Just to let the very few people who still visit this blog [1] know, I’ve created a Google Buzz profile on which you can take a peek at my more random mutterings. However, please be warned, these posts tend to be not only very random, but also extremely mutteringly, which isn’t even a real word.

Linkage: Murray’s Google Buzz Profile

Footnotes:

1.	Despite my inexcusable neglect of it over recent months! Seriously, it amazes me that anyone still visits…
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I thought I’d share a poem I was asked to read at my Father’s funeral service on Christmas Eve, this year.

It’s called Where the pelican builds its nest, by Mary Hannay Foott.

It speaks very much of my Father’s lifelong love of Australian poetry, and also gently tugs at a deep sense of longing and perhaps also of regret.

Where the pelican builds its nest

by Mary Hannay Foott

The horses were ready, the rails were down,
But the riders lingered still —
One had a parting word to say,
And one had his pipe to fill.

Then they mounted, one with a granted prayer,
And one with a grief unguessed.
"We are going," they said, as they rode away —
"Where the pelican builds her nest!"

They had told us of pastures wide and green,
To be sought past the sunset’s glow;
Of rifts in the ranges by opal lit;
And gold ‘neath the river’s flow.

And thirst and hunger were banished words
When they spoke of that unknown West;
No drought they dreaded, no flood they feared,
Where the pelican builds her nest!

The creek at the ford was but fetlock deep
When we watched them crossing there;
The rains have replenished it thrice since then,
And thrice has the rock lain bare.

But the waters of Hope have flowed and fled,
And never from blue hill’s breast
Come back — by the sun and the sands devoured —
Where the pelican builds her nest.

I recently picked up a copy of Italian Folktales by Italo Calvino in a wonderful little bookstore while in Hobart. It’s a collection of distinctly ‘Italian’ folk stories [1], and while I’m only partway through it, I’ve discovered some interesting things when compared to folk tales with which I am more familiar, which generally come from Western Europe or the US.

Footnotes:

1.	Though some are quick to point out that it’s difficult to define ‘Italian’ in a folk sense, since historically what we think of as ‘Italy’ was in fact a number of distinct provinces with their own folk traditions and tales.
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Okay, another book to go onto my ever-increasing reading list.

Greg over at Book Obsessions writes:

Devil’s Footsteps by E.E. Richardson offers up a dark and entertaining tale reminiscent of Stephen King’s It, the Candyman movies and of course the Bloody Mary urban legend. Speaking of the latter…After reading this book, I felt compelled to do some research on the Bloody Mary legend. The version of the legend that I have always heard requires the person who is summoning Bloody Mary to say her name 13 times while holding a candle in front of a mirror in a dark room. After the 13th utterance of the name, Bloody Mary will appear in the mirror and basically stare you down. However, I learned through my research that other variations of the legend include Bloody Mary scratching off the face of the person who summoned her, driving the person mad, or even dragging the person through the mirror to live with Mary for all eternity…Yikes!

If you’re a fan of the Bloody Mary tale, then Devil’s Footsteps sounds very much like a fun, scary read!

If you have already read it and you’d like to let us know whether you enjoyed it or not, please share your comments below.

Hello All,

Just wanted to quietly let everyone know about a new blog I’ve launched – or, more accurately, co-launched.

It’s called Voodoologic.org and it’s a collaborative effort between me and a man who’s been one of my closest friends for almost 30 years [1].

If you get a chance, pop on over. It’s still a work-in-progress, but probably always will be, so that’s okay.

Season’s greetings to one and all,

Murray

Footnotes:

1.	And it will be interesting to see if things stay that way now we’re writing a blog together.
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