Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Crack your cheeks!

Been feeling rather wind whipped lately? I found this fantastic video by David Frampton on The Wellingtonista blog which shows what we've been treated to here in Wellington.

Storm in slow motion from David Frampton on Vimeo.

And below is the quote from Shakespeare's King Lear that my blog title comes from. I love this scene on a stormy heath! The language itself drenches and rages and cracks. Saw a wonderful production of Lear at Te Whaea in Wellington a couple of years back. The simple staging and raw acting were utterly compelling and embraced the real storm raging outside. Sitting near the front, we felt seriously weather blasted.

Lear: Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once
That make ingrateful man!

P.S. Funny I should write about storms on the day my most stormy child turns 18. You always know when he's in the house, this boy of mine, it shakes on its piles and creaks at the seams. Most buildings are too small to hold him, really. He drove teachers mad, and us....well, we're managing on the medication. He always got top marks for 'leadership' at school, and 'You're not the boss of my shoes' was a fave phrase which premiered when he was five years old. He was always looking at the moon, even in the daytime. He's social to a fault. He's as strong as Atlas, and so gentle when he sees someone or something that's hurt. And oh, he's fun - he makes us laugh a lot. And scream. Yes I screamed when he drove blithely through a red light in town today [he swore it was amber]. He still gives me the biggest cuddles and lifts me up in the air. Happy Birthday, Adam.


Tania Roxborogh said...

This is just what has happened in our house with our youngest and the father - both strong-willed children who hate potential deviation from the norm and me, the mummy, who, at 8pm has had two glasses of wine and is required to referee:

I listened to youngest: yes, darling, life is busy and you are allowed a day off to finish your homework cos you've been slack but you've also been preparing for Grade 3 piano and no, your friends won't know I'm letting you have a day 'off' to actually catch up. You usually work hard (at school but not bloddy at home) but still, I don't won't you to be penalised and...what, oh? really? oh, you got your phone confesicated cos you were txting during class......

Hmmm and there lies the rub. The angst is not about the homework or the exam but that the phone is unavailable for a week.



Fifi Colston said...

I had your blog open at 10.30pm when my 18 year old son came in to tell me how the world is against him (his arm is in a plaster cast right now) We had a long talk- well he talked at me and then an hour later I read him your blog post- he rolled around on the floor and laughed with joyous recoginition because he can so relate to Adam. At 1.15pm he came in to demand pain relief for his arm- I went into the bombsite kitchen where he had been making chilli (at midnight)to find voltaren for him. I don't know what time he goes to sleep- he prowls for hours. He says ADD should be renamed OAD (Overabundance of Attention Disorder).I woke him at 6am so he could go off to tech.I crawled back to bed and refused to get up at 7am. I am still in my jim jams at 9.49 preparing to deal with the overflowing pots of chilli before tackling my own work. Parenting is not for the weak or faint hearted, or for those with a single minded career is it?

Mary McCallum said...

Tania and Fi - your comments made me laugh, especially Rory's late night chilli-making project. Adam will come home in the early hours cook a full 'brunch' and put his feet up and watch TV on full-blast. He is astonished when his exhausted Dad demands he turn it off and get to sleep. Sleep - what's that? Thank goodness we can laugh, though, eh? The average family home is a miniature war zone for many of us - and not, as you say Fifi, for the weak or faint-hearted. What do you think of medals for parenting in the New Year's Honours List?