4W22UAO6qZ/s640/IMG_4937.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It is helpful to remember that this recipe is a complete experiment, and that I actually have no idea what I am doing or making. Hence, the 'adventure' part of adventures in omelette. <br />
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So I was just guessing at how much of which herb should go in. I sort of flung it all in the bowl.<br />
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Then I flung it all in the hot, oiled pan. And decided to be arty with the chives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6qMSFdgudPpqpDXFAUsC4T0kGwtBZYHYrUO2eUzRQ-wU7ZqUEpgB9UbUpdMxbzaexvaU5bkAy69suCW2AtvEcYmPBtnMQPrBCNxMxpdG7nhxiH-7UGDk_n2bD_pyKIz5LGLy3aVXMU08/s1600/IMG_4944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk6qMSFdgudPpqpDXFAUsC4T0kGwtBZYHYrUO2eUzRQ-wU7ZqUEpgB9UbUpdMxbzaexvaU5bkAy69suCW2AtvEcYmPBtnMQPrBCNxMxpdG7nhxiH-7UGDk_n2bD_pyKIz5LGLy3aVXMU08/s640/IMG_4944.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is how it looked after five minutes on lowish heat. I wasn't even going to try flip this thing.<br />
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This is how it looked on the plate.<br />
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This is how I ate it: with a tomato and cucumber salad and a few slices of garlic and olive oil sourdough bread.<br />
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And the verdict? I thought it was one of the most flavoursome omelettes yet. Others thought it had a little too much rosemary, but that's easily fixed.<br />
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Why am I even posting about omelettes? Has anyone ever wondered? Oh well.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-47348669757608041702012-09-10T18:15:00.000+10:002012-09-10T18:15:16.785+10:00Wednesday to Friday (and The Pincushion)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. So, theoretically, if I don't have a picture for Wednesday, Thursday or Friday, I could just give you three thousand carefully crafted words to form a mental picture?</div>
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Three thousand words is a decent sized academic essay, and usually by the end of one I'm a nervous wreck. A very informed, well cited nervous wreck. Recovery usually involves a lot of sleeping, and then eating, and then more sleeping, and several animated movies.</div>
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On Wednesday I was going to take another photo of my laptop and then decided not (you're welcome). Thursday is a blur because I was finishing a paper, and then on Friday morning I was running out to the car when I realised I didn't have my camera with me. I looked at my watch. I looked at the car. I looked back at the house. I looked down at my nice boot which was slowly sinking into the mud.</div>
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I didn't go back for the camera, so no shots of what I did on Friday morning. That's the morning I work at the library, so just picture rows and rows of bookshelves. In between all these rows is a girl with a trolley, and she's frantically trying to remember her alphabet while creatively re-arranging the fiction so she can fit about 275 new books on the shelf. (That girl is me.)</div>
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On Saturday I took some photos of the nice things I do when I'm stuck at home studying, in an effort to stay sane.</div>
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I like to think I'm scrapbooking. I've started several scrapbooks but I think I'm going to actually finish this one! I'm enjoying using up all the ink in my gel pens from primary school. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I knew they'd come in handy one day.</span></div>
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I also pretend to play the piano. I'm not going to talk anymore about that.</div>
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Sometimes I even use my sewing machine (gasp). Here you can see that I'm making <i>something</i> with a <i>tail</i> and if you're really good you might notice what it is.</div>
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This is my pincushion. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJVbj5T52aXYQqvIU4mo390rJz5KwNenEZ8qbeRLvfQIOXZwmcrjmzgqCUuOLv7wSd9v5pB2_1QtD23dvRdbyzYWUSZh5VvPUTuy2zs8o7QatqERGYETUvCRWtlqBAMuyJ-T3jI5wQ0Lz/s1600/IMG_9895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJVbj5T52aXYQqvIU4mo390rJz5KwNenEZ8qbeRLvfQIOXZwmcrjmzgqCUuOLv7wSd9v5pB2_1QtD23dvRdbyzYWUSZh5VvPUTuy2zs8o7QatqERGYETUvCRWtlqBAMuyJ-T3jI5wQ0Lz/s640/IMG_9895.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I also go for a walk down the road nearly everyday. This is The Mouse's version of going to the gym - I walk very fast. In fact, if I hear someone else say 'you're walking too fast, slow down' when we're walking through the shopping center/town center/ or basically anywhere...I might just do something violent. So remember that.</div>
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And I've just found one photo I <i>did</i> take on Thursday. I was in the middle of listening to a lecture when I saw this little gem on the power point.</div>
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As you can see, my politics lecturer is taking things very seriously. Kind of like I do.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-43567752410093405242012-09-05T15:46:00.000+10:002012-09-05T15:46:56.396+10:00Monday & Tuesday (and The Cow)Before I rashly <a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2012/09/and-suddenly-its-spring.html">decided to take a photo</a> of 'wherever I am' and 'whatever I'm doing' this week, I should have looked at my diary and calender.<br />
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What was I thinking? That I could take a photo of my laptop from a different angle each day? I'm an <i>online</i> university student. My laptop is my window into the world. How depressing.<br />
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On Tuesday my window into the world told me that spring is definitely in the air.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8kQFsZC1jBVfrBRkgLGB4AYjQQFqiUqwEwtFTy6pJlJT6sVyeIfemMUh85z9m9Qwp22imthhPFgwBTky5jTtSewaswKclahnvkHAcfU5BXhnQ4esqDRugf61WebviRMY702r1xvDMmg2/s1600/IMG_4885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-8kQFsZC1jBVfrBRkgLGB4AYjQQFqiUqwEwtFTy6pJlJT6sVyeIfemMUh85z9m9Qwp22imthhPFgwBTky5jTtSewaswKclahnvkHAcfU5BXhnQ4esqDRugf61WebviRMY702r1xvDMmg2/s640/IMG_4885.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Check this out: my 'window into the world' actually reflects the real window into the outside world which sits just behind me when I'm in front of the computer.<br />
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Same picture as above but focused differently.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVCJRj7dINYqsrWInNhj9nfwdT0s6DM0rY9lO1_wD1XM42ZW3ltF2KHqKkNz9niwWYTPFgTqCJi_2R55Bh_bUsSHEEgqKemi6qvPGymxuX5eHXGpftghgssumLfVXbcCpUCjITMuL2c5-/s1600/IMG_4886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVCJRj7dINYqsrWInNhj9nfwdT0s6DM0rY9lO1_wD1XM42ZW3ltF2KHqKkNz9niwWYTPFgTqCJi_2R55Bh_bUsSHEEgqKemi6qvPGymxuX5eHXGpftghgssumLfVXbcCpUCjITMuL2c5-/s640/IMG_4886.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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You can probably tell that I'm scratching around for things to take photos of here. I did leave the house for a haircut yesterday, and stopped off at Nonna's for morning tea, but I didn't bring my camera. ON PURPOSE. Because I didn't want to distress the hairdresser. You should never distress the hairdresser when they are using scissors on your hair. A lot of people seem to get distressed when I start using my camera around them (and I'm still not sure why).</div>
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The most exciting thing that has happened to me so far this week is The Cow.</div>
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On Sunday, after a hefty afternoon tea to celebrate Father's Day, we went for a walk down through the new housing estate which has grown behind my grandparents' 'farm'.</div>
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It's hard to call it a 'farm' when there is a footpath and streetlights just behind the back paddock. In the good old days, I used to caper through the long grassy acres with my cousins (sound idyllic?). I'm still not sure why my grandparents had paddocks because the place was a chicken farm, and the chickens stayed in cages in long sheds <span style="font-size: x-small;">(but we don't talk about that anymore)</span>. </div>
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Now there is an actual <i>road</i> cutting through the paddocks, and instead of walking on grass I walk on concrete. I'm still coming to terms with my loss because idyllic green acres beat housing estate any day.</div>
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So I was innocently along the concrete footpath when I was chased by a cow.</div>
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Okay, it didn't actually chase me. I walked past the paddock where it was eating, watching it out of the corner of my eye for any sudden moves, and as I kept walking down the footpath, it came ambling out onto the road.</div>
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It was a really menacing amble.</div>
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I took this photo while speed walking backwards.</div>
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Can you feel the death stare? Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-54020214029296441372012-09-03T10:39:00.000+10:002012-09-03T10:39:46.612+10:00The WeekendIn honour of Collingwood's win I have ruthlessly used a black and white filter on these photos. <br />
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(This also sort of hides the blurriness)<br />
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I also took more photos on Sunday but this one probably expresses the day best:<br />
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Father's Day celebrated by eating too many home baked goods with the grandparents.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIIWkx-RvKdRZL31nPBj2sz4bRhpe4JUZXLIVj2l7VXp0XhXw6aFquUbfUp_8kA2MTc60Csy-LVH8WwtKYCaz2xrKiTIahYbhEFOIxGqdNVPg-z-jus-JR1iJ8Nxnb5suhYFFcoyvv95j/s1600/IMG_4853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIIWkx-RvKdRZL31nPBj2sz4bRhpe4JUZXLIVj2l7VXp0XhXw6aFquUbfUp_8kA2MTc60Csy-LVH8WwtKYCaz2xrKiTIahYbhEFOIxGqdNVPg-z-jus-JR1iJ8Nxnb5suhYFFcoyvv95j/s640/IMG_4853.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-88635523268468612262012-09-01T17:04:00.000+10:002012-09-01T17:04:23.522+10:00And suddenly it's Spring...I have to say that the first day of spring has lived up to all of my very high expectations.<br />
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Look... I even got to stand barefoot in the grass without my feet turning blue:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3qzxMgGv7eNmTCJZaAJN1wVnpX2m5XlWEigOrCbBeqwKGBABxjFNDZcususiYVlYjb3z4epWHW4RVQJf7o7vY4DvxWB15ESj4hLkjArsdeX2ThXUzub6iPaKcTyGSC1EoZpZh2Wgf9SG/s1600/IMG_4771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3qzxMgGv7eNmTCJZaAJN1wVnpX2m5XlWEigOrCbBeqwKGBABxjFNDZcususiYVlYjb3z4epWHW4RVQJf7o7vY4DvxWB15ESj4hLkjArsdeX2ThXUzub6iPaKcTyGSC1EoZpZh2Wgf9SG/s640/IMG_4771.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Notice how blindingly white these feet are. This is a symptom of a long, cold, and very wet winter. <br />
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I just rushed outside half an hour ago to take these photos while I was checking to see if my camera still works after months of disuse. The poor thing has been sitting in its camera bag under my desk, getting dusty and dented. After my 21st birthday party I ran out of things to take photos of, besides salami.<br />
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I'm in such a hurry on this first day of spring that I'm throwing these photos straight up without any editing or watermarking. I also haven't reviewed them either. Let's do that together.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxU-6ogWgMOLRrqA86xGVIIGVyzz9N7gu42wKr9IXSXi4wb50uIvgU36Tkop6KZc5pOry8-yNhBzXZJtWrjWNEVd13FwxVJt0A3WSNp_7TnUiQiLZCjcikxTtynM4_-uZWWsbX-TF4ylnH/s1600/IMG_4760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxU-6ogWgMOLRrqA86xGVIIGVyzz9N7gu42wKr9IXSXi4wb50uIvgU36Tkop6KZc5pOry8-yNhBzXZJtWrjWNEVd13FwxVJt0A3WSNp_7TnUiQiLZCjcikxTtynM4_-uZWWsbX-TF4ylnH/s640/IMG_4760.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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This ^ is the first photo I took before I realised that my ISO was set to 1600. I might not know much about the intelligence of my camera, but I do know that we don't need high ISOs in spring! I love spring. <br />
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Now, here is an example of taking a random shot without a specific subject: I think the sky could be the subject though. How pretty is that colour?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3YlwR1PHFuyhufUsK_P65fZn3aRN7s5S6VzasmKZGCir4tLf63USK7NDFthtOIViQSATuVAsqTGvJzQ4SaVemRzq8iKALcpNZivl77r8TEUJUJ_z5AO8V4N5Cvo8dnSgv6AlP7qoFy3V/s1600/IMG_4767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3YlwR1PHFuyhufUsK_P65fZn3aRN7s5S6VzasmKZGCir4tLf63USK7NDFthtOIViQSATuVAsqTGvJzQ4SaVemRzq8iKALcpNZivl77r8TEUJUJ_z5AO8V4N5Cvo8dnSgv6AlP7qoFy3V/s640/IMG_4767.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I've decided that letting my camera get dusty and dented, and leaving it under the desk where it might be used as a foot rest in moments of distraction, is just not good enough.<br />
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So every day this week I'm going to take my camera with me and take at least one shot of wherever I am or whatever I'm doing.<br />
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Starting tonight, when I'm going to be at the MCG wearing black and white.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-75486362632195188492012-08-04T16:41:00.000+10:002012-08-04T16:41:00.509+10:00Winter Perspective<br />
It's one of those clear cold days.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioA2Ync6FE7_gGcB_FVjFy_ovPbS43WHpKx-DGmW05ZEpRvpi4NPylCrXFkEuwiAoaQebKEwqfWcJfvnlsi5OaJZoHzrubmVr5XpRBpitQvjn6lZZjjCCgEMKoRlemX1abPU9d5T3dTI7o/s1600/IMG_4556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioA2Ync6FE7_gGcB_FVjFy_ovPbS43WHpKx-DGmW05ZEpRvpi4NPylCrXFkEuwiAoaQebKEwqfWcJfvnlsi5OaJZoHzrubmVr5XpRBpitQvjn6lZZjjCCgEMKoRlemX1abPU9d5T3dTI7o/s640/IMG_4556.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And I'm in a vegetable garden.</div>
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It belongs to my Nonno and Nonna, and they grow vegetables because that's what you do when you have space in your garden. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Supermarket? Why would we buy vegetables at the supermarket?</span></div>
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Nonna is getting together a box of vegetables for me to take home.</div>
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Today's box is full of winter vegetables. I know these are winter vegetables because they are growing in winter (booyah!). Cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce...</div>
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Now I am in the shed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NFRM2jgHNOdbZ6q8pVh2TwMDCfjIGdVDICTJHxslSfwkk8NLr-JkUvvLXM5iHu4gL_WXjAuQEGLqpHNjGqupd8P6mX2d1tab_sEsDrhSg7Wy1BIQm1dusat9e3X2_Xtia9iMw4mTsWQs/s1600/IMG_4532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2NFRM2jgHNOdbZ6q8pVh2TwMDCfjIGdVDICTJHxslSfwkk8NLr-JkUvvLXM5iHu4gL_WXjAuQEGLqpHNjGqupd8P6mX2d1tab_sEsDrhSg7Wy1BIQm1dusat9e3X2_Xtia9iMw4mTsWQs/s640/IMG_4532.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It also belongs to my Nonno and Nonna, and this is where they hang the salami in winter. That's what you do when you have an empty shed, and the need for a year's supply of homemade salami. </div>
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Now I am standing by the barbecue.</div>
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I'm going to stand here for a while because it's nice and warm.</div>
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And it smells really, really good.<br />
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I'm going to go inside and have some of that winter salami and some of those winter vegetables for lunch now.<br />
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(Sorry about the bizarre narration. I'm in a strange mood after finishing a major essay on public policy failures and government implementation plans. I thought I'd post about the 'normal' winter things I experience because I'm pretty sure not everyone has grandparents who feed you fresh homemade salami and cabbage for lunch. Grandparents are the best.)<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-41885225475186328662012-07-11T15:36:00.000+10:002012-07-11T15:36:00.962+10:00WWW: DissimulateAccording to my sketchy records, the last Wonderful Word of the Week appeared at <a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2011/11/www-whimsy.html">the beginning of November</a>. I think I remember explaining the lack of WWWs as a result of studying too much literature and too much sociology at university level. There were so many big words flying around I didn't feel up to squishing any more into my brain.<br />
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I just applied for graduation at the beginning of the week which means I'm definitely on the homestretch of this BA. Soon I'll be able sign my name like Anne Shirley does in <i><a href="http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks01/0100251h.html">Anne of Windy Willows</a></i>:<br />
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<i style="background-color: white; text-align: justify;">(Letter from Anne Shirley, B.A., Principal of Summerside High School, to Gilbert Blythe, medical student at Redmond College, Kingsport.)</i></blockquote>
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I may not be studying literature in this final year, but I have a few more politics units to go. Politics units don't really bombard me with new big words. But when I was writing out an answer to a quiz question last week, I realised that I needed a new big word to describe a new problem caused by the study of politics.<br />
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<span style="color: #4c1130; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">Dissimulate </span>{v} <span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> /diˈsimyəˌlāt/ </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Conceal
or disguise (one's thoughts, feelings, or character)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I chose the word dissimulate because the word 'fudge' didn't sound intellectual enough.</span><br />
You may recognise some of the other synonyms of dissimulate... pretend, sham, mask, hide. <br />
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In this case I am dissimulating the fact that I have no idea how to answer the quiz question. I <strike>fudged</strike> dissimulated my ignorance by writing a very long paragraph about nothing in particular. It went something like this:<br />
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<i>Quiz Question: </i><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>State what a critic might say has been lost from the system
of public service accountability over the last twenty years; and state what a
response from a defender of the current system might be.</i></span></span><br />
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Beginning of <strike>fudged</strike> dissimulated answer:<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">A critic might say that in the last twenty years the
accountability of Australia’s public service has been undermined by the privatisation
of bureaucratic systems.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Previously lines
of accountability ran directly between Parliament, ministers, local officials
and citizens.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">The system has lost the
relative transparency which existed when ministers and MPs were able to review
the actions of senior bureaucrats.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Critics refer to the examples of failed delivery of government policy
which have led to the sacking of senior executive officials...</span><br />
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(it gets worse)<br />
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I'll let you know if it worked. Next time I'll try to find a critic of the system of public service to interview so I won't need to dissimulate.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"You may be a B.A., Anne Shirley, but you have a few things to learn yet . . . "</i></span></span></span></blockquote>
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Love,</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYE9J9uv8YmBZvAbn0m02hZvM8-YfyYX2U_VCOcAMS9Z3SZHrcn9H1BM9WJVmI97m64qKpSnGtPg530cypAwkURNiLcNQ2pEaQyOyT0JdokxWMW3giCoIBkP-y094h0D9O5wropiWP7GnG/s1600/Mouse+Signature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="40" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYE9J9uv8YmBZvAbn0m02hZvM8-YfyYX2U_VCOcAMS9Z3SZHrcn9H1BM9WJVmI97m64qKpSnGtPg530cypAwkURNiLcNQ2pEaQyOyT0JdokxWMW3giCoIBkP-y094h0D9O5wropiWP7GnG/s200/Mouse+Signature.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: antiquewhite; text-align: justify;">(not quite B.A.)</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-25859723440691703992012-07-07T11:44:00.001+10:002012-07-07T11:44:31.764+10:00My Uncle's HarleyBack in the day when I used to pretend to blog regularly, I used to pretend to have a photo of the week. More like photo of the month.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;">Anyway, the last photo I posted as photo of the week was taken in September last year so I'm thinking it has been sitting there for a while. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> hehe? </i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
I can't just delete it without explanation, especially since my photos of the week were supposed to prelude a new blog post. In this case, a blog post full of shiny Harley Davidson fittings (I know. You were dying to seem them, right?)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyXik4PazCjGbbw1YNpYqRq78KoQYb2ioPxr_eKZynEkcpqEiPQl2LAz-vR3SEYcewQKoK0zMlhJOVwSlrPCt41AN0HgZvxf-UfozR0xrjdgaho35VTxGoBL7vZTvoQwQJnug9MUsWJvv/s1600/IMG_1903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWyXik4PazCjGbbw1YNpYqRq78KoQYb2ioPxr_eKZynEkcpqEiPQl2LAz-vR3SEYcewQKoK0zMlhJOVwSlrPCt41AN0HgZvxf-UfozR0xrjdgaho35VTxGoBL7vZTvoQwQJnug9MUsWJvv/s640/IMG_1903.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
The thing is, a few months after I took thirty-five pictures of Uncle B's Harley in our driveway, a miscreant <i>stole it</i>.<br />
<br />
They <i>stole</i> an entire Harley Davidson motorbike. From the footpath outside my uncle's office in the CBD.<br />
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Can we just pause for a moment of righteous anger.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OhE2tGMgErtUsmDXoU4QCkWZff-6ZnGfhBbpMA1FU5FXnIurh8onDVx4ctu-65CcChRyatF3DCa3k0RYQtoaaFNk0_A3HwcagxhreiPBClLcgTB3eNwCBR0bbAdUbkUQObw2pfFl0HT0/s1600/IMG_1908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OhE2tGMgErtUsmDXoU4QCkWZff-6ZnGfhBbpMA1FU5FXnIurh8onDVx4ctu-65CcChRyatF3DCa3k0RYQtoaaFNk0_A3HwcagxhreiPBClLcgTB3eNwCBR0bbAdUbkUQObw2pfFl0HT0/s640/IMG_1908.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Thankfully Uncle B is a very meticulous man and the bike was totally insured. He was still devastated (losing something as large and shiny as a Harley Davidson motorbike can really ruin your day).<br />
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When he found out that I had secretly gone out to photograph his beloved machine, Uncle B was over the moon. I gave him all the photos on a CD but I'm not sure what he's going to do with them.<br />
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After the disappearance of the bike everyone wondered if Uncle B's Harley phase would finally come to an end. <br />
<br />
Probably not.<br />
<br />
In April this year I was photographing another Harley Davidson motorbike in our driveway.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvT0pncmBwj06xz-ghLPOdXDmFE28BUa8jDWybLSPh7Eeae6M9WGogIDDCXkkI1QOC2i_RmMDPjX_NMz3i0cWXeobqgJdZ0FWNAXFr4ETBbZmOZnbS7fsPYIm9Ga3-xuUGMvoZExs9-vS/s1600/IMG_4202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvT0pncmBwj06xz-ghLPOdXDmFE28BUa8jDWybLSPh7Eeae6M9WGogIDDCXkkI1QOC2i_RmMDPjX_NMz3i0cWXeobqgJdZ0FWNAXFr4ETBbZmOZnbS7fsPYIm9Ga3-xuUGMvoZExs9-vS/s640/IMG_4202.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's a <i>red </i>one.<br />
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For the record, I only tolerate a Harley Davidson when the motor is off, the metal is cool, and the tires are still. Otherwise you can get blasted, burnt and bruised simultaneously (trust me, I know this for a fact).<br />
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But this is a <i>red</i> one. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJWRGl2leFIiF5MErU9D-Iur6MfI2a6sDtjuXoQz7n3iYcjIcfrTH2V_mxddGNf6dmmLaePl3Do82hXwiv0pBmYgqMeCoOCNvYNK2qcb7sEFZm1b9dM5_OVVon2VzY4gWYJo2y0_XFG89/s1600/IMG_4244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCJWRGl2leFIiF5MErU9D-Iur6MfI2a6sDtjuXoQz7n3iYcjIcfrTH2V_mxddGNf6dmmLaePl3Do82hXwiv0pBmYgqMeCoOCNvYNK2qcb7sEFZm1b9dM5_OVVon2VzY4gWYJo2y0_XFG89/s640/IMG_4244.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I promise that this is most likely the last time I will talk about Harley Davidsons on the Mouse Files.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8Go50BPXtjk5qsZKLvQZMFpj77myRz5D2fiRJNiWhgh3vouvreqjwTglIpi_eCCB7VK1Oge-BCXLaLkJMEQKkUsX10n_jLyXlsstmIZUlUAOPxfMwcwTjwzu4igSXcdPmd4IqyIVuJ6D/s1600/Mouse+Signature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="40" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8Go50BPXtjk5qsZKLvQZMFpj77myRz5D2fiRJNiWhgh3vouvreqjwTglIpi_eCCB7VK1Oge-BCXLaLkJMEQKkUsX10n_jLyXlsstmIZUlUAOPxfMwcwTjwzu4igSXcdPmd4IqyIVuJ6D/s200/Mouse+Signature.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-48312706732337777802012-07-05T10:45:00.001+10:002012-07-05T10:45:42.605+10:00Sophistication & MaturityAfter months of inactivity in the blogging sphere I was beginning to feel that I'd have to do something drastic to get back into the Mouse Files mood.<br />
<br />
So I thought about a new header, maybe a new font, a fresh look. Except I've run out of photos of my head in the grass/leaves which could be conveniently cropped and converted into a Mouse Files header. <br />
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Who needs a photo header anyway!<br />
<br />
So, being an extremely professional designer, I opened Paint and created something that could only be made in...well...Paint. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(I don't like Paint)</span> But at least I had more than five fonts to choose from! I like to think that the new Mouse Files look oozes things like "sophistication" and "maturity".<br />
<br />
(Except I miss the Mickey Mouse ears, so I might have to tastefully squeeze them in somewhere.)<br />
<br />
Now that I've turned 21, it's probably a good time to start leaning towards sophistication and maturity in all areas of my life.<br />
<br />
Yes, sophistication.<br />
<br />
And maturity.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lsFa9Hr6Ljdctga6PlZRLM_-7VjQ7NFpcqV3Das-2ceddlddeHmEXbNqYRAs9mLRk-PDDOjZhxaI8Fr6Koz839TMZIk41JllAnNEi8-H7B1wmjOivbuh6HRKUY1jabY__thWxsiVUQrm/s1600/IMG_4374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lsFa9Hr6Ljdctga6PlZRLM_-7VjQ7NFpcqV3Das-2ceddlddeHmEXbNqYRAs9mLRk-PDDOjZhxaI8Fr6Koz839TMZIk41JllAnNEi8-H7B1wmjOivbuh6HRKUY1jabY__thWxsiVUQrm/s640/IMG_4374.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Never mind.<br />
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Love,<br />
<br />
<img class="uw xO" height="40" src="http://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-qfabBXytlgk/T_TiryRXIxI/AAAAAAAACRI/cX2A7HSKwP8/s200/Mouse+Signature.jpg" width="200" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-81448710147892030442012-05-23T15:20:00.001+10:002012-05-23T15:20:10.778+10:00One Hundred<div style="text-align: left;">
Well, I've been waiting for this moment. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Post number one hundred.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjog6Lx35afdLsMvlPI9SwHURzaowga8esTB6dpK6E-aewDjtOmT3_XTKlr-uNO5jAairyZWKbPG22YrxFIEUhQnoVk9X_0mCmkHIT8Hrl602qgUGT1Ukvx17Pp3-ri2OlMItQAU_tQAIf2/s1600/SDC12836-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjog6Lx35afdLsMvlPI9SwHURzaowga8esTB6dpK6E-aewDjtOmT3_XTKlr-uNO5jAairyZWKbPG22YrxFIEUhQnoVk9X_0mCmkHIT8Hrl602qgUGT1Ukvx17Pp3-ri2OlMItQAU_tQAIf2/s640/SDC12836-001.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ironically, one of this week's creative writing topics for uni is blogging. As we are reminded during class that blogging is an excellent way of establishing a regular writing routine, and also a way to inflict our good writing on the world, I am getting those guilty prods in the stomach and making all sorts of crazy resolutions to blog more frequently. I know, crazy.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I try to work out why I like to write so much. I know that I like chocolate because it tastes divine, and I like reading because I can travel to different worlds while staying in my own armchair. I like cooking because I like to eat, and I like hanging out with family and friends because I love them.<br />
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Maybe this quote from my textbook gives the reason: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
...that human urge so many of us feel - to not just live year to year but to capture a bit of that life, to produce an enduring record of our better thoughts. {Dinty Moore}</blockquote>
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Maybe. Or perhaps this one is more accurate:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Like many other keepers of occasional journals I only feel an impulse to record my life when there's very little of interest going on it [sic], which means in effect that it reads like a chronicle of wasting time by a discontented person... {Mann, <i>The Mystery Writer}</i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">If you're anything like me, you don't read quotes in text, so you have no idea what I was trying to say. Go back and read the quotes. If you are a diligent reader with plenty of time on your hands, then you did read the quotes and I applaud you.</span> <br />
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When I started The Mouse Files I fully intended to have no readers and keep The Files as a place to record all sorts of things, so that one day I could turn the whole lot into a little blog book with nice pictures. Obviously I underestimated the size of the internet, and the power of networking, because I didn't even bother to make The Mouse Files private.<br />
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I still get a severe shock when people come up and say to me "by the way, I found your blog the other day."<br />
<br />
"Ah". *quick mental review of what I've been writing about lately*<br />
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Before I waffle on forever, I'm going to close post number one hundred decisively: Thank you for reading. It makes it all the more worthwhile.<br />
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Till post one hundred and one,<br />
the Mouse ;)<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-88692214686817874322012-05-12T12:27:00.000+10:002012-05-12T12:27:47.994+10:00Dear Mouse Files,I've missed you. <br />
<br />
Today when I signed into Blogger for the first time this month, it was like coming back to an old friend, one I haven't seen for a while, but think about often. Very guiltily. <br />
<br />
You've made me feel guilty Mouse Files. <br />
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Why are you so neglected? Oh well. It's nice to know that you're always there, waiting for me to return and start taking photos again and writing about random things.<br />
<br />
Lately I've been...<br />
<br />
<i>prowling around the library after-hours, enjoying the dark, mysterious and empty spaces between the shelves where the books live.</i><br />
(i.e. working at the library)<br />
<br />
<i>pushing a miniature John Deere tractor up steep hills, wiping snotty noses and watching ABC Kids with two little people who say the most wise things which make me laugh hard inside.</i><br />
(i.e. babysitting often)<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>staring at the computer screen with vacant eyes, scrolling through pages and pages of information about the 12th century Renaissance, Kate Grenville's Australian sensibility, and current policy on Australian Aborigines, until my vacant eyes begin to water and my brain feels like it's sliding down my nose. </i><br />
(i.e. studying, studying, studying)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4r5QhAxHWyMtG9g7wox2svKL2_K1FrWP3XfQAf4f0xj31o_uVSxcG7PBspbccnbCjPwhXd0zMpKsoMj50C-XhzZzhGU12clybYRln15zrUT7AIo71MTXkPVMVBeooVpeaMe04SysE1dW/s1600/SDC12919-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4r5QhAxHWyMtG9g7wox2svKL2_K1FrWP3XfQAf4f0xj31o_uVSxcG7PBspbccnbCjPwhXd0zMpKsoMj50C-XhzZzhGU12clybYRln15zrUT7AIo71MTXkPVMVBeooVpeaMe04SysE1dW/s640/SDC12919-001.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a wing on the sardine can (i think planes feel extra cramped because there's <br />all this marvellous empty space outside the window)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i>flying in a sardine can across Australia to the great sandy place where the sun always shines and the sea is always warm.</i><br />
(i.e. trip to Perth)<br />
<br />
<i>eating many scones with homemade plum jam.</i><br />
(i.e. hanging out with my nonna)<br />
<br />
<i>watching old British television series in my pyjamas while drinking herbal teas and emptying boxes of tissues at an alarming rate.</i><br />
(i.e. being sick)<br />
<br />
<br />
But I still think of my Mouse Files often, and today I've enjoyed seeing you again.<br />
<br />
Until our next post,<br />
<br />
The Mouse.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-65721315243340599882012-04-07T10:28:00.000+10:002012-04-07T10:28:09.285+10:00Beachy<div style="text-align: left;">
After many failed attempts to hit the Australian beach this summer, I finally made it on what was probably one of the last beachy days this autumn: Good Friday 2012. </div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">beachy</span> <span style="color: #666666;">{adj}</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;">Sunny and warm, with a slight hint of saltiness, stickiness and summer fun in the air. Usually accompanies a public holiday and/or the last day of Term One.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3mRMwQ57JWtY3jC2FA9p7NhO0X6Cu64amxPcIO51XY3DBUMWz5qDxjFHAO2UxrdZ_UyO451aCz7Yffgz4xtbV2rORKirVP7xY4irueV0n9VPP8P0FKl51VR1zynZFlbNB4SVsh_NbT0iJ/s1600/IMG_4105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3mRMwQ57JWtY3jC2FA9p7NhO0X6Cu64amxPcIO51XY3DBUMWz5qDxjFHAO2UxrdZ_UyO451aCz7Yffgz4xtbV2rORKirVP7xY4irueV0n9VPP8P0FKl51VR1zynZFlbNB4SVsh_NbT0iJ/s640/IMG_4105.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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It was Mum's wonderful idea to spend the public holiday out and about, so we looked for the closest beach on Google Maps, packed lunch, and then drove off without looking back.</div>
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In a few minutes I went from this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibTS3jXxW-fa2r0tRN1v-rBrm6NMDCm2qw5qXjCZm5CoVx-jWeYPRMJvrGEBMygpY8Rp_IdrfUPAqE5EbTLcR2zPSNcLAfJj5EfK8aJ86V-KAuP4k_Uv07K51_ynX2cDQgmrlsZ6p3zK3v/s1600/IMG_4108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibTS3jXxW-fa2r0tRN1v-rBrm6NMDCm2qw5qXjCZm5CoVx-jWeYPRMJvrGEBMygpY8Rp_IdrfUPAqE5EbTLcR2zPSNcLAfJj5EfK8aJ86V-KAuP4k_Uv07K51_ynX2cDQgmrlsZ6p3zK3v/s640/IMG_4108.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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To this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEN1oQZ4G5nS-aU-39me442eCdjUyWKv1pI5ZVsaaTGvJIpqKK48aL0n4r0n85d_nbUqh8nz5_twmq35i-c6ktJVThnAKvMveKbS47mU1X5DACyBc7uM-iYUCty9HBkHb8i1rMNeGpjXAH/s1600/IMG_4121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEN1oQZ4G5nS-aU-39me442eCdjUyWKv1pI5ZVsaaTGvJIpqKK48aL0n4r0n85d_nbUqh8nz5_twmq35i-c6ktJVThnAKvMveKbS47mU1X5DACyBc7uM-iYUCty9HBkHb8i1rMNeGpjXAH/s640/IMG_4121.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I suppose I could have been at home being a studious student and studying...</div>
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...but it was a ridiculously beachy* day.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirAFqODozzv_6oH7RsDCOwaFIZ7qN_ARz9QIa6-ieeI782K-9ojToEhljwdRRNJ9DWqlq7UmLyXm6S-Z8mHBRdEExBdqWauUtXUdQcfjC6P7-sZui2qBresJ1up03ukjVB2Znuw8ZpEN97/s1600/IMG_4119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirAFqODozzv_6oH7RsDCOwaFIZ7qN_ARz9QIa6-ieeI782K-9ojToEhljwdRRNJ9DWqlq7UmLyXm6S-Z8mHBRdEExBdqWauUtXUdQcfjC6P7-sZui2qBresJ1up03ukjVB2Znuw8ZpEN97/s640/IMG_4119.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">* </span>I was ready to admit that the word 'beachy' doesn't exist, but I found it <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/beachy">here</a>. Make sure you use it at least once this year.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-70846948665547996942012-03-21T17:29:00.000+11:002012-03-21T17:29:12.851+11:00How the Locals Like It [Part 3]<i>Continued from Parts <a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/how-locals-like-it-part-1.html">One</a> and <a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/how-locals-like-it-part-2.html">Two</a>...</i><br />
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Every locality needs an oval.<br />
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The oval is where people meet on the weekends to watch barbaric forms of Australian Rules Football. Or twelve year old boys playing cricket (all dressed in white, you can see them from miles away).<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JXLG1ggnars/TtxMx4ZTEYI/AAAAAAAAB88/ADoBlulY780/s1600/17645012404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="393" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JXLG1ggnars/TtxMx4ZTEYI/AAAAAAAAB88/ADoBlulY780/s640/17645012404.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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While I recognise that an oval is an important part of a community, I've never personally set a toe on this one. The only thing I would do on an oval is lie in the grass and stare at the clouds. But I can imagine that this sort of behaviour tends to infuriate the sports people, especially when they are trying to use the oval for its intended purpose.<br />
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I've come here to drop off my brother at cricket training, or attend a 'function' at the cricket club. Outsiders might see a squat, ugly brick building, all concrete and wooden benches. Well, a bare building gives a sporting club a place to meet, and when a sports team meets, so do local families. Trivia nights, barbecues, awards ceremonies, planning meetings.<br />
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The cricket club by the oval has established itself as a permanent part of the community. I think this is why the bare clubhouse was even used for a memorial service, in memory of two teenage boys who died in the Black Saturday bush fires. One of the boys had used that very clubhouse when he was on the cricket team. Little things like that force you to stop and appreciate your own home town - a place where people actually stick together. <br />
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Speaking of appreciation...one of the most important parts of our little neighbourhood is the <a href="http://www.cfa.vic.gov.au/">CFA</a>. Country Fire Authority.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="360" src="http://resources1.news.com.au/images/2009/12/22/1225812/766641-black-saturday-bushfires.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from <a href="http://resources1.news.com.au/images/2009/12/22/1225812/766641-black-saturday-bushfires.jpg">TheAustralian.com.au</a></td></tr>
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They have their local HQ on the main road, and sometimes when we drive past we see the two huge, red trucks parked out the front. Usually they're being washed down with great big hoses (obviously the same hoses they use to put out those nasty fires), creating rivers of water which creep right across the road. <br />
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The CFA kind of passed underneath my radar until a couple of years ago,<span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/seventh-of-february.html"> when the fires came closer to home than usual.</a> </span><br />
When I realised that the CFA themselves were mostly volunteers... the guy from the post office, my old school mates, our next door neighbours.... it was then that I began to fully appreciate the sacrifices that were being made. It boggles my mind to think that people give up their time, and even willingly go into risky situations, purely to help out their fellow neighbours.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.theage.com.au/2009/12/19/988078/420-black-saturday-420x0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://images.theage.com.au/2009/12/19/988078/420-black-saturday-420x0.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from <a href="http://images.theage.com.au/2009/12/19/988078/420-black-saturday-420x0.jpg">TheAge.com</a></td></tr>
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The CFA don't just fight fires or turn up at car accidents. They pop up all over the place, at markets and fairs, local concerts, schools...<br />
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Every Christmas season, usually a couple of nights before Christmas Eve, a firetruck drives around our suburb (<em>exclusively our suburb</em>) blasting our short bursts of the siren (giving people heart attacks). Inside the big red truck sits a big red man, along with his honour guard of firefighters. Santa Clause in a fire truck. <span style="font-size: x-small;">What, that isn't completely normal?</span><br />
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When my brother and I were younger we would race up the driveway when we heard the siren. As the truck drove slowly down the street, lights flashing, we would wave and they would stop and Santa would hop down with a suspiciously bulging sack.<br />
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It's important to note here that my brother and I have never been convinced that Santa Clause is a real person who delivers presents under Christmas trees (our parents told us otherwise). We were those children who would walk past Santa in the shopping center, knowing for sure that those other children were posing with a man dressed in a red suit.<br />
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But it's fun to talk to the man dressed as Santa. Plus, he had sweets in his sack.<br />
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<i>To be continued...</i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-56129746136827745152012-03-17T14:13:00.000+11:002012-03-17T14:13:03.958+11:00In which I post about not posting...I think I need to start a series of blog posts along the lines of 'The Mouse's Various Excuses for not Blogging Regularly, and Instead Letting Drafts Pile Up, Memory Cards Max Out, and Ideas Form and then Dissipate.'<br />
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These blog posts would appear every couple of weeks, usually after a long silence on The Mouse Files. In them I would probably begin by complaining that I am very tired, and that I've had assignments due, and then I would appease my conscience by posting some random pictures and then frantically begin eight new posts for the future (I have a lot of posts sitting in Drafts, let me tell you).<br />
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But there are always two reasons behind an absence of blog posts on the Files:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">1. </span> I've been writing so much for assignments and personal enjoyment, that I just didn't need to vent on Blogger.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">2.</span> I've been busy living a life away from the screen. <span style="font-size: x-small;">{whoohoo}</span><br />
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This post would not be complete without a random picture to appease my conscience.<br />
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{Here is a little gem from 2007 which I found on our old PC. This picture will probably mean nothing to you...unless you are inspired by the the scene of two teenage girlies setting off on a trail ride across the bushy Victorian hills.}<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMugDRQb5bAnJIWjqTSv_xnkMv5PVo4QLA9BTuF80lBza7GDvk1Mq8TK0eXFt2D_yMY_-CcuglmNqv878YfzvPDgb5AY0lNvQjnlLBzYTv_jSV8FgBYHKco131a_syp_a2wmXqDoxfOnAN/s1600/DSCN3688.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMugDRQb5bAnJIWjqTSv_xnkMv5PVo4QLA9BTuF80lBza7GDvk1Mq8TK0eXFt2D_yMY_-CcuglmNqv878YfzvPDgb5AY0lNvQjnlLBzYTv_jSV8FgBYHKco131a_syp_a2wmXqDoxfOnAN/s640/DSCN3688.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excuse my back facing the camera.</td></tr>
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This photo is significant because a) those bushy Victorian hills are currently black and spindly thanks to bushfires, and b) this was one of the last times I've been on a horse in the past years. <span style="font-size: x-small;">{boohoo}</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyir28FWeNkAY1Q85NCZrd8L1DxkVxz-s2ZLzf4zEih7thUwXmMOHLa3Zp-TaUr-GlWLNpxMzKIObx_XaAPjHiNbsw61kzad36SEeoil6U1b7gh1ycJSfwWSuYXU5qA0uJTZrGXvEMtPRL/s1600/DSCN3699.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyir28FWeNkAY1Q85NCZrd8L1DxkVxz-s2ZLzf4zEih7thUwXmMOHLa3Zp-TaUr-GlWLNpxMzKIObx_XaAPjHiNbsw61kzad36SEeoil6U1b7gh1ycJSfwWSuYXU5qA0uJTZrGXvEMtPRL/s640/DSCN3699.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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We had fun. I need to get me onto a horse again pronto.<br />
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So, after that blast from the past, I'm going to sign out feeling much better about not updating the Files more regularly, and I'm going to go work on more of those drafts.<br />
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I love blogging.<br />
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:)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-22712353228456349342012-03-08T16:42:00.001+11:002012-03-08T16:42:36.260+11:00Lily's Old BookWhenever I find myself in a second-hand shop I always make a bee-line for the book section. <br />
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In the book section, treasures can be found.<br />
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I define 'treasures' as antique books. <br />
I also define 'antique' as anything made before my parents were born (I'm not sure if this is technically correct).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWPiVqi0CFfVhRvxwz104lhn6T3PR3siwfLTyPcpqGAguVyJdF7WxPo1wA90GJ10Tg6AEjh7V8PatlZ7vhAJ-P068YdUUEpf-bShtKrjaExIyBOws_oyVqJK3qj5bLAThcyCutdhZy6FD/s1600/IMG_3882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCWPiVqi0CFfVhRvxwz104lhn6T3PR3siwfLTyPcpqGAguVyJdF7WxPo1wA90GJ10Tg6AEjh7V8PatlZ7vhAJ-P068YdUUEpf-bShtKrjaExIyBOws_oyVqJK3qj5bLAThcyCutdhZy6FD/s640/IMG_3882.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The last time I was in the book section of a second-hand shop, I found this little treasure in amongst the redundant dictionaries and parenting guides from the '80s.<br />
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How do people part with books that still have brown pages and covers made from cardboard and fabric?<br />
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I'm reading it at the moment. It's very hard to take in the story, however, when one is constantly distracted by the book itself.<br />
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By page three, I was calculating how old the book actually was. <i>It's 80 years old. Wow.</i><br />
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By page twelve, I was imagining life 80 years ago. <i>This book was bought before World War 2. Wow.</i><br />
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By page fifteen, I was turning back to the first page of the book to look at this beautiful handwriting again:<br />
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<i>I wonder who 'Our Eldest One' was? </i>There actually is a name on the inside of the cover: <i>Lily W. Foster.</i><br />
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It's hard to imagine that the book I'm now reading was once held by a girl called Lily, who lived in Australia before World War 2.<br />
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Maybe I'm strange, but that just fascinates me to no end. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-4125530574118192202012-03-03T16:10:00.001+11:002012-03-03T16:10:22.039+11:00Adventures in Omelette: Stir FryIt's been a while since my <a href="http://readthemousefiles.blogspot.com.au/2011/11/adventures-in-omelette-silverbeet-and.html">last omelette adventure</a>. <br />
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For an omelette to work you need to be a) at home, and b) not too hungry. These requirements are important, because it's best not to trash someone else's kitchen while experimenting with eggs, and if you are too hungry to begin with, you end up eating all the ingredients before they make it into the omelette. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Trust me, I know.</span><br />
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So when it's suddenly 1:30pm (been studying all morning), and your stomach feels like it's poking you maliciously from the inside, it's really too late to try get fancy in the kitchen. Instead, you go rummaging in the fridge for leftovers.<br />
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I'm not sure if I can really call this omelette an adventure. It's a quasi-adventure, using leftovers.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Does 'quasi' do what I think it does when you add it to the beginning of a word? Doesn't it sound really funny on its own? Quasi, quasi, quasi)</span><br />
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Leftovers! Stir fried veggies from the night before. Very limp and soggy and in need of some disguising.</div>
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Disguise = soya sauce and eggs.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYrWZ6bvg9qZSAMbHLNW5mT9MlH6SA1RvClOCt6jfbRLZbdP-ZvjCJjd-dHGYWTmkRwMPJa16IJ9cKJUBGSOMgl53bWQZdEKidcpzfnMebncwqSzGIDoFXFx5Ny7pikI7DYY3H8baAy0kB/s1600/IMG_3737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYrWZ6bvg9qZSAMbHLNW5mT9MlH6SA1RvClOCt6jfbRLZbdP-ZvjCJjd-dHGYWTmkRwMPJa16IJ9cKJUBGSOMgl53bWQZdEKidcpzfnMebncwqSzGIDoFXFx5Ny7pikI7DYY3H8baAy0kB/s640/IMG_3737.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And why not some sesame seeds for good measure? Sesame seeds are so tiny and cute and virtually tasteless, making them a wonderfully ineffective ingredient (my personal opinion - plus they get stuck in your teeth).</div>
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<br />Remember, we're going for speed here, so no fancy laying out of the ingredients in the beaten egg. Just throw everything in and hope for the best, people!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrC54YHP3Kn47bfUivT-7SJ7wgjYgYpm0_2zzlmtrsSghPb4QmCf4aNWnRFGsR24eYESXScdywL4wc6C5ZVlompM6G9Ya5XVzhaoaYFIbP413QX1c9K98evFQRNnMwgb8ThK_oDUlyjCu/s1600/IMG_3742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrC54YHP3Kn47bfUivT-7SJ7wgjYgYpm0_2zzlmtrsSghPb4QmCf4aNWnRFGsR24eYESXScdywL4wc6C5ZVlompM6G9Ya5XVzhaoaYFIbP413QX1c9K98evFQRNnMwgb8ThK_oDUlyjCu/s640/IMG_3742.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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A thick omelette is usually too hard to flip, so the best way to cook it is to 'sandwich' it by cutting through the middle and turning one half over onto the other, uncooked sides in between.</div>
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I came up with this technique after burning the bottom off the above omelette, waiting for the thing to hurry up and cook.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9aOo8oph_ReWpo-KZ-eCaYw9Hu88qH01DFv9Wfhs6ozuEWSGxZajpIt9fulS9I2twdKMrKC4pIS3incF-b4r66VSQLcirKArxuELoKAEW1lYqZTPzU5H0hC8fdJqk2aEcRrX3eFdWvN6/s1600/IMG_3744.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9aOo8oph_ReWpo-KZ-eCaYw9Hu88qH01DFv9Wfhs6ozuEWSGxZajpIt9fulS9I2twdKMrKC4pIS3incF-b4r66VSQLcirKArxuELoKAEW1lYqZTPzU5H0hC8fdJqk2aEcRrX3eFdWvN6/s640/IMG_3744.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Surprisingly, this technique actually worked! (Or I wouldn't be sharing, trust me.)</div>
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Without further ado, throw the omelette on the plate and start eating before your stomach pokes it's way out of your abdomen completely. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sorry, was that too graphic for you? It's important to realise just how fast I was trying to make this omelette happen. :)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jU_hC8anR9AlqF-NTNcfJHjDUwWDmZRml2CrRInUHmByrOjS24tCoSon71SUA1k1zOgoZZTe_B5hh_biFOfjjrRj9daztJaopYOjcXeQukvpC3QFcLRYpeoefdpDtTYFaV06t0UH0gOR/s1600/IMG_3745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jU_hC8anR9AlqF-NTNcfJHjDUwWDmZRml2CrRInUHmByrOjS24tCoSon71SUA1k1zOgoZZTe_B5hh_biFOfjjrRj9daztJaopYOjcXeQukvpC3QFcLRYpeoefdpDtTYFaV06t0UH0gOR/s640/IMG_3745.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />The moral of this adventure is: always evaluate your leftovers - they might just fit nicely in the middle of an omelette. :)</div>
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<em>Hopefully more startling omelette adventures coming soon...</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-79243618016740751792012-03-01T16:07:00.003+11:002012-03-01T16:07:58.036+11:00How the Locals Like It [Part 2]Our local post office is currently in a barn. I'll bet it's one of the only Australia Post outlets in a barn within a 45 minute radius of the CBD. <span style="font-size: x-small;">{Oh yeah}</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-60hCN-rBc9A/TtxMJMBekEI/AAAAAAAAB84/vMCjaMB8udU/s1600/17644978622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-60hCN-rBc9A/TtxMJMBekEI/AAAAAAAAB84/vMCjaMB8udU/s640/17644978622.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Before the barn, it was in a shack tacked onto the side of an old weatherboard house which was the home of three or four bachelor brothers.<br />
When we moved into the area, Bob ran the post office (he was the most outgoing of all bachelor brothers). Everyone knew Bob, and Bob knew everyone. When you had to pick up a parcel, you didn't pick it up from the post office, you picked it up from Bob. At the time I was about 11 years old so I took this for granted (what? you don't pick up your parcels from a man named Bob?)<br />
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When Bob died a few years ago, notices were delivered in everyone's letterboxes along with the mail. We didn't go to the funeral, but the post office has never been the same since.<br />
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While it's been in the barn, the old building has been pulled down, and a fancy cafe and gift shop is being built on the site. I guess it's a sign that things are changing.<br />
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It will be nice to be able to pick up a chai latte only three minutes from home. Change highlights those things you didn't really appreciate for what they were worth, while they were still around. It's sad, but true. Chai lattes don't really stand on par with a post office that exudes personality from every beaten up, dusty and familiar corner. <br />
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I'm reminded to step back and attempt to re-discover all the things we take for granted, the places and people we see everyday. Rushing through life and never stopping to appreciate the details must be one of the saddest legacies ever.<br />
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My previously unappreciated little patch of Melbourne is teaching me a few things. Who would have thought!<br />
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<i>To be continued...</i><br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-59086019084417784352012-02-26T11:46:00.001+11:002012-02-26T11:46:54.084+11:00Four Seasons in Argentina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Melbourne Symphony Orchestra</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Conductor</i> Diego Matheuz</span></div>
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<b>Prokofiev</b></div>
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<i>Romeo and Juliet:</i> Suite No. 2 </div>
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<b>Marquez</b></div>
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<i>Danzon No. 2</i></div>
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<b>Piazzolla</b></div>
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<i>The Four Seasons</i></div>
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<b>Moncayo</b></div>
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<i>Huapango</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOBNxStzukZLJEJb9G2CcG_6NG6AdRuw2QFfz4knNU3mMkkHi9KjV6R273vC-8_zJthKDuXDHM4l-izyWkp9NcFc25E2eQytQ4c_5j7XQKQLaFhyphenhyphen0OMvLqu8Xe_ZDLfrifE8NYYztbQ08/s1600/IMG_3819-6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="371" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOBNxStzukZLJEJb9G2CcG_6NG6AdRuw2QFfz4knNU3mMkkHi9KjV6R273vC-8_zJthKDuXDHM4l-izyWkp9NcFc25E2eQytQ4c_5j7XQKQLaFhyphenhyphen0OMvLqu8Xe_ZDLfrifE8NYYztbQ08/s640/IMG_3819-6.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>All time new favourite piece of music: </i>Danzon No.2 by Marquez </div>
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{such a perfect mix of cha cha and strings}</div>
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<i>All time new favourite conductor: </i>Diego Matheuz</div>
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{only 27 and full of beans - so fun to watch!}</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><i>Gotta love Sidney Myer free summer concerts at the <a href="http://www.artscentremelbourne.com.au/discover/venues/sidney-myer-music-bowl.aspx">Bowl</a>.</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4884620581024413632.post-28738794554810232452012-02-25T11:48:00.000+11:002012-02-25T11:48:45.837+11:00How the Locals Like It [Part 1]<a href="http://www.visitmelbourne.com/">Melbourne</a> is a large city. <br />
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Not large like New York large, or Rome large, but just really <i>spread out</i>. Where does Melbourne begin and end? Does anybody know? If you live at one end of 'Melbourne' then it can take up to two hours to get accross to the other side, which makes it a little difficult when visiting rellies who supposedly live in the same city as you.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">{I'm allergic to four hour car trips in one day, especially during peak hour traffic}</span><br />
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Throughout my short life I've lived in a few different patches of Melbourne. Moving around is not very fun, and when we arrived in our current patch of Melbourne, the first thing I thought was <span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">'this must be the bush'</span>. <br />
Which was silly, because there was a golf course down the road, and the local state park was more of an empty paddock than thick bushland. And my 'this must be the bush' thought wasn't along the lines of 'the bush is an awesome place to live!'... no, it was more like 'living in the bush is living in the middle of nowhere! Get me out of here!'.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">It was an over-reaction. </span><br />
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Many years later (ie. present day), I was driving down the road to go babysit (it was a Monday), when I had an epiphany.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">I suddenly realised where I was.</span><br />
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That sounds pretty dense. <br />
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But seriously, I suddenly noticed that my local neighbourhood was pretty nice compared to the places I'd been lately. In fact, the longer I noticed where I was, the more I realised that I'd been driving many miles to get to places which were just like my own patch of Melbourne. Places with my idea of 'country charm', a famous cafe, and a sweet little gift shop or two.<br />
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I haven't fallen in love with my neighbourhood {yet} - but I'm getting there. So much so, that when I had to stop off at the post office recently, I took a few snaps to share with you. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Am I the only one who feels awkward standing by the side of the road taking photos while all these cars drive past? I felt like I was committing a criminal offence, and at any moment someone was going to tap me on the shoulder and lecture me... </i><i>Paranoia. </i></span><br />
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My neighbourhood has a long history of which I know little about, but I do know that this area was once full of people looking for gold (like most of Victoria). That gave people a reason to set up sticks right here. As the central districts of Melbourne swelled out and expanded, our little gold town was folded right into the outer suburbs.<br />
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Still, we're far enough away from the city to discourage any high density. <br />
There is a nice small-town feel thanks to the one main street with its very own <span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">General Store</span>.<br />
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Is it possible for a 'suburb' of spread out Melbourne to still have a fully functioning general store? Well, yes. Even though there is a Westfield shopping center 15 minutes in one direction, and a multi-level shopping plaza 20 minutes in the other direction...the general store is the place to go for your milk, newspapers, and Drumsticks.<br />
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Every Thursday, the mobile library truck parks in front of the store and is open for three hours. Very handy when you have books overdue. Again, we have a range of huge libraries all within 15 minutes of home, but the mobile library still comes.<br />
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The same driver comes every week. I have no idea what his name is, but we still have a conversation everytime we go there. He's really interested in sociology too, and is keeping track of my career paths through uni. <br />
I don't even have to give him my library card when I borrow books. He remembers who I am and has my account ready and waiting before I've even picked out which books I want. Now that is personalised service. Just how the locals like it.<br />
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<i>To be continued...</i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2