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The wall of words

I picked up a poetry book last week and I began to miss reading and learning about it.

Alex Perry 2010

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This year the fashion festival was glamour for the everyday girl. It was bigger and better than last year, with many freebies and fun stands to get yourself made up and captured in a mini-photoshoot.

I went with a few friends and we loved the show! Two lucky ladies got the chance to attend the Myer Miss Shop show and I’m sure they loved it.

This is a short post (well, you can obviously see that, but by pointing it out I’m making it slightly longer…ok I’ve lost the purpose of this sentence, moving on).

Enjoy the pictures (even though the quality is not that great) and I will see you shortly. Write to you. I can’t actually see you (little voice in head screams *enough* you’re not funny anymore!).

 

Surprise Surprise!

Alex Perry Show 2009 Rosemount Fashion Festival

I’m not in the habit of doing giveaways but I thought it would be a nice gift to show appreciation for the support you’ve provided and perhaps to get a few more people commenting and interested in dear ol’ SkippingStones 🙂

What’s the prize?

2 x Tickets to a Show and Glass of Wine on Saturday 28th August, 4pm at Sydney Town Hall, NSW. This is part of the 2010 Rosemount Fashion Festival. I went to one of the shows last year and found it very exciting!

Rosemount Sydney Fashion Festival Myer Miss Shop Show:

“Join Ruby Rose at this exciting event as Myer celebrates Miss Shop’s 25th Birthday! Check out the latest looks and new brands in the Miss Shop department including Milk & Honey designed by Ruby Rose, Miss Shop, Blue Juice, Tokito, All about Eve, Minty Meets Munt, Motel, Quirky Circus by Mink Pink and more!
Ruby Rose will be personally styling her Milk & Honey collection before making a guest appearance on the catwalk.”

Alright I’m in! Now please tell me, how can I win?

Send a meaningful picture + quote combination you have created and/OR finish this sentence in 25 words or less: “The language of fashion is…”

Send to skippingstones@live.com.au or post as a comment.

One last thing. You can follow me on twitter if you so wish. Or at least check it out 🙂

It’s been a busy week and I began writing three different posts, without actually finishing any of them. Writing can be a delightful experience for some, while it’s a hair-raising horror for others. I probably lie somewhere in between the continuum, because for me it’s an expressive mechanism and a learning process which still needs a lot of cultivation and hard work.

I came across a website for author Jerry Jenkins,  who expresses some of my feelings about putting pen to paper (well…typing on the laptop):

Do you love writing?

Actually, what I love is having written. I find writing particularly grueling, but I do enjoy the editing and re-writing that makes each project work…

Here is an article about making changes and daily routines by Trudi Drewitt. Hopefully my writing will develop into a habit, but one that doesn’t become stagnant and thoughtless.

Click on each page and zoom in to get a larger image (so you can read the article!).

What are some habits you have/would like to change?

Fictional Power

Fictional Power: here is something different to delight the imagination today.

This story was written by my talented and gorgeous sister, who wants you to know that she wrote it over a year ago for an assignment and ‘it really isn’t that good’. I happen to disagree and believe you will enjoy it as much as I did. So please leave your comments and feedback for us.

Coming up: I have a few ideas for the next few posts, including finally sitting down and actually writing a full-blown post like I have in the past. In the meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this story.

______________________________________________

They put me in Isolation for my actions. A living hell where  only a basic survival  is granted: food, water, sleep. I can watch TV, exercise or read if I choose; all solitary activities. I survive. With no-one to talk to and only an oppressive silence threatening to stifle me. Muffled noises reverberate through the walls. Nothing discernable, however. I am overwhelmed by a sense of restlessness and purposelessness, a conflict between conviction in my actions and yearning to go back in time and undo them absolutely. The harshness of this punishment forces me to remember better times. One particular memory lingers like a pleasant taste in my mouth. Closing my eyes I am alive again.

A cool, gentle breeze flows through the greenery, gaining momentum, buffeting branches and finally speeds away from the trees and collides with our faces, joining the sound of our laughter.

A rusty bucket hangs off one side of the porch, a box full of assorted tools, a piece of cloth hanging from the ceiling and other objects marking our presence here. They scream out Home! to us, creating a sense of security folding around like a warm blanket, protecting us from the wind and excluding all others.

We come out here every evening when the day’s work is done, and the sun’s warmth is just beginning to fade. I couldn’t imagine a day without this unquestionably necessary gathering of ours. 

These memories are always to be recalled with fondness, for I was one of them. I had no choice. Until old enough to question, to challenge and realise the enormity of the sacrifice I had unconsciously started to make. Something that had the potential to engulf my entire future, snatch away my half-formed dreams and aspirations and throw them out into the seething wind to be blown away forever.

Teenage rebellion, they called it. A phase that would soon pass. Petty. It took a letter to make them understand, enclosed in an envelope thick and laden with potential. A letter bringing tears of happiness to my face, but which saw me assaulted by looks of anger, disappointment and contempt. A letter of acceptance.

They put me in Isolation for my actions. For refusing to carry on the family business. For rejecting to do what generations before had done simply because that’s the way a Family works. Four white walls surround me in this Isolation. No calls from them, no mail, and no contact. Nothing penetrates these barriers of disappointment. I wanted to ‘distance the determination of my true identity from our family’s history and the expectations that come with it’. They replied contemptuously that sending me to school was a bad idea. Yes, I told them I was doing this for me. To find out who I really was. But these white walls, they contain no reflective surfaces. In Isolation I cannot see myself.

Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of others inside Isolation. When passing a busker on the street, a ragged-looking man whom people avoid making eye-contact, I recognise a fellow inmate. He is singing, calling out, but the silence stifles his sound. For these white walls work two ways. Nothing, no noise, can get in or out.

Today in Isolation someone kept me company. I was at a popular café frequented by swarms of attractive, office-attired coffee-junkies, and there she was, a rather obese woman hiding in the corner. A group of young women and men sitting nearby had obviously honed in on her as an ideal target. I could not hear what they were saying, but it was evident from her hurt expression that she could. One of the group, a thin girl plastered with make-up and indistinguishable from the others, snickered something to the group. The instant the words escaped her mouth I knew from the woman’s reflexive shrink that their mark had been hit. Sensing triumph, the predators hungrily examined her downturned face and something snapped. A transformation as fierce and startling as the roar of a lion had taken place. Her face took on an almost vicious determination. With body language oozing composure, she smoothly got up from her table, confidently striding to the door and walking out, the wind from outside rushing in and catching her up inside a whirlwind, revealing a beautiful, formidable being. As the stunned group watched their prey escape, the door shut, and among the whistling of the wind I heard the clang of metal doors being opened.

Unknown to her was the fact that this whole episode -happening in a matter of seconds- was being observed by me.

Suddenly I was ashamed of my self-pity, of the walls I had myself constructed with bricks of self-doubt and uncertainty, cemented together by the pain and self-blame of the estrangement from my family. Unknown to her was the key she had given me, blown straight from her smiling eyes and serene face to me, by the blustering wind, the free wind.

______________________________

It’s the annual event, the City2Surf, where masses of people run, walk, skip and strut approximately 14 kilometers from Sydney CBD to the famous Bondi Beach.

Right now I am at the ‘back of the pack’, briskly walking with some friends and praying that ‘Heartbreak Hill’ isn’t as devastating as it sounds. This is my first time entering the race, which raises funds for chosen charities every year.

I will update you about the day in the next few days, including the moment I crossed the finish line, any celebrities I managed to glimpse, the general atmosphere and any obstacles along the way.

Click on this link to see what all the excitement is about. It’s the largest race in the world!

UPDATE:

Well I did it! Along with two other friends, this first time-participant has achieved the same glory as approximately 80 000 other people in saying they completed the 2010 City2Surf. To be honest with you, it went by fairly quickly and I enjoyed every minute of it (well, minus the long queue to catch a bus from Bondi to Bondi Junction train station).

The weather was sunny, cool, bright and perfect for the race. Organisers recommend bringing warm clothing for the start of the race, especially for those in the Back of the Pack (we have to wait until the ‘real’ runners finish the race). Perhaps I overcompensated by wearing an old red turtleneck (skivvy) with a singlet, City2Surf top and jacket; but as the race progressed we had the opportunity to throw out our clothes onto the ground to be later picked up the the girl guides and donated to The Smith Family.

By the time we crossed the START line we had already walked a few hundred metres and as everyone passed the starting mats, a wave of excitment filled the air. For those that participate non-competitavely, the crowd is part of the entertainment as groups parade their costumes, or raise awareness about a campaign, with some businesses using the City2Surf as an advertising platform. I was amazed by the number of parents who took their children in strollers and ran through the crowd at the same time.

The best features of the race were the beautiful views which coloured the course, the rush of crossing the finish line, and the time spent with my friends as we encouraged each other and appreciated the beauty and buzz which surrounded us.

The most difficult part was not Heartbreak Hill, but the last kilometre of the race. By this time we just wanted to finish already, the crowd was getting thicker and it was getting harder to weave in and out of the groups. So we decided to run down the last few hundred metres and happily pick up a participation medal along the way!

While waiting for the bus to Bondi Junction we spotted former Australian Champion surfer Layne Beachley.

Altogether it was an amazing experience and one I hope to repeat next year and in the years to come.

Hello fellow SkippingStoners (oops, that doesn’t sound too good!),

As you saw by my last post, I’m back! Yes, I know it’s been a while. I know I know, I vanished without a trace, no explanation or anything.

I was kidnapped by evil bandits and held for ransom. It took my friends and family almost 2 months to gather the total amount the bandits had demanded and once they paid them back I was set free. They refuted my pleas for internet access, lest I send out an SOS to you and/or others.

Alright, the story didn’t quite go like that. The evil bandits were called “life” and the ransom money was my sanity. Or something like that.

Thank you so much to those who kept visiting and a special mention goes to Ratz who almost sent federal agents in search of me. I have loved your comments (what blogger doesn’t like comments!?) and I hope to keep giving you a reason to come back here.

You might be wondering, what next? You have seen some of the posts I’ve written in the past, and there will be more to come.

  • Latest and Greatest series (does one post classify as a ‘series’?)
  • Article reviews (because I read a lot of articles)
  • Pretty Pictures + Quotes Post (why keep them all to myself?)
  • Day-to-day observations, musings and imaginings
  • Article-style posts on events I attend and/or media work I *fingers crossed* manage to find
  • Snapshots captured here and there (and over there)
  • Movie reviews etc.
  • Guest posts (this is a call out to friends, other bloggers and writers)
  • Creative creations and thoughts (I will try to restrain myself from posting too many quotes, but I love them!)
  • …and there might be a few surprises along the way 😉

I aim to post once a week, give or take. I realise the internet is a very fast medium, so please be patient with me, for I did say it was the ‘pitter patter’ of my return.

Please leave your comments for feedback (constructive criticism is welcome), your thoughts, ideas, discussions and whatever you may fancy.

And now to leave you with a little thought…