Thursday, November 29, 2012
Like the curious case of Benjamin Button
I haven't blogged for a while - in fact forty two days worth of while. I expect you've been wondering what I'm up to. What? You hadn't noticed my sad little absence from the blogosphere? I'm shocked and saddened and, so that you don't become too unnerved by my absence, I'm here to fill you in one what has been happening.
Firstly, we've moved house.
Secondly, we've been on a holiday in the Grampians.
Thirdly we've had guests from Switzerland.
We've also celebrated a friend's fortieth birthday in Sydney.
In fact, I'd have to say we've been out more than we've been in. Busy despite our newly purchased slice of tranquility.
But perhaps the biggest life change of the last forty two days ago has been my bike.
Now, I made a lot of noise about my intention to cycle more once we moved to Coburg. But I don't think anyone, including myself, actually believed this would ever happen. When Andrew handed me my bike helmet on our first night in Rolls Street and said: enough, let's go and get a gyros. I wasn't quite prepared for it.
What now? I gulped, looking down at the helmet as if it had teeth. Can't we just walk the first night.
No. Apparently we had to start as we meant to go on.
We donned our helmets and headed towards Sydney Road.
I have to admit, before this fateful night I'd scarcely ridden a bike in the last twenty five years. I'd stopped at the tender age of seventeen (when I first got my driving license). But putting my helmet on and riding out to dinner that first night and then packing our grocery shopping into my panniers to ride home again felt like the Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
I felt myself growing younger by the minute.
Since then, I haven't been able to get enough of the experience.
I've ridden to Welsh in the city and home along Sydney road. I've done a Boroondara Cyclewise course and overcome my phobia of public showering. I've ridden to work. Eaten at Beatbox, joined a yoga class and shopped at the Coburg night market. In between, I've walked my dog, finished the SSiW intermediate course and danced to Fflur Dafydd's, Martha Llwyd in my living room.
But most importantly of all, I've been writing.
Yep, that's right. My muse has followed me to Coburg. In fact, I'd have to say she rather likes it here. I'm putting this down to genetic programming. I mean, think about it? Before my parents emigrated, the family had never lived in anything bigger than a semi-detached house in Essex. Yep, that's right small - so this empty nest, masterfully renovated Federation cottage suits me perfectly.
In fact, I'd even go as far as saying I've probably been overwhelmed for the last twenty five years.
Not that I regret the experience - kids, guinea pigs, school fetes, and trivia nights - a woman needs those things. But now my nest is empty and, although Andrew is looking around wondering where his audience has gone, wrth fy modd or in my element as the half-Welsh-woman in me is wont to say.
So folks, this blog is a great, big long winded way of saying I'm fine but you may not hear from me for a while. Oh, yes, I know it's heart breaking. But don't fret. Just think of me at my writing desk, drinking coffee, taking power naps, or smiling like a gate as I ride the wide flat streets of Coburg, and know I've got a novel to write.
Hopefully, 2013 will see it finished.
Tan fy mlog nesaf - Hwyl Fawr!
Firstly, we've moved house.
Secondly, we've been on a holiday in the Grampians.
Thirdly we've had guests from Switzerland.
We've also celebrated a friend's fortieth birthday in Sydney.
In fact, I'd have to say we've been out more than we've been in. Busy despite our newly purchased slice of tranquility.
What now? I gulped, looking down at the helmet as if it had teeth. Can't we just walk the first night.
No. Apparently we had to start as we meant to go on.
We donned our helmets and headed towards Sydney Road.
I have to admit, before this fateful night I'd scarcely ridden a bike in the last twenty five years. I'd stopped at the tender age of seventeen (when I first got my driving license). But putting my helmet on and riding out to dinner that first night and then packing our grocery shopping into my panniers to ride home again felt like the Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
I felt myself growing younger by the minute.
Since then, I haven't been able to get enough of the experience.
I've ridden to Welsh in the city and home along Sydney road. I've done a Boroondara Cyclewise course and overcome my phobia of public showering. I've ridden to work. Eaten at Beatbox, joined a yoga class and shopped at the Coburg night market. In between, I've walked my dog, finished the SSiW intermediate course and danced to Fflur Dafydd's, Martha Llwyd in my living room.
But most importantly of all, I've been writing.
Yep, that's right. My muse has followed me to Coburg. In fact, I'd have to say she rather likes it here. I'm putting this down to genetic programming. I mean, think about it? Before my parents emigrated, the family had never lived in anything bigger than a semi-detached house in Essex. Yep, that's right small - so this empty nest, masterfully renovated Federation cottage suits me perfectly.
In fact, I'd even go as far as saying I've probably been overwhelmed for the last twenty five years.
Not that I regret the experience - kids, guinea pigs, school fetes, and trivia nights - a woman needs those things. But now my nest is empty and, although Andrew is looking around wondering where his audience has gone, wrth fy modd or in my element as the half-Welsh-woman in me is wont to say.
So folks, this blog is a great, big long winded way of saying I'm fine but you may not hear from me for a while. Oh, yes, I know it's heart breaking. But don't fret. Just think of me at my writing desk, drinking coffee, taking power naps, or smiling like a gate as I ride the wide flat streets of Coburg, and know I've got a novel to write.
Hopefully, 2013 will see it finished.
Tan fy mlog nesaf - Hwyl Fawr!
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Goodbye Phyllis Court
If these walls could talk they'd tell a simple but ordinary story.
A young man brought his family to Melbourne. They had no friends. No family for support. Money was in short supply.
They bought a house in the eastern suburbs, not a dream house by any stretch of the imagination. There were rat droppings in the oven. The carpets were damp and mouldering. The gas hearter leaked into the living room.
A young man brought his family to Melbourne. They had no friends. No family for support. Money was in short supply.
They bought a house in the eastern suburbs, not a dream house by any stretch of the imagination. There were rat droppings in the oven. The carpets were damp and mouldering. The gas hearter leaked into the living room.
They knew struggle a plenty in those early years - illness, sadness, empty pockets. Oft-times laughter too. They made friends. Cared for their neighbours. Belonged to a faith community. Then fortune carried them to another part of the world.
Coming back after four years in the pacific, the suburbs felt endless and monotone. But they raised a family there - safe between the cream bricks and plaster board. Gained three daughters. Watched another spiral out of control. And all the while their friends and neighbours were there helping to ease the load.
Now they are leaving the eastern suburbs. Their friends and neighbours. This house where they raised their family. It's been hard and it's been easy. At times just plain ordinary. But they are grateful for twenty four happy years.
Coming back after four years in the pacific, the suburbs felt endless and monotone. But they raised a family there - safe between the cream bricks and plaster board. Gained three daughters. Watched another spiral out of control. And all the while their friends and neighbours were there helping to ease the load.
Now they are leaving the eastern suburbs. Their friends and neighbours. This house where they raised their family. It's been hard and it's been easy. At times just plain ordinary. But they are grateful for twenty four happy years.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
I think we might be moving...
Vacant rooms
Empty cupboards
Trolley loads
Piled up belongings
Gifts
Hugs
Tears forming
Yes, it's happening
We're finally moving
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Understanding Welsh words - or, should I say, misunderstanding? :-)
Last month I attended a Welsh language Summer School in Aberystwyth. It was one of the most tiring, inspiring and exhilarating holidays I have ever been on. I reeled through the days drunk on words and meaning. When I got home, I found the Welsh language had entered my dreaming. If you've been reading this blog, you may have spent some of those moments with me.
What you won't know is that I also got filmed for Welsh television.
What? I hear you say. How could this be Liz?
Well, that's a good question, and, if you are patient I will explain. But from the outset, I have to say, there was a fair bit of misunderstanding involved.
Right, now we've got that out of the way, let's start at the beginning.
First, I learn Welsh. I go to the classes at the Celtic Club in Melbourne, do Mp3 lessons when I'm walking the dog. I also watch Welsh language television. Now, if you know anything about television rights, you will know that watching Welsh television from Australia involves an element of illegality. But for the purposes of this blog, let's just say I watch short segments of Welsh language television on YouTube.
One of my favourite programmes is a show for learners called Hwb and, because I'm a cool info savvy public librarian, I follow the Hwb Twitter stream. I also spend time on a fantastic forum called Say Something in Welsh (yes, if you haven't worked it out by now, I have a mildly obsessive personality). Anyway, in addition to the forum, SSiW sends out a weekly email newsletter and, as SSiW has links to Hwb (yes, Wales is a small place), they give us regular updates on what is happening.
One week, the newsletter said Hwb were looking for dysgywr o ddramor - learners from overseas. According to SSiW the success of Hwb depends on having as much interaction between learners and the program presenters as possible. This set up a rather uncomfortable feeling in my breast. Not only do I watch Hwb regularly and 'illegally.' I also owe my current proficiency in Welsh to the amazing SSiW team. And let's face it there was no denying the fact, I am a dysgwr o ddramor.
'If anyone feels up to doing a two minute Skype chat,' the newsletter said, 'just get in touch with Owen from Fflic television.'
Well, what could I do? They'd even provided the cyfeiriad ebost. I typed it into the address bar and sent a message - about our Welsh classes in Melbourne, my own language journey, the fact that I was planning to do summer school in Abersystwyth. All in Welsh by the way, which is where the word misunderstanding comes in.
Conscience assuaged, I pressed send. And promptly forgot about it. I mean who expects a return ebost from a stranger on television?
You can imagine my surprise when, two days later, I received an ebost from Owen. I pulled my dictionary out. 'Helo Liz,' he said. 'Diolch am dy ebost. We'd love to have you as one of our dysgywr o dramor (at least, I thought that's what he said. It was all in Welsh). It would be incredible if we could come to Aberystwyth and meet you.
Wow! I thought, aren't Welsh people kind. But why come to Aberyswyth, if I'm going to be chatting on Skype? It sounded like an awful lot of bother for a two minute TV segment.
Nevertheless, I sent Owen the dates of my course and turned my attention elsewhere. We were in the throws of buying and selling houses at this stage. I also had a five day stay in hospital somewhere in the middle. Being on Welsh television hardly impacted my consciousness.
Until I received another ebost from Owen.
'I've been in touch with your tutor,' he said (in Welsh remember). We've been given the all clear to film you in class.'
He added a date which was precisely three days after my arrival in Wales.
Great, I thought, I'm going to be jet-lagged on Welsh television.
About this point, it began to dawn on me that this was shaping up to be more than a two minute Skype chat. They were bringing a film crew to Aberystwyth and they were going to spend a whole morning filming me. Added to which, it was right at the beginning of the course. So, I'd be a complete twpsin on on national television. At that point, I made a firm decision:
I'm not telling anyone in Australia about this.
True to their word the film crew arrived in Aberystwyth. They gave me instructions. I understood about a quarter of what they said. I somehow managed to mutter a few things. Had manifold mistakes recorded for posterity and, to top it all off, no one wanted to sit next to me in class that morning.
At the end of filming, I signed the consent form. 'Diolch yn fawr,' said Owen. Bydden ni'n dweud wrthot ti pan bydd y eitem yn ddangos. O ie, hoffen ni'n siarad gyda ti ar Skype nes ymlaen, hefyd.'
By which I understood that the Skype chat was still going to happen at a later date.
I've been back in Australia almost a month now and, last week, I received another ebost from Owen.
'Hiya Liz,' the program will be on television this Sunday, 30th of September. 'Please tell all your friends.'
My friends! Oh, dear, what a dilemma. I sent an ebost off to the course coordinators (I figured I owed them the courtesy). Considered posting a: hey, guess what, on the SSiW forum. But decided against it.
But the big questions was should I spill the beans down under?
On the one hand, this was a big moment. I've never been on television before. On the other hand, it was guaranteed to be embarrassing. I don't even like looking at photos of myself, let alone a short film segment of me muffing up a foreign language. But what about my family? And the Welsh speaking world? It is a small community? What if people found out anyway?
In the end, the matter was taken out of my hands. The SSiW eNewsletter has a new segment entitled: Coming up on Hwb.
Under this weeks heading it says:
'We meet Liz Corbett from Melbourne who attended a Welsh language course at The University of Wales, Aberystwyth. (Liz also learns with SSiW and some of us met her at the Eisteddfod).'
That's the thing about the World Wide Web. It disseminates information.
SSIW has 23,000 members. Many in Australia. Some who even go to my Welsh class - the cat was well and truly out of the bag. Therefore, before any of you stumbled across my stuttering Welsh presence, I thought I'd better announce it.
Here it is, for the first and, possibly, last time in history, a YouTube of me speaking Welsh on national television.
What you won't know is that I also got filmed for Welsh television.
What? I hear you say. How could this be Liz?
Well, that's a good question, and, if you are patient I will explain. But from the outset, I have to say, there was a fair bit of misunderstanding involved.
Right, now we've got that out of the way, let's start at the beginning.
First, I learn Welsh. I go to the classes at the Celtic Club in Melbourne, do Mp3 lessons when I'm walking the dog. I also watch Welsh language television. Now, if you know anything about television rights, you will know that watching Welsh television from Australia involves an element of illegality. But for the purposes of this blog, let's just say I watch short segments of Welsh language television on YouTube.
One of my favourite programmes is a show for learners called Hwb and, because I'm a cool info savvy public librarian, I follow the Hwb Twitter stream. I also spend time on a fantastic forum called Say Something in Welsh (yes, if you haven't worked it out by now, I have a mildly obsessive personality). Anyway, in addition to the forum, SSiW sends out a weekly email newsletter and, as SSiW has links to Hwb (yes, Wales is a small place), they give us regular updates on what is happening.
One week, the newsletter said Hwb were looking for dysgywr o ddramor - learners from overseas. According to SSiW the success of Hwb depends on having as much interaction between learners and the program presenters as possible. This set up a rather uncomfortable feeling in my breast. Not only do I watch Hwb regularly and 'illegally.' I also owe my current proficiency in Welsh to the amazing SSiW team. And let's face it there was no denying the fact, I am a dysgwr o ddramor.
'If anyone feels up to doing a two minute Skype chat,' the newsletter said, 'just get in touch with Owen from Fflic television.'
Well, what could I do? They'd even provided the cyfeiriad ebost. I typed it into the address bar and sent a message - about our Welsh classes in Melbourne, my own language journey, the fact that I was planning to do summer school in Abersystwyth. All in Welsh by the way, which is where the word misunderstanding comes in.
Conscience assuaged, I pressed send. And promptly forgot about it. I mean who expects a return ebost from a stranger on television?
You can imagine my surprise when, two days later, I received an ebost from Owen. I pulled my dictionary out. 'Helo Liz,' he said. 'Diolch am dy ebost. We'd love to have you as one of our dysgywr o dramor (at least, I thought that's what he said. It was all in Welsh). It would be incredible if we could come to Aberystwyth and meet you.
Wow! I thought, aren't Welsh people kind. But why come to Aberyswyth, if I'm going to be chatting on Skype? It sounded like an awful lot of bother for a two minute TV segment.
Nevertheless, I sent Owen the dates of my course and turned my attention elsewhere. We were in the throws of buying and selling houses at this stage. I also had a five day stay in hospital somewhere in the middle. Being on Welsh television hardly impacted my consciousness.
Until I received another ebost from Owen.
'I've been in touch with your tutor,' he said (in Welsh remember). We've been given the all clear to film you in class.'
He added a date which was precisely three days after my arrival in Wales.
Great, I thought, I'm going to be jet-lagged on Welsh television.
About this point, it began to dawn on me that this was shaping up to be more than a two minute Skype chat. They were bringing a film crew to Aberystwyth and they were going to spend a whole morning filming me. Added to which, it was right at the beginning of the course. So, I'd be a complete twpsin on on national television. At that point, I made a firm decision:
I'm not telling anyone in Australia about this.
True to their word the film crew arrived in Aberystwyth. They gave me instructions. I understood about a quarter of what they said. I somehow managed to mutter a few things. Had manifold mistakes recorded for posterity and, to top it all off, no one wanted to sit next to me in class that morning.
At the end of filming, I signed the consent form. 'Diolch yn fawr,' said Owen. Bydden ni'n dweud wrthot ti pan bydd y eitem yn ddangos. O ie, hoffen ni'n siarad gyda ti ar Skype nes ymlaen, hefyd.'
By which I understood that the Skype chat was still going to happen at a later date.
I've been back in Australia almost a month now and, last week, I received another ebost from Owen.
'Hiya Liz,' the program will be on television this Sunday, 30th of September. 'Please tell all your friends.'
My friends! Oh, dear, what a dilemma. I sent an ebost off to the course coordinators (I figured I owed them the courtesy). Considered posting a: hey, guess what, on the SSiW forum. But decided against it.
But the big questions was should I spill the beans down under?
On the one hand, this was a big moment. I've never been on television before. On the other hand, it was guaranteed to be embarrassing. I don't even like looking at photos of myself, let alone a short film segment of me muffing up a foreign language. But what about my family? And the Welsh speaking world? It is a small community? What if people found out anyway?
In the end, the matter was taken out of my hands. The SSiW eNewsletter has a new segment entitled: Coming up on Hwb.
Under this weeks heading it says:
'We meet Liz Corbett from Melbourne who attended a Welsh language course at The University of Wales, Aberystwyth. (Liz also learns with SSiW and some of us met her at the Eisteddfod).'
That's the thing about the World Wide Web. It disseminates information.
SSIW has 23,000 members. Many in Australia. Some who even go to my Welsh class - the cat was well and truly out of the bag. Therefore, before any of you stumbled across my stuttering Welsh presence, I thought I'd better announce it.
Here it is, for the first and, possibly, last time in history, a YouTube of me speaking Welsh on national television.
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