I remember watching "American Beauty" the other day. I readily admit, I was not in a suitably reflective frame of mind, for this unconventional film. I know I need to watch it again.

There was one scene that was burned indelibly in my mind, the swirling plastic bag. I appreciated the beauty of that scene, it might have been the first moment I experienced 'Life is Art'. I have been increaingly awash with beautiful 'stills' as I travel along.

Mr Reidel is a major catalyst for this new perspective. Following his work, writing and experiences has reinforced the experience and increased the frequency of these moments.

Luckily, I had this approach when I enjoyed the Man Ray exhibition (more on that later). His early work with film would have had little value without looking from my new perspective.

Windows seem to help with this phenomenon. Real windows, with glass. The other side is like a silent film, a photograph or a painting. Like the couple this morning across the window, their dialogue becomes a figment of my imagination. It also works with monitors too. It would be great to have the skills and talents to capture those images, those moments. Bravo Witold.

I have spoken about the 'brain' in an earlier post. I transfer specific sections to each new edition of the brain. Music, books and movies in particular. I do find it difficult to make inroads on the watch/read/listen lists.

I did watch 'Cinema Paradiso' the other day. Strongly recommended by a friend, it was a quaint old Italian film (1988). The banter and communication between Salvatore and Alfredo vividly reminds me of my grandfatherly relationships. It was a beautiful thing to see captured on the screen, it really pulls heartstrings. The way Alfredo delicately taught Salvatore the deft tricks and techniques of cinema projecting was very intimate, lovely.

One idea really tore me. All of my grandparents have/had masterly skills at something. It occurred to me, perhaps egotistically, that my fellow grandchildren have never really appreciated their skills, never tried to learn or absorb any of them. Whether the simple things like knitting or cards, or a little more complicated, like carpentry, paving, painting, music, I always tried to learn something from each of my grandparents. Maybe I was uniquely placed, just a little older, but all the windows are not yet closed.

I know though, that when ever I shape a piece of timber, mix some concrete or play some music or cards, one of their tips will spring to mind and always make the job better. I reckon that is something to be shared, don't miss out.

"You can always add water, you can't take it away"

So, I have been trying to get more exercise in lately. One avenue for this has been reliving my brief past as a baseball player. A while ago, I rummaged for all the old gear in Canberra. Stringer and I have been a couple of times now, good fun. Plenty of homers last weekend.

Carrying all this momentum to Canberra for the mother's day trip, I also took all the gear home to have a chuck with Dad and Mick. Went down the oval, just like the old days (god that makes me sound old!). While I was there I recalled the first time Dad took us down with our baseball gear. I guess I was about twelve, Mish ten, and Mick nine? Dad outlined the rules, we set up some bases and played our first game of baseball. Fun for all the family! Dad's turn to bat finally comes around, he smashes the ball into the outfield. The ball is deftly fielded and ends up in my mitt. Not knowing the rules, but knowing that the batter needed to 'contact' the ball to be 'out', I absolutley pegged the ball at my old man. "Chock!". Small of the back, followed by inaudible expletives. Dad was not impressed. Furious would be a good start for a description. It must have hurt. However, I do not remember being heavily reprimanded, he mustn't have fully explained the rules. The only time I ever got away with throwing anything at 'David'.

Of course when we actually played any sport, Dad was not entirely constructive in his criticism. Needless to say we all pursued sports he has no knowledge/interest in. It works quite well, a fairly peaceful equilibrium.

For the record, it was not to be the only time I would foolishly throw something at Dad...

I need to get out more. During the weekend just passed, I realised there are only two weeks of Autumn left and I had not seen a single orange/red/yellow leaf. Maybe the seasons are slow this year? That would be nice, I don't think I am ready for Winter.

The revelation struck like a bolt of sunshine. Travelling to Canberra, playing the dutiful son, I came upon Lake George. It is a trip I've completed many times. Rounding the bend, a strip of stark, blood orange foliage jumped at me, from afar. Appearing like a wound of the earth, the maples lined the shore of the "lake". Eucalypts then lined the maples. I must say the orange/khaki contrast was aesthetically wonderous.

Hmmm, maybe I should travel during the day more often, the traffic was pretty kind.

One thing that seems to go largely unnoticed these days is the value of silence. I consider it a sign of good friendship, the ability to have a lengthy period of comfortable silence. I do not feel pressured to entertain, or inform these people every living minute. It is quite refreshing. A chance to reflect, to enjoy your own company. Knowing of course that an interuption, if necessary, would be welcomed. But mostly unnecessary. Hmmm, beer and silence; a critical antidote to a long day.