Heroes

The news of Michae Jackson's death touched everyone, even those of us who didn't respond to his music. And for those that did, this loss is huge. Unbelievable and huge. And it got me thinking about our heroes, about how I'm glad Fitzgerald didn't die in my lifetime, about how glad I am that Tim Winton is alive. How our lives are touched by people we've never met, and probaby never will (although the thrill of seeing Winton at the theatre will stay with me always).
Our funny human existence, sustained and coloured by strangers, and the gifts of their talents.

The rabbit dinner was good to begin with but then B had a moment like he did at the wedding last year; got up half way through and went to the room, leaving Jeff wondering what the fuck was going on. His petulant childishness pissed me off and residue of that has stayed around today, but I've had a decent day really. I tried to bake baguettes, with a minimum of success- something with the yeast didn't really do what it was supposed to, so instead of bread, I got weapons. But we valiantly ate some with cheese and chilli jam and onion and half a glass of beer, and tomorrow I may attempt it all again.

I also spent a couple of hours with Raine, from work, in her sweet little apartment in Daglish and felt joy at looking at Lempicka paintings together.
so all in all not a bad saturday...I also finished reading Bush Oranges by Kay Donovan, and wept at the portrayal of mother-daughter love.

Perth is raging tonight- wind and rain and dark craziness, it's beautiful

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