Rosanne's Lounge

It’s always bizarre putting images of yourself on the Internet…

Most of the photos of me are now in the album I made.

In the still night, you, the moon, the water.

Safe in my belly, my little turtle,

Come venture into the light, my daughter

Amidst the chaos, her father caught her,

held her tight, so, tiny, poignant, mortal.

In the still night: you, the moon, the water.

Those first days were fire-filled, never hotter

Clear of sight, my nymph, my little angel,

Come venture into the light, my daughter

Now the days grow long, the nights grow shorter.

You gaze at the stars and do not startle

In the still night. You, the moon, the water,

the wild wind and rain that gives no quarter,

these will last the night and o’ercome this hurdle.

Come venture into the light, my daughter

This is your birthright, your brick, your mortar

Craft spells with me, touch flame to a candle

In the still night. You, the moon, the water:

Come venture into the light, my daughter.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Christina. She was as smart as she was brave and as brave as she was beautiful and she was very, very beautiful. She had long golden hair and she always wore green. She kept one plait in her hair as long as she could and never, ever cut it. It almost reached the ground and it had a bell in it for cats to play with. She loved animals and plants above all else and her favourite thing was to go skipping through meadows, picking daisies and then taking them home to cut them up and look at them under a scanning electron microscope with gold leaf. She had lots of friends, and even some people she loved, but she was still looking for something.

One day, a tall, dark, handsome man from a faraway land wrote her a letter. He was very, very tall, a little bit dark, and very handsome. More importantly, though, he was kind and funny and brave and he liked cats. He played saxophone and although he didn’t live *in* a castle, he lived in a little town where they had a castle, and really, what more can you ask for these days?

After a little while of gently falling in love, Christina made a very big hard decision to go and live in the faraway land with the tall man (whose name was Niels) and all of her friends were very, very sad and very, very happy all at the same time. (At this point in the story, you may have to forgive any typos, because your narrator is having difficulty seeing the screen.)

After a while, they knew they had done The Right Thing, mostly because their pusska was very, very happy, and things like that are Signs. So, they bought a house of their very own on the edge of a forest, and Christina was the happiest she’d ever been. There were squirrels in the back yard, and birds that came to sing to her, and in winter there was snow on the trees and in summer there was laughing and market-days and when it rained, there was Mah-Jong.

Of course, no fairytale is complete without a wedding, so finally, when they didn’t think it could get any more perfect, they decided to get married. People came from all corners of the earth to the wedding, and there was a little bit of crying and a lot of grinning and there was cake. I wish I could finish this tale in the Ukrainian way, and tell you that I know all this because I was there and I drank honey-wine; it flowed over my beard, but didn’t get into my mouth. That’s not true, though, and not just because I don’t have a beard. I was on the other side of the world, making this present for the happy couple and may they live joyously from this day for the rest of their lives.

[I love you, 'stina. So happy for you both. Really wish I could have been there. Congratulations again! I couldn't have hoped for a better partner for my best friend. He's awesome.]

You are lying on your back in a large lounge room. There is one exit to the south-west. There is a brightly coloured play gym on the floor, shaped like a butterfly.

> lick the play gym

The play gym tastes blue. There is a rattle under the play gym.

> pick up the rattle

Done. A large azure lizard appears and attacks you.

> hit it with the rattle

The lizard retreats.

> look

You are lying on your back in a large lounge room. There is one exit to the south-west. Your mother is an enormous geek.

I blogged at Modern Mama about culture, class and intelligence…

… and I wrote a new poem, 5am feed.

Enjoy.

Your hold on the earth
is so much less tenuous now

I have sustained you with my body
amazing thought
your mouth to my breast
eyes locked with mine
filled with trust
tiny hands tracing
ancient angelic sigils
on my skin

your voice has changed
from the frail bird-like cry
of confusion and frank fear
to an outraged surprise
at banged heads, delayed feeds
and the indignity of swaddling

I don’t know why you giggle
when I put my face close to yours
close my eyes and say “boo!”
but like Pavlov’s mutt I return
repeatedly for my reward

And when, finally, you drift off
into sleep, your hands continue
to conduct vast celestial orchestras
calling new planets into being
with the flick of a wrist

Wishlist for me… Continue reading

We are planning on making birthdays and end-of-year about experiences more than about things, but we know that people will want to buy Harper presents. I figure I ought to have one spot to point people for things we’re after or at least brands that we think are desirable.

Items we’d like & online stores:

Real world stores

In Melbourne, shops that stock eco-friendly and fair trade toys are:

• Small Dreams
• Fairground Child

Some notes of caution

If you find something you think is just adorable and it isn’t on this list, there are a few things to watch out for:

• Doug is allergic to wool, fur and feathers. This means: no felt, no woollen toys.
• We’d prefer not to expose Harper to toxic chemicals, volatile organic compounds and other fun things. This means: choose wood and cotton first; no polyester filling or materials; ask whether the plastic toy is BPA-free; no PVC if it’s something she’ll hold or suck. Also, check “eco” toys carefully: we’ve found 100% silk items that are filled with silk, but covered in polyester and toys labelled Bamboo! in big letters that are actually 20% polyester.
• We suspect Harper is gluten- and dairy-intolerant. This means: check that the gluten-free food you buy is also dairy-free (no milk, no cream, no butter, no yoghurt).

Thank you for helping us create a loving and safe environment for our daughter.

PS: gifts to charities on her behalf are also a wonderful idea.

For those who haven’t seen this segment on the Gruen Transfer, go and watch it first. Be warned, it’s offensive and designed to be. (For overseas readers, the Gruen Transfer is a TV show analysing advertising with competitors creating ads for outrageous briefs.)

The discussion following this segment is terrific: robust, serious and exactly what is needed about these issues. At first I thought the issues were too complicated for me to distil into a post but I’ve just realised something vital. The first three jokes in the ad — about blacks, gays and Jews respectively — centre on the habit racists/homophobes/anti-Semitics have of murdering those they despise: they refer to historical events, sterilisation and forced abortion; ‘poofter bashings’ that lead to death; concentration camps. The fat chick joke — the ad aims to end shape discrimination by equating it with other forms of discrimination — centres on someone not sleeping with her, which is very different from kiling her.

The ad not only fails to make its point because its viewers are either too shocked bythe first jokes to make the needed connection or so prejudiced their views are simply reinforced but also because the equation is not actually made in the ad. Fat jokes are NOT equivalent to the other jokes because they do not call for the extermination of the target. Shape discrimination is enormously problematic and has similar emotional impact on the recipient; it may even be more isolating because there is no equivalent community to turn to as a haven in the way that blacks/gays/Jews have insular communities where they can reinforce positive psychological tropes; but it is not the same thing and I don’t think this ad works for all these reasons.