Jinny

When Jinnny left the market the drawl was beyond slow. The crackpot professor from somewhere south was slurring over the specials. Fairy floss. Two bags for a dollar. Yoyos at five dollars each. If he were at home, it’d only be the fact that he smelled of weed and had bloodshot eyes that made him stand out, but amongst the Australian crowd his drawl was almost indecipherable. Jinny assumed he was chewing tobacco. It had to explain the lump and the chewing in his mouth.

In the hour that Jinny had wasted, she had avoided a thousand people, one with the noise, alone. Her crimson top, her gregarious headwear... she hadn’t been able to decide on the shorts or the dress, revealing or concealing, it was summer, everyone would have their legs out, she’d cover up. Long black and white stripes, lengthening her little frame. Two strands of golden blonde hair plaited into her natural darkness, extending her lean mirage.

And in that hour, “It’s the chemistry professor.” “He’s made quite a stir.” “The snags were under-cooked.” “That accent... couldn’t they get someone normal to do it?” “The girl over there, I like her dress.” “June loves Tim.” “I wonder if Michel’s coming down.” That last voice was in a French accent, as well as Jinny knew French accents from her fourteen English-speaking months.

Her friends stood in a tight circle. The death metal band that played sweetly on sunny days mesmerised them into blindness as the little girl wandered past. She stood, and they spoke quickly. Excitedly. In some dreams she would be naked and they still wouldn’t see her. Anne arrived. The circle widened.

“Bye. It’s too hot.” And Jinny walked slowly, anticipating a wave, a slight head turn. The professor wouldn’t be quiet. She heard every word.

Romans 5:12 - 20

Hmmm. This one seems to go back and forth, if this, then that, because this because that...

As far as I can tell, Paul's pointing sin back to Adam and salvation back to Jesus, but there's still a reference to Jesus as the second Adam at the end of v 14 (Adam... a pattern of the things to come).

There seems to be quite a thrust on the significance of sin, and when we are considered guilty - somthing about no law.

Overwhelming this is the idea that all have sinned, and that through one ma we have all sinned, thus we are all tarnished.

Trumping that, but paralleling this (perhaps a reference to the second Adam) is the idea tha one righteous death pays for the sin of many.

One of those truths that's fundamental to our faith and is good to be reminded of. And it all fits tegether so well.

Romans 5:1-11

Suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character and character hope.
How does suffering produce perseverance?
Doesn’t suffering usually have the opposite effect?
Read in context of the parable of the sower.
The seed on rocky ground – no root, when trouble/suffering/persecution comes, it wilts.
Conclusion: We need a solid grounding. Strong roots.

Since we have been justified through his blood, how much more will we be saved from God’s wrath through him! For if when we were God’s enemies we were reconciled to him through the death of his son, how much more having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! Not only is this so, but we also rejoice in God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.

What’s the idea? Saving upon justification? Saved by life, more so than by death?
Is this just an emphasis of God’s grace?
Reconciled – “made right”?
Saved –“a place in heaven”?
So, death paid for the sin. Resurrection gives us the benefits.
Why do we have that last sentence? It sounds like there’s a second reconciliation on top of the payment for sin, and the saving. Is that right? It doesn’t make sense to me.
Perhaps the emphasis should be on our rejoicing in God. Because of the aforementioned reconciliation, we rejoice!
Conclusion: Christ’s death paid for our sin. Christ’s resurrection saves us. And we rejoice in God because of this.

World's Saddest Shave...

I have signed up for World's Greatest Shave - succumbing from pressure from the power's that be in the umpiring fraternity... so the trim might as well go to a good cause.

Anyway, it's all a bit scary, and I've had far too much fun with my hair that it's developed a life of its own. But it all comes off on the 24th April at the Hydro building in town.

If you want to make a donation to this cause head across to http://my.imisfriendraising.com.au/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=296886

The head massages just won't be the same...

King Island

With John working on KI, and Seth keen for a visit, we needed an excuse to go. The 16th King Island Imperial 20 was just such an excuse.

In the days leading up to that main event, Seth and I travelled the length of the island, going from the lighthouse in the south to the lighthouse in the north - where I also went for a dive. And to my dismay, the diving was crap. Poor visibility. A few abalone - but I only ended up with one size one. And I was getting absolutely hammered by the sea. I do better in the Derwent, I thought to myself.

But I didn't give up. A couple of days later we found another spot near Currie - where we were staying. The blokes were our with their weathered trucks, stringing up kelp to take it to the kelp factory. And so we found a nice cove, and in I went. I found nothing at first, but I kept swimming. There were small ab about. Then I spotted it. A monster greenlip! And another one... they were everywhere. Abalone heaven. I picked up my ten ab in about half an hour. Notably, the water was quite warm compared to the traditional Hobart climes. So we cleaned and cooked ab all day, the day before the main event. Not sure of the wisdom of diving the day before.

For the record, the abalone recipe consisted of a layer of King Island Pork under a layer of King Island Abalone, under a layer of King Island smoked cheddar or King Island blue. That was then baked at 150degC for half an hour. Then consumed! These ab were thick and about 17 or 18cm long. Very big. Very tasty.

Then... the main event. The foot race from Naracoopa to Currie. 20 miles. 32km. To hell. The race didn't include the way back from hell. So many times did I just want to say "No, I don't want to do this. I just want to stop. And eat those sublime desserts that were at the KI cheese factory..." But I didn't. I made it in 2h34min51s. (roughly 30th out of about 70, though my handicap put me right at the back - maybe 60th of 70.) And my goodnes, it hurt! I now have only 7 toe nails - or maybe 10 - but I don't know where 3 of them are anymore.

Other highlights of King Island were the carcass competition and the cheese factory - not being a cheese eater, I just stuck to the tubs of dessert and was extremely impressed - and annoyed that I didn't get more. Belgian chocolate and Toffee caramel flavours.

The carcass competition related to the King Island Show that we missed - which was on the day before we arrived. All the animals were hooked up, and you could examine them all - the quality of the meat, etc. Some useful insights were gained into the food that I enjoy so much... kind of - it's still easier to just eat the stuff and not worry too much.

Perth Shenania

I got to Perth at the end of the month of February. It is indeed a place of gorgeous weather, tasty food and wine, and family. It was the family reunion/cousin wedding, and I managed to get 4 days there.

So, on the Saturday we went to the Swan Valley for a wine tour and a pretty tasty sort of lunch. Saturday night we ended up playing 500 till about 1am.

Sunday morning began with lawn bowls at the local bowls club. I scored 22 points in I forget how many ends. I am assured that it wasn't too bad for a first timer... It was a very relaxed morning that one. It was a 4pm wedding - so the early afternoon was spent beautifying myself. I wore a suit and a collared shirt. The wisdom of this was questionable as it was about 40degC and very muggy. It was a lovely wedding - albeit rather warm. We were a bit worried that there might have been some fainting action - the bride was well dressed and the bride and groomsman had three-piece suits. But all survived. There was a lovely bit of choking up during the vows... it made it that bit more real, I suppose - having said that, I can't recommend people intentionally choking up just to make it look a little bit more real. It'd be a bit silly really.

There was roughly half an hour break between the wedding and the reception - they were both at the winery in the Swan Valley. All the guests were needing water. Because the bar tab hadn't commenced the staff came around offering bottles of water for three bucks each. I received a death stare from one of them when I suggested to my brother that rather than get water, he should get beer, because "it'd probably be cheaper..." The reception was lovely. The speeches were quite tame - which was surprising considering some of the people involved (c'mon, they're related to me.) And then the dance floor! Nothing ventured nothing gained... but in the end, I probalby lost weight - it was a solid couple of hours of random girations. Having said that I did well off my aunt, a cousin and my sister-in-law, in terms of scoring another couple of half mains and the majority of an extra dessert... Weight probably held its own.

The next day I caught up with John from primary school and we went for a kayak on the Swan River. We cruised through the Perth Yacht Club, past boats that wouldn't have looked small next to Greg Norman's Aussie Rules. That was followed by a trip to a festival - it was a public holiday and so we weaved and dodged through the masses and eventually bought a fedora... or I did. I do like my fedora. It is very cool. It will feature in future blog posts. Major problem though: if I get a hair cut, my fedora won't fit.

Tuesday involved random wandering about Perth. I even ventured out to Claremont to the big music store there, feigning buying a clarinet so that I could have a play. No woodwind for four days would have been too much. Then the midnight plane to Melbourne, en route to King Island.

Melbourne Shenania: the Non-Tennis Saga

Pictures may follow.

Anyway... Melbourne.

So, ridiculously early morning on Thursday. Up at 4:20am, to be picked up at 4:35. I got to bed before 11, so I was doing better than most of the others (apparently they only started packing when I went to bed).

There were 6 of us boys heading across for 3 days of Australian Open tennis action (plus a Sunday of wandering around Melbourne like lost sheep, looking for the cleanest toilet in the CBD). I had also taken my soprano sax to get its 12 month service (which was more of a 20 month service, but who's counting?)

Ok, this one's a bit of a long story...

So, I had my sop with me and we got in early, so I had intended to just drop it in at The Music Shop, in Clarendon Rd, South Melbourne. I had done the whereis search and found that it was only 900m from where we were staying. Anyway, I saw that, had a quick look on the old computer, but didn't take too much notice. So, when we arrived at our hotel in East Melbourne, I took my sax with me, intending to just drop it in on the way from our walk to the tennis - a couple of kms from our hotel. We got onto Clarendon Rd and started walking. I was sure we were heading in the right direction, but the street numbers were heading in the wrong direction. It was suggested that I turn around and head back in the opposite direction, but I insisted that it was farther up, and was wondering whether there was another section of the road ahead. The road ended and we went through Melbourne Park, and I was rather confused - but still convinced that there was another Clarendon Rd somewhere in Melbourne.

I asked passers-by if they could point me in the direction of it, and most people were quite unhelpful, with every answer revolving around a tram. So, I caught a tram. I had $2.65 in coinage for the tram ride. I needed $2.70. The system doesn't take notes. I always find it ironic that a) the inflexibility in the system renders someone who wishes to follow the rules a common criminal (fare evader), b) where they would otherwise have been able to score $2.65 for my patronage, they instead scored nothing, and I still got my ride into town, and c) it's so non-user friendly in the instance where by a set of unfortunate circumstances, you're not carrying ample shrapnel.

Anyway, having arrived at Fed Square, I proceeded to walk past Grant Hackett, then stop, and have Grant Hackett walk past me, and then continue on before walking past him again. I finally found an information person who was very useful. And he had a map, and showed me where I was and where I wanted to go and the best route. It just so happened that I had walked in completely the wrong direction off the tram... oh well, I was now on the desired path.

I walked the few km to The Music Place on Clarendon Rd and dropped my sax in. I explained that my sister-in-law's brother had looked it over and had a little list of tweaks that would probably be useful. So they were all happy with that. Then I asked "Would it be ok if I checked out some tenor saxes?" "Nope." "Course you can. What sort of sound are you after? What have you played before? Who do you listen to? Are you after a beginner, intermediate, or professional instrument?" It was a serious case of 20 questions, and I really don't listen to much music. Even as I write this I'm not listening to music. But I explained that I like the idea of a slightly dirty sound - as opposed to the sharper, brighter sounds that you tend to get from your Japanese manufacturers.

So, I tried a few horns - I started with a non-laquered vintage style tenor sax. I wasn't having much success with it. I tried another again, before finally getting onto a black nickel horn. A black silver colour. Shiny, but still with a dark sound. We were getting somewhere, but with the mouthpiece I was struggling to get a decent sound. So change of mouthpiece. The hardened rubber mouthpieces (plastic mouthpiece) generally have a darker sound, while the brass ones have the sharper, brighter sound. So, at first we stuck to the hardened rubber mouthpieces. I kind of produced a muffled sort of sound. It just wasn't working. The guy who was selling it to me, finally says, "You need something with a bigger opening, we'll try this one. These guys have everything upside-down and back to front - their brass mouthpieces sound really dark whereas their hardened rubber ones are very bright." Anyway he puts it on and I give it a blow and the air just flowed, the sound just flowed, it all came out. An enormous sound. Big dark sound. Oh, it was a thing of great beauty. I could sustain a big sound for a goodly lenght of time. I could get reasonable attack. I was hitting notes better than with the other ones. I was confident to give it lots of air (ie blow hard). So I was sold on the Jody Jazz metal mouth piece.

"So, what's the story with price?"
"Oh, that's not important. Don't let a minor detail like that worry you."

So I didn't.

Hmmm. Oh well. Significant dent in hip pocket later, and I was wondering how the hell I was going to get my tenor back to Hobart. We hadn't checked into our hotel yet, so I couldn't just take the sax back there, so I decided to leave it at the shop and pick it up later - which I did. I ended up getting up early the next morning and jogging into the shop - a good seven or eight km away. It was a good little jog, and so I picked it up, and took the tram/walked back to the hotel. I was back just as the other guys were finishing breakfast.

Anyway, apart from having the old "demonstration tootle", and the "I'm playing outside on the balcony tootle cos you don't want me playing in here" (where I got a "shut up" so I stopped, then a "we want more music, play more music" so I started playing again for a few minutes), I let it be.

Anyway, the story of getting the sax onto the plane was also quite gold. So I'll recount that before starting on any tennis. There was no way that I was going to let Tiger airlines take my precious baby under the plane. It was coming with me. The boys were, for the most part, of the opinion that, no, I was not going to be able to take it on as carry on baggage.

I got to the check-in counter and the lady weighs it and it was under the 7kg limit. But she says "I don't think that's going to fit. You're going to have to check it in." To which I reply, "No, it has to come with me. It's not going in the hold." And she looked across at the guy on the counter next to us and she said "What do you think? I mean, it's under 7kg..." And he just said "No. Too big." Anyway, I reasserted that it was, under no circumstances, going in the hold, but that I didn't mind if they had to stow it specially once we were on the plane. She looked at me and said, "Yeah, that's fine, it's just that I don't know if it'll fit. I'll tell you what, I'll let it through, but if the security people won't let it through, then you'll have to come back and check it in." "Ok."

The security guys didn't have a problem with it, and when it came time to stow the luggage in the overhead lockers, there was heaps of room for it. I reckon I could have bought a baritone sax and stowed in there without any problems, there was that much room.

So, my stresses dissipated rather quickly once I got all that sorted... anyway, that's most of the non-tennis part of the saga...