It turns out that one of the four chicks that we bought at the end of last year is a rooster. Gandalf was starting to make some funny noises similar to the sound of a rooky rooster. My husband was not happy and neither was my son
Gandalf is not a rooster, Gandalf is a female chicken- My son
We had explained to our son that we can not have a rooster in the middle of suburbia and he had many tears trying to come to terms with it.
One of our friends kindly offered to help us deal with Gandalf and I’m very grateful that she suggested and offered one of her hens to replace our rooster. As soon as we told Zachy about the new hen, he immediately cheered up and named the new chook Tenor.
So today our friend who writes Just like my Nan made came to our place and turned our rooster into something that we can now bake. She also arrived with our beautiful new hen called Tenor.
Suburbia and it’s images evoke such deep emotions in me. I paint suburbia, take photo’s of it, for goodness sake I even blog about it. Has it to do with where I grew up? As I walked out my front door and everywhere I went I was confronted with such scenes.
There is a certain nostalgia that creeps in that makes me think of my childhood that was well and truly marinated in most exciting decade ever, the 70’s. When I was a kid you played with the neighbourhood kids and came home when the street lights came on. I remember all us cousins in the back of my Aunty’s station wagon singing ABBA songs at the top of our lungs. and when I say back, I mean back- back without any seat belts on.
I then wonder, was life more simple then or when nostalgia strikes does it block out the nasties? I ponder this a lot as I’m calving through my 30’s almost reaching 40. I don’t really care about getting old as I still feel quite young. I think that as a child, images stay with you in such a strong way that they are not easily shaken.
So rather than question it I’m just going with it. I will indulge this need to capture suburban images for as long as I so feel the need to do so. I will allow my childhood memories to fuel my creativity, which hopefully produces emotive works of art.
The journey to the park. The suburban vibe. Cracks in the pavement, power lines. the sound of a hungry lawn mower. Trains go by like a whisper, trains go by like a fighter jet. Crossing the road carefully. There are some idiots on the road.
People rendering their houses and putting in a Jamie Durie garden. What happened to the big back yard? Taken over by the big brick house.
Leaves fall on the pavement making lovely patterns. The sound of the stroller rolling effortlessly and rhythmically down the concrete path.
Prams and strollers have come a long way. A lot of posho ones on the scene, they look nice but there a mighty struggle to get on the bus with. We have a nice little one that is practical for commuting. we wouldn’t be without it.
Sunny day’s, sunny ways, green trees, power lines, roads networking, connecting. This is what I see when I step outside. lines interrupting the sky, cutting, slicing, dissecting the clouds. “the sky is broken” my son says. this is the suptopian journey.
I live and grew up in suburbia, it’s not so bad, I had a great upbringing but I have to be honest I’v been a little naive to a lot of things until recently. I lived in a mindset that every one was nice and nobody judged you by the way you dressed or the car you drive or how much money you earn. I know, you think this is very strange everybody knows those unspoken rules of society but it’s true, I really didn’t think that way.
A couple of years ago my husband had a break down and the upkeep of our appearance of wealth went down the suburbia drain pipe, washed out to the sea of helplessness. It was in this time that I saw the judgment of my fellow subtiopian kin. Seriously if you don’t have the appearance of wealth people look down their snobbish self righteous noses.
It seems that the Jones’s, whoever they are, are the answer to subtopian greatness. For goodness sake who are the Jones’s??? Why are they the leaders in this network of streets and houses, who made them the leaders??? I say stuff the Jones’s, the Jones’s are in debt up to their subtopian eye balls, stressed out and terrified that at any moment now they will be knocked off their suptopian man made pedestal.
Tell me what is it to be great? I find my worth in a God who loves me, therefore finding that same worth in others. To look underneath the noise of gossip and judgment and to see the person through the maze of exterior wealth. I like to see the heart of a person not their shallow masks.
Perhaps I sound preachy but all I seek to be is honest. I want to express this distaste of this appalling judgment that I and many have been subject too. I want to inspire us all to look deeper and beyond the outer shell and then do something positive about it. Hey I may not set the suburbs on fire with my passionate opinions but at least I can have my say!!!!