Inspiring Muppets

Inspiration comes from many sources. The beautiful sunrise that started one of the best days of your life; those words of wisdom that someone you look up to took the time to impart to you; that crazy possum that keeps scratching on your roof and waking you up at all hours of the night… Inspiration. To write, to act, to change, to get a torch and shine it madly into the night while screaming at THAT DAMNED POSSUM TO LEAVE YOU THE HECK ALONE!!

Sometimes inspiration hits us like a freight train and others (like that possum…) it works its magic in the background, building a slow crescendo until it finally becomes the creation or action it was intended to be. Regardless of its origin, or the time in which it introduces itself to us; inspiration surrounds us each and every day. As an imaginitive child I drew inspiration from many sources (much as all children do I suppose) and one of those inspirations that I recall fondly was a puppet. Not just any puppet though.

Image courtesy of MuppetCentral.com

When I Think About It, It’s The Sax I Miss The Most

School is a terrifying and wonderous place. A place where we struggle to find ourselves amidst so many others just like us. As we grow steadily (and sometimes a little too quickly) into our bodies, we also grow into our minds; taking the ideas, morals and values that we have learned from our families and merging them with the malleable semi-formed spirit of ourselves. Some of us are blessed with a pre-existing direction by the time we get to school. Others aren’t so lucky. Still, we work together – and seperately, creating ourselves and beginning to experience life as a maturing adult.

Tropical Paradise and Man-Eating Eels

Tropical Paradise - or Eel-infested Death Trap?

On a number of occasions during my youth our family holidayed in the Solomon Islands. We stayed in a small village I remember as Tambia (although Google has no idea the place exists in the Solomons; instead it points me to a resort in Fiji and let me tell you I KNOW we didn’t stay there!) -[EDIT: Conversation with my Mum tonight revealed that the actual spelling is Tambea – thanks Mum!]- It was a simple place, in my memory it was an isolated oasis of small, thatch-roofed huts and other resort facilities nestled in beautiful tropical surrounds.

The crystal clear waters of the Pacific Ocean rolled onto black sand beaches; days were filled with simple pleasures like canoeing, snorkelling or simply wandering those miraculous shores and the nights were spent with the caretakers and other residents of the village, the adults conversing and the children playing by the light of kerosene tiki torches and moonlight. In addition to being a tranquil playground, Tambia Village was also an educational wonderland. One particular lesson will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Table Dancing Survival 101

For those of you who read my “About Me” section, you may have stumbled upon the mention of my awkwardly awesome left arm. Here and now I will relive the incident in the hopes of educating others – particularly young children who like to read blogs about safety (I’m envious of their ability to use the internet and iPhones before they’ve finished potty training by the way), about the occasional down side of not listening to advice given by parents. While the result is a spectacular party gross-out, I wouldn’t recommend that every 4 – 6 year old tries this at home.

In the early 1980s my family lived in Papua New Guinea. I was about 4 years old and it was an amazing place to me. We lived right across the road from the beach (yeah!) and while my Dad worked, Mum kept an eye on my brother, sister and me as we entertained ourselves in a world of trees, bushes and hand-made excitement.