Bennywahwah Oohwie.

Merci M(i)el.😋

A day trip to the surf (IV). Some forest spirits.

A day trip to the surf (III). Lorne.

A day trip to the surf (II). Cora Lynn Cascades.

A day trip to the surf (I). Anglesea

πR.

Framed.

A Turtle Clinic and the State of the Affairs.

Awaken Enough?

Sidney Awaken

Zsuzsa Awaken

Bendigo Awaken.

Super Dolly

Avoca

Loved.

Two of my winter needs, and some turtle news.

Catharsis: the process of bringing to the surface repressed emotions, complexes and feelings in an effort to identify or relieve them, or the result of this process. Regular exercise has taken the shape of swimming and running recently, it has been bike riding in the past. It acted as a catharsis, allowing the release of this intense, inwards and consuming energy winter never fails to bring.

Taking care of business: by opposition to procrastinating. To procrastinate takes its roots from the Latin word procrastinere ,“to put off until tomorrow”. Technologies are new, battles are ancient. In my fight against procrastination I found Internet disconnection to be a very useful tool.

Today I spent an hour at the vet. One of our turtles hasn’t been able to move its back legs for a while. It’s otherwise quite healthy and this could be just an infection which hopefully antibiotics and regular cleaning of old wounds could heal. In the process they took this really cool X ray picture.

Meet Luke the turtle, and its very healthy bone structure.

There is a kiosk on Torquay’s surf beach, in Victoria. The food is simple,  the coffee is good. The view mesmerizing.

This morning I experienced surfing for the first time. I will come back next week, to share that experience with the kids. We’ll drive all the way and hope for another sunny day. Today delivered. Morning frosts always do.

Wearing a wetsuit skin feels like cheating the elements, taking away the sting cold water delivers to your body.

Sometimes cheating feels good.

A bonfire. A joyous brass band. Winter solstice, Harcourt Winery.

Basketball loops. Time lapse.

During Sidney’s football training I went for a walk in Newstead. Decided to go there. Claire and I could have, about ten years ago, bought this house.

The place hasn’t changed at all. Same derelict house, same disused hay shed. I forgot about the side studio and the big gum tree.

Then they started hitting me. The what if question. And all their sidekicks. What if we did buy this place. What if, what if, what if, what if. With what if, we could fit Paris in a bottle, my mother used to say, pointing at the vacuity of the exercise.

Winter has set here, the solstice about to signal the slow rise of seasons yet to come.

It feels at times like a dreadful sludge, winter. Time to not panic. Settle, warm up, and not get overwhelmed. Keep the discipline, the routine and the practices.

Trust in the transitions happening.

Soon enough I was back at the football ground. Jean waiting, Sid playing, Zsuzsa home. My friend Andy and his children invited us for a backyard fire. These are the sounds of us eating dessert around the fire.

Winter can also feel like this.

Manifesting heat. From within.

40 seconds of my lunch break sounds

Numbers on the run

It took me nine runs, probably five runing hours and about three weeks, but I ran a marathon!

Things Jean learns on Youtube.

Car washing for extra pocket money.

#prouddad

Saturday morning, and no football/netball !

After the storm.

Two stories showed up today on the Guardian website.

A family of four, seeking asylum from Sri Lanka, had been held in detention for the last 18 months. The Australian government just denied the parents the right to accompany their youngest daughter to the hospital, when she needed an urgent medical transfer.

https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2021/jun/07/daughter-of-biloela-asylum-seekers-evacuated-from-christmas-island-for-urgent-medical-care?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

Then this. A court ordered the Australian government to pay a significant compensation to an asylum seeker for a two year long unlawful detention.

https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2021/jun/07/australian-government-ordered-to-pay-iraqi-asylum-seeker-350000-for-over-two-years-of-unlawful-detention?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

This got me curious. Apparently there is a thing called “cognitive dissonance”.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_dissonance

I wonder if, and how, our political leaders engage theirs.

I also wonder how many of mine I’m unaware of. And what effect their resolution has on my actions and thoughts.

Sunday night.

Le gouvernement a dit pas plus de deux personnes à la maison. Pas de session avec les Django Fretts.

Alors un livre, bon comme un soap opéra, et de la musique, venue de Rouen apparament.

Un jour les Fretts et moi on jouera comme ça.

For the love of football.

Lexton, 5/06/2021.

Junkopolis

(A gathering of abandoned projects, awaiting rubbish collection, at work.)

MasterChef

“Dog rock”, Leanganook

Youssoupha

Ziggy Ramo

Allégories de cavernes

More morning shadows.

Jean, lockdown 4.0, night of day 2.

Le bonheur, c’est simple comme un canapé-lit.

30 seconds of Rayman

Remote learning, episode IV.

A new hope?

The law of the instrument.

“When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

A Jean close up

👁️

👃

👄

Daryl, 64 ans.

Mon collegue chef cuisinier depuis cinq ans, ou six, le temps passe vite. On s’est vu évoluer au quotidien, les hauts et les bas. Tous les jours ou presque. Au travail. Rarement en dehors.

Ce samedi, alors que Melbourne hésite à tout fermer, parece que l’épidémie de Covid est revenue hier, et que personne ne connaît exactement l’ampleur de cet outbreak, Daryl va épouser Jeremy.

Ça méritait une visite, et un bouquet.

Dimanche au balcon

A new message on the back door, morning shadows of the lemon tree and passion fruit vines on the laundry door, and two very beautiful songs to start the day.

Sidney’s duck/pig, with a moustache

L’amour breton.

❤️❤️❤️

On love.

Love isn’t a dirty word. It isn’t a magical one either.

It is triggered by things, situations, persons and ideas that connect with your inner self. It describes feelings that can be assessed, processed, thought of and scaled to their right measures. Love relates to a whole range of emotions, and casts a wide net over our everyday life.

I love my children. I love my brothers and sister. I love my parents. I love spaghetti carbonara. I love football. I love the feeling I get after a good workout. After cleaning my house. I love my friends, and I love my employers and my workmates. I love working and I love being home. I love watching sports on television. I love the Paris St Germain and the Melbourne football clubs. I love music, and I love written words and I love numbers. I love dark spaces, and I love bright lights. I love depth and connections, and quiet understandings.

I love Claire.

Talking and writing about love after a separation feels like putting myself, eyes wide open, in the headlights of a fast moving big vehicle. But it isn’t. No one will die here. There is no weakness in acknowledging love after a separation, and there must be no shame in there either. On the contrary it seems to be an essential, and rather profound step on my recovery journey.

I need to accept that part of me that still loves Claire, for it is that part of me that needs understanding, compassion and healing. There won’t be peace until I stop fighting with myself.

I was in love with you. I’m not in love with you anymore. I still love you.

There is a great paradox in love.

Train portraits