It's one of those days. I feel unspeakably happy and sunny. I'm not naturally a glass-half-full sort of person, tending to be more the misery guts type really. But I work hard at not being morose all the time. So when it happens naturally, it's quite lovely and uplifting and all that. (Cue tiny harps etc]
• The sun is shining.
• We're at the tail-end of winter and spring is hinting everywhere, in the buds on the mysterious things popping up in my garden, in the presence of late winter flowers such as magnolias and wattle (Paula, the yellow flowers two posts down are wattle, Genus Acacia. The wattle is Australia's floral emblem, popular world wide but often known overseas [incorrectly as Stirling Macoboy says in What Flower is That?] as mimosa. As for the pink flowers in that post, I'm unsure. Anyone?)
• Thrilling to the discovery that the nondescript little bush round the side of the house has flowered and is a daphne. I pick a little sprig for the dining table every few days and its exquisite scent fills the house. I am enjoying the little discoveries that come with moving into a house with a garden planted by someone else.
• Listening to Eine Kleine Nacht Musik full blast on Son #1's iPod while he's a t school. Music right in your ears is quite different to music in the room generally. I love the intimacy and detail of it. I hope the phone isn't ringing because I can't hear a thing other than Mozart. And I am la-la-laaaing along at the top of my voice.
• Stopping in at Savers after school drop off this morning in the hope of getting a pair of dark blue cords/pants/jeans. Coming out with a pair of chocolate Country Road cords, a pair of brown linen Sussan pants, and a butter dish. Yes another one. For when the pink and black art deco one is dropped. Also I got a cute (how I hate that word) cotton pillowcase with pirates all over it which will become a bookbag for So n #3. (Yes, I will wash it first. Shut up).
• The cough is finally disappearing.
• Getting taken into the storage room at the Potter and being allowed to don the white cotton gloves and handle pottery and artefacts from the fourteenth century BCE! This thrills me. Hence the bold and italics.
• Son #3 has consented to a haircut this weekend.
• Getting stuck into Homer again. Love it love it love it. (Virgil, not so much).
• Paul Kelly is now on the iPod! Woohoo.
• Mr Soup and I went to the opera and I quietly nodded off and we left at interval. I know, I know, doesn't sound like a reason to be happy. But it was good in so many ways.
(a) We needed a night out alone for a little informal Relationship Repair.
(b) We went to a bar (after leaving the opera) and talked and talked over a bottle of overpriced red wine and voila the relationship is uh, repaired. (Not that it was broken. It just needs maintenance occasionally and it doesn't get it. Life gets in the way).
(c) I got dressed 90 seconds before the babysitter arrived. No time to think so threw on black top, long black velvet op shop skirt, long black beads, black tights which turned out to be navy blue that's how bad the lighting is in our bedroom, black wit chy-poo lace up boots, ran a comb through the hair and slashed a streak of dark lipstick and leapt in the car, but was pleasantly surprised to see I looked good (!) in the mirrors at the theatre. Old, but in a good way. Sort of old and sophisticated. Oh god, maybe just old. Now I'm getting paranoid so will move on.
(d) Mr Soup wore head to toe black too [such a cliche Melbourne couple we are] and as we walked to the theatre a woman [also dressed in black - this IS Melbourne, we are all pale and intere sting] careened around a tall-buildinged-corner on roller blades, into us. The three of us swung around in a kind of gothic wheeled ballet as we grabbed her to keep her upright. We all laughed and someone said Shall we dance? and we wheeled around twice more before sending her on her way.
(e) The opera (Don Giovanni) was at the Athenaeum, that old shabby character-filled theatre that I hadn't been to in years. [Have you ever been backstage there? It's like a rabbit warren.] We were sitti ng in the upper circle, three rows from the [very ornate but peeling] ceiling. The seats are tiny, the rows narrow, the people behind you have their shoes in your hair and as you make your way teeteringly to your seat (clutching a glass of wine because this theatre is so civilised you can take drinks in as long as you promise to return them to the bar at interval) you tread on the hair of the folks in the row below. It smelt musty, it was hot at the very top of the theatre and what with the wine and the music and the singing, I fell asleep. No more red wine at the theatre for me. Remember the blogging while under the infuence after the symphony? (Do people click on these links and read Old Soup, I wonder?)
• World Party's song Is it like today? has just finished and now we have Spanish guitar music. My son has eclectic musical tastes.
• That's enough random brain outpourings for one day.
I'm taking a blogging break for a few days. You may peruse my archives if you so desire; October and November of 2005 weren't too bad.>