Archive for the ‘ WATER ’ Category

SWIMMING IN JANUARY PART 2

2 Tough and Crazy people get together and consider life through the Oracle of the Foto. They contemplate  Summer Holidays, Beach, Sun and Sand and SWIMMING. Lizzy tried to think about swimming in the last post but drifted into BEACHES. This Summer has been filled blissfully with SWIMMING. This summer Lizzy saw a little lass swim for the first time. I AM A MERMAID- said she. Lizzy is a SWIMMER – not distances and she always feared she would be asked one day to do as Grace Darling did and brave fierce waters to rescue sailors from a sinking boat or swim across shark infested waters. 60 years later she simply SWIMS. Noone has as yet asked her to swim for 24 hours from a sinking ship to reach a wave battered shore upon which she would likely perish at the last moment. She simply swims and prefers swimming with the children to swimming with dolphins. She saw a small girl try to ride a unicorn in a pool this summer. Last Summer, she swam at New Year in a large pool on top of The Hill on full moon. This year, He finally let sun shine on his skinny legs and now he might be able to swim.

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The man who is swimming against the stream knows the strength of it.
Woodrow Wilson

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“I concentrate on preparing to swim my race and let the other swimmers think about me, not me about them.”

Amanda Beard Olympian

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Swimming is not a sport. Swimming is a way to keep from drowning. That’s just common sense!

George Carlin

SOUTH COOGEE

My Mom said she learned how to swim when someone took her out in the lake and threw her off the boat. I said, “Mom, they weren’t trying to teach you how to swim.”

Paula Poundstone quotes (American Comic, b.1959)

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It is easy to swim, when another holds up your head.  (Danish)

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“To understand water is to understand the cosmos, the marvels of nature, and life itself.”
– Masaru Emoto in “The Hidden Messages in Water” –

Northwest Kansas Groundwater Management District No. 4

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“Well, my swimming pool problems are solved. I just found myself miles and miles of open lanes.”

“What is that smell?”

“That’s East River.”

“You’re swimming in the East River? The most heavily trafficked, overly contaminated waterway on the eastern seaboard?”

“Technically, Norfolk has more gross tonnage.”

“How could you swim in that water?”

“I saw a couple other guys out there.”

“Swimming?”

“Well… floating. They weren’t moving much, but they were out there.”

– Kramer and Jerry Seinfeld, in “The Nap”

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SWIMMING IN JANUARY

2 Tough and Crazy people get together and consider life through the Oracle of the Foto. They contemplate  Summer Holidays, Beach, Sun and Sand. Beaches of the Tweed Coast. Pottsville and Kingscliff. Hastings Point and Wooyung. Beaches of the Mid North Coast of NSW and the Southern Border of Queensland. Beaches of Sydney. Beaches !

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“You never know how many friends you have until you rent a house on the beach”

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I do not wish to die –
          There is such contingent beauty in life:
          The open window on summer mornings
           Looking out on gardens and green things growing,
          The shadowy cups of rose flowering to themselves-
           Images of time and eternity-
          Silence in the garden and felt along the walls.
          The room is suddenly filled with sun,
           Like a sacrament one can never be
          Sufficiently thankful for.  Door ajar,
          The eye reaches across from one
          Open window to another, eye to eye,
          And then the healing spaces of the sky ……
–   Alfred Leslie Rowse, 1903-

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If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
Bible; Psalms (ch. CXXXIX, v. 9-10)

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You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.
Mahatma Gandhi

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All know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know the ocean merges into the drop.
… Kabir

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You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait. Do not even wait, be still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet.
… Frank Kafka

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The hollow sea-shell, which for years hath stood
  On dusty shelves, when held against the ear
    Proclaims its stormy parent, and we hear
      The faint, far murmur of the breaking flood.
        We hear the sea. The Sea? It is the blood
          In our own veins, impetuous and near.
      – Eugene J. Lee-Hamilton,
Sonnet–Sea-shell Murmurs

A TRUE SUMMER HOLIDAY

2 Tough and Crazy people get together and consider life through the Oracle of the Foto. They contemplate  Summer Holidays, Beach, Sun and Sand.

 

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“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”
J.R.R. Tolkien, author of ‘Lord of the Rings’ (1892-1973)

An onion can make people cry but there’s never been a vegetable that can make people laugh.

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Come, my friends,
‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved the earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
— from Ulysses by Alfred Tennyson

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To Summer by William Blake.

O thou who passest thro’ our valleys in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched’st here thy goldent tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o’er the deep of heaven; beside our springs
Sit down, and in our mossy valleys, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our valleys love the Summer in his pride.
Our bards are fam’d who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.

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Trees like to have kids climb on them, but trees are much bigger than we are, and much more forgiving.
Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider

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It is good to know the truth, but it is better to speak of palm trees.

~ an Arab Proverb

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Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.  ~John Lubbock

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In the Good Old Summertime

There’s a time in each year that we always hold dear,
the good old summer time;
With the birds and the treeses and sweet-scented breezes,
In the good old summer time.
When your day’s work is over then you are in clover,
And life is one beautiful rhyme,
No trouble annoying each one is enjoying,
The good old summer time.

In the good old summertime,
in the good old summertime.
Strolling through the shady lanes with my baby mine.
You hold her hand, and she holds yours,
and that’s a very good sign.
She will be your tootsie wootsie,
in the good old summertime.

song by George Evans and Ren Shields

SHIPS

2 Tough and Crazy people get together and consider life through the Oracle of the Animated Gif. They contemplate SHIPS. All year they have been researching the 19th century and they are mightily impressed with the nippiness with which the early Colonial hithered and thithered along the Coast and even unto and from Far Off Lands. They have just returned from a trip along the Northern Rivers of NSW and up into New England. SHIPS and BOATS and CANOES. Wot a fine way to get about !

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The world is sending explanatory notes
Loading ships and planes with them,
We have sent our explanatory notes
Even to faraway stars and planets.

Three Poems

By JAMAL KAMAL

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The Wanderer

All day they loitered by the resting ships,
Telling their beauties over, taking stock;

by John Masefield

BRIDGES

2 Tough and Crazy people get together and consider life through the Oracle of the Animated Gif. They contemplate bridges. From here to there one way or another.

I do not know much about gods;
but I think that the river is a strong brown god–sullen, untamed and intractable,
Patient to some degree, at first recognized as a frontier;
Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce;
Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges.
The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten
By the dwellers in cities–ever, however, implacable.
Keeping his seasons, and rages, destroyer, reminder
Of what men choose to forget. Unhonored, unpropitiated
By worshippers of the machine, but waiting, watching and waiting.
T. S. Eliot, Dry Salvages, The Four Quartets

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to
watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly
know everything there is to be known.
A. A. Milne, Pooh’s Little Instruction Book

 

 

 Don’t cross a bridge until you come to it. –“Papa” (Grandfather Abraham Lincoln Turner)

Marco Polo describes a bridge, stone by stone.

‘But which is the stone that supports the bridge?’ Kublai Kahn asks.

‘The bridge is not supported by one stone or another,’ Marco Polo answers, ‘but by the line of the arch that they formed.’

Kublai Kahn remains silent, reflecting. Then he adds: ‘Why do you speak of the stones? It is onlyt the arch that matters to me.’

Marco Polo answers: ‘Without stones there is no arch.’

Marco Polo and Kublai Kahn – Italo Calvino
Invisible Cities, 1972

 

 

CREEKS

2 Tough and Crazy people get together and consider life through the Oracle of the Animated Gif. They contemplate BILAMBIL CREEK. Bilambil because its the creek down the bottom of the Valley below the mango trees and the alpacas. Lizzy don’t know why its alwats muddy when it flows just a little further into the splendour of the Broadwater and then into the Tweed River and out to sea.

Down South, there are more creeks, creeks SHE knows very well. The Never Never and Gleniffer. And way back – her ancestors lived on Kinchela Creek. Born on places like Flattorini and Mud Island on the McLeay River. Seems another Great Grandfather fell down a mine shaft at Back Creek in Victoria and did a perish.

JACK LONDON.     Why don’t you tackle Indian River, Daylight?” Harper advised, at parting. “There’s whole slathers of creeks and draws draining in up there, and somewhere gold just crying to be found. That’s my hunch. There’s a big strike coming, and Indian River ain’t going to be a million miles away.”

THE GLUGS OF GOSH C.J. DENNIS

Catch the four-thirty; your ticket in hand,
  Punched by the porter who broods in his box;
Journey afar to the sad, soggy land,
  Wearing your shot-silk lavender socks.
Wait at the creek by the moss-grown log
  Till the blood of a slain day reddens the West.
Hark for the croak of a gentleman frog,
  Of a corpulent frog with a white satin vest.

Sickness is poor-spirited, and cannot serve anyone; it must husband its resources to live.  But health or fullness answers its own ends, and has to spare, runs over, and inundates the neighborhoods and creeks of other men’s necessities.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

FROM JOSEPH CONRAD: AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS

He looked proudly upon his work. With every passing year he loved more the land, the people, the muddy river that, if he could help it, would carry no other craft but the Flash on its unclean and friendly surface. As he slowly warped his vessel up-stream he would scan with knowing looks the riverside clearings, and pronounce solemn judgment upon the prospects of the season’s rice-crop. He knew every settler on the banks between the sea and Sambir; he knew their wives, their children; he knew every individual of the multi-coloured groups that, standing on the flimsy platforms of tiny reed dwellings built over the water, waved their hands and shouted shrilly: “O! Kapal layer! Hai!” while the Flash swept slowly through the populated reach, to enter the lonely stretches of sparkling brown water bordered by the dense and silent forest, whose big trees nodded their outspread boughs gently in the faint, warm breeze–as if in sign of tender but melancholy welcome. He loved it all: the landscape of brown golds and brilliant emeralds under the dome of hot sapphire; the whispering big trees; the loquacious nipa-palms that rattled their leaves volubly in the night breeze, as if in haste to tell him all the secrets of the great forest behind them. He loved the heavy scents of blossoms and black earth, that breath of life and of death which lingered over his brig in the damp air of tepid and peaceful nights. He loved the narrow and sombre creeks, strangers to sunshine: black, smooth, tortuous–like byways of despair. He liked even the troops of sorrowful-faced monkeys that profaned the quiet spots with capricious gambols and insane gestures of inhuman madness. He loved everything there, animated or inanimated; the very mud of the riverside; the very alligators, enormous and stolid, basking on it with impertinent unconcern. Their size was a source of pride to him.

 

All the burrowing animals go underground

during a fire and are safe. Birds, of

course, can fly to safety. Other animals use

natural fire breaks like creeks and ponds.

Animals learned how to deal with prairie

fires long before man was around!

Not my human
sadness, cuckoo,
but your solitary cry.

We see the poet on his trek, we hear the bird call, we feel the idea of aloneness as the bird speaks for the man. But it’s in a flash, not at the end of an elaborate argument. A novelist plants a forest, tree by tree. The poet, not liking this sort of labour, gets us to shut our eyes and breathe in the leaf smell. Poetry is a demanding shortcut; it requires us to climb fences and jump creeks. It may have a message, but the message is read through an experience other than the message itself

FROM POETICA

 

 

All wombats are diggers, as is suggested by their powerful front limbs. The burrows range from short (2 to 5 m) to extensive network systems of 20 to 30 m. The animal uses the short, flattened claws of the strong front limbs to dig into a hillside or creek slope. Rocks and loose earth are pushed out by the back legs. Animals then rotate, lying on their sides to enlarge the sides and roof.

 

BOATS

2 Tough and Crazy people get together and consider life through the Oracle of the Animated Gif. They contemplate BOATS. HE is  up in the North of Queensland. Were SHE there SHE would be looking fr BOATS but HE is inland looking for MUSIC. HER friends were in COOLANGATTA today – down from AIRLIE BEACH. They Know about boats and so do Deb and John. They have a yacht and will be sailing away in a couple of months. SHE once sailed on a ketch called the UTIEKAH III . Its a long time ago. Her DOS had boats. SHE has only been on little boats for a long time  and SHE has never smuggled drugs from COLOMBIA and does not intend to. She likes RATTY from WIND IN THE WILLOWS. He says there is nothing better than mucking about in boats. URUNGA is a fine place for Boats. HE can sail the wee boats for the disabled. HE has a licence. For BOATS. On the Tweed, there are trawlers and tinnies. Each day the GOLDEN SWAN goes from Tweed Heads down to Murwillumbah and stops for lunch at TUMBULGUM.  SHE lived there for a time and long ago – her great grandparents lived there and owned land on Condong Creek. BOATS.

   “Land was created to provide a place for boats to visit”.

 

Don’t build a new ship out of old wood.

 

  

Dear God…

Be good to me…

The sea is so wide…

and my boat so small.

TRY THIS LINK

http://www.gardendigest.com/poetry/hapwin1.htm

The moon’s low, a crow caws,
The landscape’s laced with frost.
Under the riverside maples,
Lit by fishing lamps,
My sadness keeps me from sleep.
Beyond old Suzhou town,
Down to the traveler’s boats,
Han Shan’s Temple bell
Rings clear –
Right at midnight.

–   Zhang Ji, circa 780 CE
    “Night Mooring at Maple Bridge”
    Rephrased by Michael P. Garofalo

 

 

 

 

The Golden Boat

Who is this, steering close to the shore
Singing? I feel that she is someone I know.
The sails are filled wide, she gazes ahead,
Waves break helplessly against the boat each side.
I watch and feel I have seen her face before.

Oh to what foreign land do you sail?
Come to the bank and moor your boat for a while.
Go where you want to, give where you care to,
But come to the bank a moment, show your smile –
Take away my golden paddy when you sail.

Tagore

A Lake And A Fairy Boat by Thomas Hood
A lake and a fairy boat
To sail in the moonlight clear, –
And merrily we would float
From the dragons that watch us here!

Thy gown should be snow-white silk
And strings of oriental pearls,
Like gossamers dipped in milk,
Should twine with thy raven curls!

Red rubies should deck thy hands,
And diamonds should be thy dower –
But fairies have broke their wands,
And wishing has lost its power!

Quotes from Movies: Julia
Old paint on canvas – as it ages – sometimes becomes transparent. When that happens, it is possible, in some pictures, to see the original lines: a tree will show through a woman’s dress, a child makes way for a dog, a large boat is no longer on open sea. That is called pentimento because the painter ‘repented,’ changed his mind. Perhaps it would be as well to say that the old conception, replaced by a later choice, is a way of seeing and then seeing again.

 

 

 

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