Beauty is how you feel inside, and it reflects in your eyes. It is not something physical. (Sophia Loren)

It's curious how you can learn some very important and very poignant life lessons in the most unexpected circumstances and from the most unexpected people. I'm the fist to admit that I love "the greats" - the great writers, painters, musicians, and all the rest of them, and have learnt many valuable lessons from them. But to be honest, I have learnt the most from the "little people" - from a curly, blond haired boy who lives on Asteroid B-612, from a sea gull whose only goal in life was to fly as perfectly as possible, from a little baby born in a manger, from a 6 year-old girl who also happens to be my daughter.

The latest lesson that I learnt from my daughter took place last Sunday. She and I were on the internet after having been as sick as two dogs with the flu for the past week. We hadn't been on the internet all week so it was nice to muck around on Facebook, feed our pet dog (we have a Facebook cavalier king charles spaniel called Noni although I would like to buy myself a real dog for my birthday. But not a word to anyone, especially not to hubby!), look at some photos of friends and family. We then came across a photo of my friend's brother from one of his albums, at the wheel of a fast and furious car with this caption: There are two things my brother doesn't let go out of his hands - cars and a mobile phone. Add a camera and pretty girls (http://flickr.com/photos/strasnonesto/sets/72157600023799683) and you've got the whole picture ;-).

Being the curious George I am, I had to have a look at the photos, see what all the fuss was about. Well, seems that friend's bro is a photographer, and what a photographer. He has every man's dream job - taking photos of fast cars and beautiful women. It was while we were looking at the pretty girls from the above link that my daughter's wisdom hit me like a veritable brick and the following conversation took place between us:

(Turning around to hubby): "Look hubby, seems my friend's brother has your dream job, taking photos of pretty girls and fast cars - ya jealous?"
"Why should tata be jealous?"
"Ah, 'cause this guy takes photos of beautiful girls all day while tata has to write on the computer day and night"
"Why aren't you there, mama?"
"Why aren't I there? Ha, ha, 'cause I'm not beautiful, that's why"
"Yes you are"
"Maybe to you, but I'm not as beautiful as them! I mean look at me - I look as though I've been run over by a semi-trailer! No, I'm not beautiful, definitely!"
"Yes you are, you're more beautiful than them. You should be there, not them. Your friend should take photos of you"

I just laughed after that and we looked at some other stuff on the internet that she likes, like The Wiggles and whatnot.

But the thought wouldn't go away - I more beautiful than they? No way! But the more I thought about it, the more I realised what she had meant. She didn't mean that I was physically more beautiful, rather, more importantly, I was beautiful in ways unseen to the average human eye, in ways that only she could see. I asked myself, would one of those girls tuck her in at night when she had untucked herself? Would one of them let her sleep in her bed when she's just had a bad dream? Would one of them read her a story? Me thinks not.

And that's the thing - no matter how much physical beauty one has or has not, it's what's invisible that counts, those things the average person's eyes can't see - like a kind word or gesture. What a lesson to be taught by a six year old girl. She shows great promise...

Here are some beauty tips from one of the most beautiful women, both within and without, that ever lived:

Undercover

I have a confession to make. Don't worry, nothing too shocking or dramatic, at least I don't think it is. And it's within the bounds of normalcy and morality, as far as I know. But then again, it's not something that I mention over tea and biscuits when I have someone over. See, I love sleeping au naturel. I don't do it too often mind you, especially not when the kids are home. Don't want to traumatise them and have them running off to their shrinks later in life saying "I saw my mum's buck naked behind every morning!" So I only do it every so often, when they're at granny's place, and I just love the feeling of having nothing between me and the sheets. I'd say it's an almost unbearable lightness of being - just the air and me.

Another thing I love is riding my bike or taking a walk in summer and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin, especially when I'm wearing a tank or sleeveless top. Feeling the sun's hot rays and the waves of warmth in the air on my flesh is yet another feeling that can be described as an almost unbearable lightness of being. I sometimes stop right in the middle of the street and just "sunbathe" - not to get a suntan, God forbid, but to enjoy the natural heat on my skin.

Having said all that, I do like cover up, especially in winter when my thighs start looking like thunder more than ever and my derriere sets new heights of rotundness. I'm then more than grateful for my slightly elasticated Levi's bootcut jeans which seem to "hold" these problems "in" somewhat. And I wouldn't consider going topless or nude on a beach or anywhere else public. Maybe if I had the body of a supermodel, the thought might cross my mind. But as I will never have that kind of body, walking round the beach in my birthday suit is out of the question for lil' ol' me. That, and the Catholic school girl in me who sometimes just refuses to go away.

'Cause sometimes it's good to cover up, imperfections in particular. The cosmetic industry would be out of business if it weren't. The best covers are, in my opinion, the ones provided by Mother Nature. The grass, flowers, plants and trees that cover the sand and soil under our feet. The seas, lakes, streams and rivers that cover the rocky and sandy beds. But snow, that's a wonderful blanket that conceals every single imperfection imaginable. Mother Nature has no imperfections mind you, but I can tell ya, Zagreb, and more specifically, Culinec, the suburb I live in, has. It's not the cleanest and tidiest suburb I've seen, far from it. So when the snow falls, I almost forget that I live in this grubby place and am bedazzled by the brilliant white cleanliness surrounding me. Even dead grass and twigs look brilliant with a tinge of white on them, and a bit of frost can uplift a bare tree or unkept rose bush to new heights.

But unfortunately, as with everything, good things don't last forever. Once the snow melts, all the imperfections are revealed and Culinec yet again turns into a muddy, mushy, slushy hole. Until then, while it's covered up, it's nice to believe that I live in a Winter Wonderland rather than Hell's Kitchen.

All photos were taken in my front yard and around Culinec, Zagreb.









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Heaven is being perfect

There are a few books on my bookshelf that I like to dust off every so often and re-read for the God knows which time. First on that list is, of course, "The Little Prince". It was the first book I read to all my kiddies, lying in their cots, on their way to the land of Winken, Blinken and Nod. Couldn't understand a word of it at that stage of course, or anything for that matter, but I believe that they understood the sentiment behind it.

Then there are my various books of poetry, some poems of which I have re-read so many times that I know them off by heart. Like "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways" or "Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone" or "Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine".

Then there's a book called "Les Bons Mots", a hilarious book of French phrases which I like to read and have a good laugh at. Phrases like "grandes maisons se font par petite cuisine" which means "save your pennies, the pounds will take care of themselves" but literally means "great houses are made by a small kitchen". Or "ce n'est pas de la tarte" meaning "it's no easy matter" but literally means "it's not a tart", as in pastry, not the other kind of tart. Only the French compare almost everything to the kitchen, don't they? Guess that's why I love 'em so much!


But the book that I reach for when I need inspiration to pick myself up, dust myself off and start all over again is "Jonathon Livingston Seagull". I don't know if you've read the book yourselves. It's not long and if you have a half hour or so, you can read it here: http://www.crookedbush.com/cgi-bin/bookviewer.pl?bookname=jonathon_livingston_seagull&page=0

In any case, I wanted to share a few snippets from the book that I particularly like. Hope you like them too:

We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find ourselves as creatures of excellence and intelligence and skill. We can be free! We can learn to fly!

Heaven is not a place, and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect.

To fly as fast as thought, to anywhere that is, you must begin by knowing that you have already arrived ...

If our friendship depends on things like space and time, then when we finally overcome space and time, we've destroyed our own brotherhood! But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don't you think that we might see each other once or twice?

Each of us is in truth an idea of the Great Gull, an unlimited idea of freedom.



"Maynard Gull, you have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way. It is the Law of the Great Gull, the Law that Is."
"Are you saying I can fly?"
"I say you are free."

You don't love hatred and evil, of course. You have to practice and see the real gull, the good in every one of them, and to help them see it in themselves. That's what I mean by love.

You've got to understand that a seagull is an unlimited idea of freedom, an image of the Great Gull, and your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip, is nothing more than your thought itself.

Ode to a failed driving exam

I flunked my driving exam today, flunked it with flying colours. It all started so well. There I was, driving perfectly - slowing down at curves, stopping at red lights, looking into my blind spot - would have made Schumacher proud. Even the examiner commented on how well I drove. Then it all went downhill. When he asked me to park. Not park, I thought, not park! But park I had to. Blotched it, of course, completely and utterly blotched it. And then the mistakes started piling up. But the last nail in my coffin was that I didn't stop for a pedestrian. I just knew that would happen! And that was it - a big, fat F, for failure.

So I've been down in the dumps all day. I tried to not let the failure get to me, really made an effort not to, but to no avail. Guess I'm just too God damn sensitive. Always have been. So to try to make myself feel at least a bit better, I started thinking about a few of my favourite things. And then I thought, why not write them down and try to get them to fit to the tune of "My favourite things"? So here it is, a few of the Knitting Songbird's favourite things, set to the tune of the original classic. Try not to get a hernia laughing:

Schubert and Mozart and Webber and Gershwin
Edith and Ella and Eva's Imagine
Going to choir and hearing us sing
These are a few of my favourite things

Eclaires, Valrhona and piping choc chaud
Creme brulee, bischottentorte and macarons
Whisking egg whites for pavlovas with wings
These are a few of my favourite things

When my teacher shouts, when I fail my test,
When I'm feeling mad
I simply remember my favourite things
And then I don't feel so bad

Paris and Venice, Vienna, Normandy
Quimper, Denon, Madrid, Burgundy
Wonderful places with memories that cling
These are a few of my favourite things

When my teacher shouts, when I fail my test,
When I'm feeling mad
I simply remember my favourite things
And then I don't feel so bad

And here's the original and definitely the best. And don't worry, I won't be giving up my day job - not for songwriting anyway!

One man's meat is another man's poison

Being a typical Croatian girl in Australia, I grew up a very devout Catholic. Went to a Catholic school, went to church every Sunday and feast day, got down on my knees and prayed every night, sang in the church choir, taught catechism at public schools, was part of the church's youth group. I also loved reading about the lives of the saints. They had these little books at our church shop that I collected about their life stories and I pored over them day in, day out. Knew them off by heart. I always remember that one of my favourite saints was Saint Francis. I loved his prayer "Make me a channel of your peace", which I also sang in the church choir, I loved his humility, his charity, his enthusiasm, his romantic spirit, his renouncement of wordly goods. But most of all, I loved him because he was the patron saint of animals.

There are many legends that surround him and his love of animals. He apparently preached sermons to birds, pacified a wolf who was tormenting a town, thanked his donkey on his deathbed for his servitude. The Franciscan order even has a special "Blessing of the Animals" which goes like this:

“Blessed are you, Lord God, maker of all living creatures. You called forth fish in the sea, birds in the air and animals on the land. You inspired St. Francis to call all of them his brothers and sisters. We ask you to bless this pet. By the power of your love, enable it to live according to your plan. May we always praise you for all your beauty in creation. Blessed are you, Lord our God, in all your creatures! Amen.”

I think it may have even been St. Francis who inspired me as a young child to want to become a veternarian, such was my love of animals. But, just like being an astronomer, I discovered that it wasn't the "romantic" calling I had imagined it to be when my dad and I took our pet dog to the RSPCA to be put down...

And yet, despite my love of animals, I was the most carnivorous of carnivores you could imagine. I more or less grew up on meat. Hated anything with even the slightest tinge of green. I remember my dad slicing pancetta for me almost every evening, so thin that you could read a newspaper through it, with some spring onion and bread on the side. And my mum's half kilo t-bone steaks with sliced barbequed potatoes. And mortadella sandwiches for lunch at school. And roast suckling pigs at Croatian picnics with crackling so crisp it crunched in your mouth. And cabbage rolls stuffed with minced pork. And of course, le Big Macs which I scoffed down quicker than you could say "two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun".

Although I wasn't a dumb kid, I didn't want to fathom the equations steak = cow or pancetta = pig or KFC = chicken. A bit like Marilyn Monroe, I suppose, who never could comprehend that the steaks (that she apparently ate like there was no tomorrow) on her plate came from cows. To be quite honest, I just plain old didn't want to think about it, was none of my business thank you very much. But then something happened that made me think about it quick smart. Something very sad (to me), a bit bizaare (to many), perhaps even a bit of a laugh (to some).

Four Christmases ago, "Santa Claus" bought my son a pet rabbit. He'd been bothering hubby and I for a pet rabbit for ages, probably since he was two and started watching "Teletubbies" with umpteen rabbits jumping "over the hills and faraway". So "Santa Claus" gave in and bought him a pet rabbit. He was over the moon when he saw it on Christmas morning (it was a bit hard to hide, I can tell ya!), said it was the best present he'd ever gotten, thanked Santa Claus until he went hoarse. We called the rabbit Spot because he had a small spot on his back. So we let him play with Spot a bit when horror struck. Christian in ADHD mode ran around the loungeroom and accidentally stepped on Spot wounding him fatally. Now, I know that some of you are going to burst out laughing when you hear this, but when I saw that little bunny in rigor mortis mode, it totally put me off meat forever. I quite abruptly understood the steak = cow and pancetta = pig and KFC = chicken equations and haven't eaten them since.

So there you have it, the soul-baring story of how the Knitting Songbird went veg. I have to say that not many people know the story. I either avoid telling it ("it's a long story" or "you don't want to know") or, God forgive me, lie ("because of my liver" or "I don't like the taste of meat"). I mean, it's a bit embarrassing, man!

But, embarrassing or not, I'm more than pleased that I became a vegetarian, despite the strange and perhaps Monty Python-esque circumstances in which it took place. Yes, I occasionally miss a good piece of t-bone steak or some pancetta or a slice of mortadella (nothing gets me more than the scent of freshly sliced mortadella) but I feel that my health, both physical and mental, has improved. The 6th commandment is "You shall not kill". I'm glad I don't anymore and that I don't eat my "brothers and sisters" as St. Francis called them.

And just for the record, even though I may not be one any more, please don't get me wrong - I love all you carnivores out there!

All of us are in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars - take 2

Dear, dear readers,

Please forgive me, but the post you read today and yesterday was not in the form that I had intended to publish it and had to go and edit it. See, last night I uploaded some photos and asked hubby to save them while I went to bed. Well, he not only saved them but published the post as well, before I had added more photos and added captions to them. The text remains unchanged but the photos are as I had originally wished them to be. Please forgive me for this slight inconvenience.

TKS

I don't know if you've noticed, but very few people look up. I know that looking up can cause logistical complications (bumping and whatnot) but I've always been a great believer in looking up as often as logistically possible. For one, I've been a stargazer for as long as I can remember. I have very fond memories of how my mum and dad would spread a picnic blanket out on the lawn on warm, balmy nights during school holiday time and we would lie there, the three of us, gazing at the stars and chatting. They were happy, happy times. I even wanted to be an astronomer when I was school at one stage. But when I realised that astronomy was really just complicated mathematics, the profession lost its charm somewhat. Wasn't quite as romantic as I thought it was!

When it comes to not looking up, I get particularly annoyed when someone tells me "such and such a city is ugly" or "there's nothing to see in so and so city". I often ask myself - have they ever looked up? I went to Graz, Austria yesterday and did a lot of looking up, I can tell you. Now, this is fairly atypical for the average Croatian because to the average Croatian, Graz is merely a shopping city, nothing more. There's nothing to see there except display windows, it seems. Sad, but true, I was one of those typical Croatians not too long ago. Thank God I got over it because there was so much to see and photograph - especially when I looked one storey above ground level.

But I have to admit, I did lower my eyes every so often. Well, there were a couple of kitchenware stores that I just had to look at, now didn't I? I mean, I just had to buy a sugar themometer (I can never quite get my caramel to set just the way I want it to), and a fondue set (hey, I was born in the 70's!) and a silicone mould in the shape of a rose (yes, I admit, it was a frivolous buy, but it's soooo cute and will be the talk of the town when I make a cake in it).

As not everyone in blogland knows about Graz, here are a few facts from Wiki for ya before we get to the photos:

* Graz has existed since the Copper Age, its name coming from the Slovenian word "Gradec" meaning "small castle" or "small city".
* Graz is located to the south east of Austria and lies in Styria or Steiermark in German. Mark is an old German word indicating a large area of land used as a defensive border, in which the peasantry are taught how to organize and fight in the case of an invasion. Graz was often assaulted so the name seems relevant.
* The old town was added to the UNESCO World Heritage List in 1999 due to the harmonious co-existence of typical buildings from different epochs and in different architectural styles. Being situated in a cultural borderland between Central Europe, Italy and the Balkan States, Graz absorbed various influences from the neighbouring regions and thus received its exceptional townscape. Today the old town consists of over 1000 buildings, their age ranging from Gothic to Contemporary.
* In addition, Graz was named "European Capital of Culture" in 2003. Some astounding buildings were constructed to celebrate this, particularly the Kunsthaus (you'll see a couple of photos below, but as they were taken at ground level, they're not that great).
* It is the second largest city in Austria, second only to Vienna, with a population of 290,000. Graz's most famous ex-inhabitant is Arnold Schwarzenegger. Even has a soccer stadium is named after him...

And now for a few photos!

First, some shop signs:



My favourite cafe in Graz. Has the best Malakofftorte, second only to Demel in quality.



A pub in Graz. This one's for Ross' and my mate, Pete!




I was too chicken to go into the Cafe Sacher. A bit too grand for little ol' me!

Now a few store windows:

Here are some tools I'd like to have about - they're made out of chocolate!



Grusse aus Graz.

Antique books. I love antique books and thankfully, this store was closed while I was passing by...

A window display from my favourite chocolate store in Graz. Has Valrhona, Lindt, the best Belgian drinking chocolate...yum!

This is the whole shop front.

A myriad of handblown glass Christmas decorations

This is actually a stall at one of Graz's open air markets. Love owls!

Almost every building in Graz has a religious relic on it, either just above the entrance or on the corner. Here are a few of my favourites:

And now, some various sites:

The opera house.

A cute little cafe called The Opera Pavillion, just down the road from the opera house.

Some beautiful buildings on the main square with a tram just below them.

A lovely looking bakery. The frescoes look either Middle Ages or Rennaissance. Will have to ask Davor...

Church cupola

This is Graz's quaint clock tower. It's unfortunately being renovated and is now covered in some brand or other...

Cannon in front of the armoury. Graz has the biggest armoury in Europe, surprisingly enough.

The so called "painted house" is one of the most famous sites in Graz. An amazing piece of "street art".

Detail from the painted house.

The Kunsthaus, constructed to celebrate Graz being the European city of culture in 2003. Its fantastical structure is only second to Bilbao imho.

The Graz island, another structure built to commemorate its being the European city of culture.

Detail of a baroque altar.

We are all of us in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars - Oscar Wilde

Watch what happens

I remember my mum always telling me stuff like "Every cloud has a silver lining" and "When God closes a door he opens a window". And the older I get, the more I realise how true this is. After the upsetting episodes of late, which thankfully have passed, I received some really great news yesterday. Interesting that this news came to me on "Epiphany". The radioman got back to me and says he would like us to meet next week. He would have scheduled something this week, he said, but all the recording studios are closed (off skiing apparently. Did someone mention a recession???). But next week, gravity takes its hold and life goes back to normal after the silly and skiing season. So he'll be able to let me know how to go about recording a CD.

When I first read the email, I almost dropped my BeBe. My stomach was in a veritable knot and I felt the acid slowly making its way up my esophogus while my heart rate went from 60 to 600 in a matter of seconds. In short, I got a full on anxiety attach. See, besides you guys out there in the blog world and a few very close friends, I haven't told anyone about wanting to record a CD, let alone a music professional (besides Ross of course!). And I've never had any contact whatsoever with a recording studio or the like. So it's like, this is it man, it's friggin' happening. What now???

Well, ride with the tide, baybee. I know that it's gonna be a hard and rough ride, but along with the lows, I've got a feeling there are gonna be a lot of high and exciting waves out there for me to jump onto. Here's hoping, man!

And of course I'll let you know how it goes next week. What, you think I wouldn't??? Who else is listens to ranting and raving besides you guys, God love ya all.