My boy got his first ever school report on Friday and it was fantastic. He enjoys school (the learning and the social aspects), and was so proud of his results that is absolutely had to be celebrated. A surprise had to be invented to reward the effort and the joy of learning.
So on Saturday, I put a blindfold on him (so terribly thrilling for a little boy), and drove into the city to take him to the Melbourne Museum.
I’ve always loved Museums. As a kid I remember going to the Hobart Museum and seeing all the stuffed animals in ‘lifelike’ dioramas. Stuffed Tasmanian Devils ripping the entrails out of a stuffed wallaby (truly awful), owls flying overhead in suspended animation. Scrimshaw on whales teeth. Dusty costumes from convict times and cabinets full of mysteries.
But they are creepy too, and a talisman such as an almighty ‘power rangers’ t-shirt wasn’t enough to protect my boy from terrifying sights such as dinosaur animation, and pickled dead things that will come up in nightmares in the future I’m sure.
I hate the power rangers t-shirt.
And it wasn’t until we were on the way home that I thought about what we had actually seen. The Museum, which I have often gone into raptures over (I love the building, the spaces and the way it is set out) – is a mausoleum really. Everything – though wonderful was dead. Beautiful, but dead. Suspended in time for all time.
The dead centre of Melbourne. Oh but it’s pretty.