The dramatic storm that ended 2018 by soaking most of the people who’d been waiting 12 hours for a fireworks show was not forecast, but it also wasn’t entirely unheralded. Here’s the sky 2 hours before it struck:
However, it wasn’t until later that this was heralded on the radar:
I went to the north of the island to see if I could see the storm cell; hearing a security guard’s radio piping up about moving all guests into shelter. Promising! I was not disappointed:
I hurried back; as I did the loudspeakers started to call everyone into the old machinerary sheds due to a “dangerous storm”; we were probably some of the few New Year’s Eve revellers around the harbour who could take shelter that evening.
I made it before the rain did. However, I wasn’t quite the last one in:
We were out in time for the party:
My mother asked me a few days ago whether, knowing what I know now about how hard parenting is, I’d choose to do it again. I chose to do it in part because it was hard work, and if I travelled back in time to have a serious chat with 27 year old Mary, “but it’s really really hard” would only be a sales pitch.
Right now though, the parts I like least are more the tedious parts than the hard parts. Every single time we leave the house, I need to remind both children to find their shoes and put them on. Every single evening, one of us needs to tell them to have a bath and brush their teeth. Every single time they get interested in an object, we need to remind them to put it whether it belongs, not carry it around the house enthralled so that we have a devastating moment a day later because we can’t find the fascinating whatsit that roamed around with them until they forgot about it ten minutes later.
And I don’t necessarily believe that pleasure is enhanced by being rare; but since a certain type of it is rare, it is at least memorable. That type of pleasure is the “fun for the whole family” outing, one where everyone was happy they went, no one was tired or overly grumpy, no one lost something momentarily precious to them, no one was unbearably rude to anyone else.
It’s hard for us to have these days often for lack of time together: for five days of the week we’re apart and on the sixth day we roll between soccer/cricket, dance, and swimming lessons. If we’re lucky, the seventh day is available. And we are most often together in summer, which is not often conducive to perfect days because it involves everyone being hot and cranky and having different opinions about whether spending the day outside when it is 38°C is awesome or terrible.
But this summer there have been stretches of cooler days as well, and sometimes there is what I’m informed is known as a “breeze”, and so there have been a few days when we did something that at least one person in the family harboured substantial reservations about and it came out just beautifully.
The first was seeing the Sydney Thunder women’s cricket team play the Brisbane Heat at North Sydney in early December. Blue sky; long shadows; lots of shade; not overly crowded; gentle breeze blowing; the excitement of holding up numbers that she can read for A; the excitement of holding up the wrong numbers for V (he waved a 4 placard around whenever they scored a 6; me: “buddy, are you negging the team?”) plus seeing his team win in the end; unexpectedly meeting another member of V’s own cricket team there so that the kids were more alive than they would be with only adult company.
The second was kayaking up Currambene Creek from Huskisson on big flat tourist kayaks this last Tuesday, V and Andrew on one double both paddling it (at least notionally), me boating A around on another. It had threatened serious rain all morning but instead it was cool and overcast with just enough little spits of rain to keep things interesting. The water was clear and since it was high tide, we were able to drift among the mangroves. “I’m tired” and “I want to go home” only burst out when we were within sight of the wharf on the return.
The only problem with such days is that I tend to react by wanting to buy tickets to every remaining cricket game, or take up kayaking seriously, in response, rather than letting them be what they are, a confection of weather and moods and people who ate enough for happiness that morning. The trick to perfection is being ready for it, and also letting it go.
I recently ran a “photo circle”, consisting of a small group of people sending prints of their own photographs to each other. It was a fun way to prod myself to take non-kid photos.
My four photos were:
I took Sun in the eucalypts in the late afternoon of Easter Sunday, as the sun was sinking behind the eucalypts at Centennial Park’s children’s bike track. I tried to take one with the sun shining through the trees but didn’t get the lens flare right. I like the contrast between the sunlit tree and the dark tree in this one. It feels springlike, for an autumn scene.
The other three are a very different type of weather shot, taken during Sydney’s extreme rainfall of late April and very early May:
This one has the most post-processing by far: it was originally shot in portrait and in colour. I was messing around with either fast or slow shutter speeds while it poured with rain at my house; I have a number of similar photos where spheres of water are suspended in the air. None of them quite work but I will continue to play with photographing rain with a fast shutter speed. In the meantime, the slow shutter speed here works well. I made the image monochrome in order to make the rain stand out more. In the original image the green tree and the rich brown fencing and brick rather detract from showing exactly how rainy it was.
This was shot from Gunners’ Barracks in Mosman (a historical barracks, not an active one) as a sudden rainstorm rolled over Sydney Harbour. The view was good enough, but my lens not wide enough, to see it raining on parts of the harbour and not on other parts. All the obscurity of the city skyline in this shot is due to rain, not fog.
This is the same rainstorm as the above shot; they were taken very close together. It may not be immediately obvious, but the saturation on this shot is close to maximum in order to make the colours of the ferry come up at all. I was the most worried about this shot on the camera, it was very dim. It comes up better in print than on screen, too. The obscurity is again entirely due to the rain, and results in the illusion that there is only one vessel on Sydney Harbour. Even in weather like this, that’s far from true. I felt very lucky to capture this just before the ferry vanished into the rain too.
It stormed every day for a few weeks in December, and I kept missing it: either it didn’t hit my suburb or (on more than one occasion) I was taking a nap. But I finally managed to get some photos: