Spring in the garden

Camellia

Pear blossom

Bluebells and daisies

Spanish lavender

Peach blossoms, French lavender, bluebells and daisies

Spring

Tích niên kim nhật khử môn trung

Nhân diện đào hoa tương ánh hồng
Kim nhật bất tri hà xứ khứ
Đào hoa y cựu khứ đông phong

Spring is in the air, sunlight is in the sky and peach blossoms are in my garden. Love peach blossoms, ever since reading the poem by Thoi Ho. Love every peach trees Grandma bought every Tet when I was little. Love the beautiful peach tree Mum bought, planted in a white porcelain pot and placed next to my bed head the first Tet I went back. Love the glorious feeling of snuggling up with a book in between Laura Ashley pink and white rose bedsheets, then falling asleep underneath a blossoming peach tree. Love opening my eyes up in the morning and the pink flowers were there to greet my sight. Love the gentle feeling of the delicate peach petals falling on my face during the night. Love the pink, white, red peach bloossoms that line the streets and roads of Melbourne heralding spring.

Love the funky combination of peach flowers and lavenders that decorates my front gate with the mail box floating among the pink and purple clouds. Never thought I'd see my two favorite flowers together. In my mind one forever stands for ancient Asian beauty and the warm and lovely Tets of my childhood, while the other belongs to those sweeping hills of Provence, to the French romantic novels, French country lifestyle and soothing cosmetics. And now, they both are here, greeting me everyday swaying in the warm breeze. Another strange but wonderful union in this whole wide world!

The seventh season

Critics have been complaining of the length, of the lack of plot and structure. This is pointless, because, guys, it's not a movie, it's the seventh season of the TV series. The 2.5 hour length equals 5 episodes (a season normally comprised of 6 or 7 episodes) without the end credits in between. Each 30min actually has its own plot and theme and "ending" scenes.

However, as a movie, it has to tone down the "rudeness" and the "sex" and increases its portion of "sugar". You don't hear me complain.

Was my $16 well spent? Yes (especially in this time of inflation). Will I buy the DVD when it comes out? Yes (though most likely it'll be pirated copy :D ). Will I go and see the second movie? Hmm, may be yes!

It's not art, but gals with heart

By Andrew Bolt

The Herald Sun , June 11, 2008 12:00am

This film sequel of the television show about four single women in New York has been an instant smash in the US and Australia - last week eclipsing even the opening here of the latest Indiana Jones flick.

So you'd think the critics would be unanimous in their hosannas - but no. There's instead that old talk-past that actually helps to explain the secret of Sex and the City's success.

Here, for instance, is David Stratton of the ABC's At the Movies, giving the blokey view of the film women are click-clacketing to in a frantic staccato of stilettos.

"Witless . . . badly acted . . . very drab . . . if you haven't seen the television series, don't bother . . . endlessly long . . . truly dreadful . . . one (star out of five)."

Yet here, on the very same show, is Stratton's co-host, Margaret Pomeranz: "This movie has generated record excitement in just about every woman of my acquaintance . . . delivers on a lot of levels . . . I wallowed in every minute . . . I really loved it . . . four stars."

You could hear exactly this talk-past over at 3AW's breakfast show.

From Herald Sun critic Leigh Paatsch: "Below par . . . I cried, too -- when it got to the 100-minute mark. Two (stars)."

But from 3AW's entertainment reporter, Donna Demaio: "Absolute gem . . . I cried several times . . . magnificent shoes . . . you're talking about my friends, here . . . you will learn something about women . . . I'm giving it a 10."

Of course, there are male critics - gays in particular - who've loved a film where the stars include the fabulous frocks, from Versace to Chanel.

And there are female critics - feminists in particular - who've loathed a film that makes a woman's highest goal seem a husband and a wardrobe full of Manolo Blahniks.

Even so, SATC divides the sexes like few other movies, which is why the sold-out session I sidled into this week had me feeling as outnumbered as Custer.

And as outgunned.

You see, it's actually pointless subjecting the film to the conventional male criticisms of plot, pacing, camera angles and deep and meaningful resolutions - all that masculine stuff about problems, process and payoffs.

This is instead a women thing. About being, not doing. Chatting, not debating. Listening, not telling. And it's a giant hen's party, besides.

Check the stalls filled with glad-eyed female friends. Check the pre-sales - with more group bookings than any film before, other than Shrek the Third. And check the stout defence of a film by fans who can acknowledge every flaw - from its huge length of 142 minutes to its frankly unbelievable ending - yet couldn't care a snap.

After all, a woman sees every flaw in her girlfriends, too, but loves them no less, right?

So it is with SATC and small surprise, given it's less a film than a celebration of the friendships that women do so much better than men.

It's not just the friendship between SATC's four heroines and their fans that's being celebrated, of course, although there's that, too.

After all, it's four years since the series ended its six-year run, with Carrie, the hot-shot sex writer, finally in the arms of lover Mr Big, played by some spare timber.

All her best friends were left similarly paired back then in a happy-ever-after way - Miranda was married off to a hobbit called Steve, Charlotte to a Jewish billiard ball called Harry, and even sex devotee Samantha, the original good time had by all, consented to be the girlfriend of Smith, an actor as generic as the name.

But with the movie, we return to find the girls in a flutter and their men even blander and more hapless, if possible.

Indeed, the girls' lovers are mere ideas of men, on which Carrie and her friend play out their anxieties and dreams - just as the pre-show cinema ads tee off on a succession of witless males, including a vain gym instructor, a clueless boyfriend and a couple of suckers who thoroughly deserve to have their chips and Cherry Ripes stolen by far sassier women.

So let's start taking notes.

"Learn something about women" - lesson #1: Women are in love with love, rather than with an identifiable and individual male.

And if they do love us, it's despite, not due to, what we are.

Anyway, four years on, it's natural the TV show's fans want to catch up with Carrie and Co again. Women, you see, tend to be more loyal to friends than are men, and more likely to keep even the ones they made at school.

And so these fans are now calling in on the SATC girls to find that Carrie's having a frocker of a wedding; Charlotte's exiled to unhip Brooklyn, where women with children get banished; Miranda's had even less sex than (uh oh) her husband and Samantha is falling more in love with herself than her boyfriend.

"Learn something about women" - lesson #2: Women are fascinated by relationships more than anything else.

Big surprise: who else in the family remembers the anniversaries, writes the birthday cards, summons the relatives for Christmas, drops in on the nursing home, and arranges the cooking roster for friends in trouble?

Back in the movie, the latest Carrie-tastrophe has our heroine so flat that her three girlfriends swoop her off with them to an instant holiday in Mexico.

How they manage this at no notice when at least two have high-paying jobs is a mystery, but work in Carrie's world was always just a plot point to explain the cash for the frocks.

"Learn something about women" - lesson #3: Work doesn't define women the way it does men. Lovers do. Families do. Friends do. Jobs don't.

But if the girls' domestic arrangements have changed, their addictions to high-end shopping and luxury labels hasn't.

And so one marriage proposal is sealed with a vow to "build you a better closet" - a line that had the women at my screening oohing as if whispered the softest of sweet nothings.

"Learn something about women" - lesson #4: Not game to say, actually, having learned that much already. But, men, offer a woman a well-feathered nest and you're guaranteed much billing, and quite likely some cooing.

The odd thing, though, is that almost all the fashion in this film is donned by women dressing up for other women, and not for their men.

In fact, Carrie only finds redemptive happiness when she ditches the Viviene Westwood wedding dress for some no-label nothing that's less likely to alarm a man, a moral she underlines by reading out an improving sermon on looking beyond the labels of relationships to find happiness.

But, men, don't be fooled. Straight after that homily, she totters out of the movie in Gucci shoes and an absurd little white dress with accessorised giant hibiscus, gleaming gold.

Learn something about women - lesson #5: It's not about logic, or, as this meandering epic of a movie shows, about working methodically to a conclusion the way men insist. It's about just chatting, just being there, just showing you care. It's about sympathy, not solutions. Feeling, not philosophising.

But don't be fooled either by the fashion in this clothes rack of a film - this shameless parade of product-placed Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Fendi, Jimmy Choo, Christian Dior, Ralph Lauren, Versace, Valentino and Gucci.

In the end, the clothes are just the usual princess-trappings of any fairytale for girls, which is why the dresses seem to wear the women, and not the other Audrey Hepburn-way around.

The emotional heart of SATC is still the sisterhood - the friendship the four heroines feel not for their lovers but each other.

And it's a friendship on screen that's echoed and amplified by the friendships of all those women watching, making this a film better seen collectively than alone.

So how dare some men then complain the plot is too slow, Mr Big a wuss, the humping dog joke too stale, the girls too airheaded and Carrie's black assistant just a marketing sop?

Missing the point again, guys, which is why the girls are having a great time without you. They're just there for a goss and a cackle, with their friends in the film and their friends in the stalls.

So learn this last: This show was never about art, but heart. And once again, it's women who know that best.

Many years ago a wise lady wrote me a long poem with these words

Mẹ những mong
Những người bạn tốt đừng qua đời
Và kẻ xấu bớt sinh ra
Để đường con đi dẫu chưa nhiều hoa
Cũng đừng nhiều gai góc

Life is always not what we wish. But today, as we're both praying for one of our beloved friends, we wish so much life will be a road less thorny.

Can I tell you what you mean to me
You're as central as the air I breath

Rod Stewart's music makes me happy, even the songs that make me cry, especially the love songs in his early career. The American Song Books are full of sweet ballads but none is as memorable as the ones in his earlier albums.

Of course not all of the songs I like were written by him, but his voice claims the lyrics his own.

You are the goal that wins the game
The very last bus home in the rain
You're like rock and roll and champagne, all in one

What am I gonna do (I'm so in love with you)

I had heard "You're in my heart" many times before but was till blown away when first seeing the clip where Rod sang unplugged in front of a small live audience sitting around him, not like a singer on stage but a friend confiding in friends. The words came out sweet and simple, as if straight from the heart.

It has been many years since his songs first made me smile. So much has changed, but the happiness they bring remains.

**********

Can I tell you what you mean to me
You're like Austen with cake and tea
A rose garden home beside the sea
A Steward love song for eternity
Yes, you are

My favorite things

"When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things..."

I was very fortunate to have owned 3 pianos in my (relatively) short time on this earth. The first one was a brand - new Nocturne Russian piano bought when I was 6, which later sadly was attacked severely by moths when my house was under renovation. It was my companion throughout my music education. Together (when my amateurish skills allowed), we entertained Grandpa with Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata"; delighted Grandma with "For Elise", brought Mom back to her days in Europe with Schubert's "Serenade" and made Dad proud with Mozart's "Turkish March". The second was a Yamaha piano which was sold recently because I was relocated. Bought during the time I was away from home, it was hardly played. Its next owner was overjoyed when we sold it to her, even insisted to pay more than what we asked for.

The next week we saw this Rudolf Steiner in a shop on Warringal Road. We had meant to buy a new piano but while browsing the shop, we stumbled on this beauty and were charmed. The whole family immediately fell in love with it. Recently been restored carefully, it doesn't look and certainly doesn't sound 105 years old. In fact, it sounds so much more beautiful than some new ones of same price range. Only a $15000 Kawai could compete with its sound but not its look. It has the best wood patterns I have ever seen. They were appropriately framed in appreciation of their natural beauties. The case is virtually made up of wooden arts created by nature.

Excited by the instrument's age, I looked up its name on the Internet and disappointedly found nothing. The salesman, while was apparently desperate for a sale, couldn't provide us with any attractive story related to the piano's long history, except that it was made in Germany, so must be of good quality and that it is antique so the wood quality is now rarely found. It was a friend of mine from Europe who made the significant discovery when she told her music teacher about my piano. The teacher got very excited when she heard about a 105 yearsa old Rudolf Steiner in Oz. According to her, RS pianos were prestigious instruments made to orders mostly for professional pianists and are not commercially available. A new RS today will set its owner back 20000EUR. This explained the gold printings "Carnegie and Sons" at the corner of the case. It must have been ordered by a rich Carnegie from Oz to decorate his new house here in this new land early last century.

A hopeless romantic and a fan of "The Red Violin" movie, I was tempted to think my piano has had a long and wild history. I entertained myself imagining the long months it endured inside a ship weathering many storms to get here, then being uncovered and admired, a centerpiece in a gorgeous living room. It could have entertained historically important persons, helped firing up great loves, provided soundtracks to sweet romances, inspired big dreams, witnessed important decisions, heartbreaks and disillusion. It must have suffered long years of neglect under a basement, was on display at a second hand shop together with beds and tables, was restored meticulously and then waited patiently at the shop to be "found". On the other hand, the rational part of me knows that the piano is no "Red Violin" and its past life could have been as simple as or even less loved than any of my previous ones. Perhaps the closest my story ever comes to "The Red Violin" is that I "found" my piano the same way Samuel Jackson's character "found" the red violin: through the instrument's voice. But what does that matter? The important thing is I found it. Or did it find me?

Ignorant of its origin and history, I connected with it purely through its sound. Its first song broke out like a thousands of ringing bells, reminded me of a clear, sunny, colourful spring and filled my soul with joy. No other piano has made me feel like that. Somehow this old piano's sound has found it's way into my heart, synchronized with the chord of my being and asked me to give it a home under my roof. In the end, I didn't choose it, it didn't choose me. I guess Destiny, which had brought us here across the oceans in different centuries, was the one that chose us to be together.