Rudderless

It's official. I'm in a rut and there is no rudder steering this little old ship. It's a combination of things I think - a chronic injury that just won't go away, online interactions with old ghosts, ugly footwear (c/o said chronic injury), not enough exercise and a timely find in a handbag of old. 

What to do... what to don't? I feel like I haven't painted in about a year, but I have zero desire to paint. Z.E.R.O. I don't think I've ever felt less inclined, and I think that is part of the problem, in that I've lost that bit of self. What to don't? Continue to ignore the frustration. What to do? Dust of those brushes and commit to something ridiculous that going to put me in a spin...

Sophie Scholl

I was reminded of Sophie Scholl today, as it was the anniversary of her death 70 years ago. I remember watching the movie Sophie Scholl The Final Days, and sobbing at the end - surprised by what transpired. I'm a bit stupid like that because the movie title really does give the game away.

Of late, I've been really disappointed at the lack of progression and empathy we have shown as a community and a country and all the sad goings on of the world. And I'm angry about it - relieved that I'm away from it all, but in a way frustrated to be watching from afar. 

What has this got to do with Sophie? I don't know, I'm too tired and ill equipped to articulate what is right and wrong in the world and how we should fix it, but Sophie Scholl's final words before her execution resonate:

"How can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to offer themselves up individually for a righteous cause? Such a fine, sunny day, and I have to go, but what does my death matter, if through us, thousands of people are awakened and stirred to action?"

Just something to think about.

Monday evening sounds

Eagles of Death Metal - I Want You So Hard. Play it loud.

24 hours of life that reminds me

Woke up to the sound of schoolchildren echoing from the cobblestone streets below.  Looking down from the third floor and it must have rained overnight, and then the church bells start ringing. 

I walk down to get a coffee through the farmers markets. Buy flowers then make my way down the river to the main square to meet under the clock. It turns out to be the sort of place where everyone meets everyone so makes for good people watching. We have breakfast at the top of the roof of the oldest most gorgeous store in town. They do jam jars with juice here too. From high up above there are views of the church domes as far as the eye can see. A dog sits outside on the terrace amidst other diners, in the middle of a square set of chairs with everyone sitting around him. I wish I got a better photo of that.

Get a tram and a bus to the apartment full of books and gorgeous old danish dining chairs and chandeliers. Such a shame they will be throwing all this out. I hope they save the piano and I would ship home the chairs....

Then a taxi to the krankenhaus where we take the stairs to the 5th stock (because we can't use the lift). Say hello but then have to leave to sit on the balcony. The town below with autumn leaves changing looks beautiful and it would be relaxing if not for the constant chatter and the noise of helicopters landing one after another. And loads of sirens. This can't be a good thing. 

We stay for a while as he sleeps and then she leaves and I stay a bit more. We talk about the war and how he could fix it and suddenly he curses the health Minister. I remind him that the health Minister isn't going to help him given he's in a country on the other side of the world. Yes he says.. and then forgets I was there yesterday but remembers I said late last night that I wanted to pick up a leberkase semmel on the way home. 

He gets tired again so I take a tram back the same way, snaking through the old town streets. I still don't get trams, they seem sort of pointless. 

I get off at the river and walk through the new old bit - the bit that has been refound. Modern art gallery, antique shops with barking dogs and designer cool. A reclaimed seconds store with stuff made by drug addicts and a dirndl with pink cows. I should have bought it but it never would have fit. The lady asked if I would wear it for real and I asked who wouldn't wear a green dress with pink cows and heart shaped button? Then I walk by the music school, housed in a baroque old building. Voices like angels make their way to the street.

Supermarkets are the best fun when away, and thirty minutes is spent looking at things not to buy. I bought the roses just because and some sleepy tea for my non sleeping friend and pickles for my dinner. I also laughed out loud at the butter section just because butter is butter. I did not buy the fresh pork scratchies.

In the evening as the church bells ring I walk back to the same square in which I started my morning. An aperol spritz even though the weather is cold enough to make me wear my paddington coat.  I sit and drink and look at the pretty flowers on my pretty table with pretty chairs with blankets draped around (just in case it gets colder). I answer emails and write letters. I chat to a lady about Australia and I inhale deeply the cigarette smoke from the man behind me. Sometimes passive smoking smells good. I take a phone call and talk in germenglish and then thank someone in Spanish. Clearly I'm confused but when I ask for the bill in local slang, the tattooed owner laughs.

It's getting dark so I walk home and open the windows wide. I can hear everything happening from the streets below and I bet they can hear me skyping the best person I know from Dubbo. 

The church bells ring again and I wait for Australia to wake up - just an hour to go. I listen to the Moon Song on repeat while drinking local wine out of a little tumbler. 

And there it is. A day far away, with so many people near. Goodnight, or good morning wherever you are, but wherever that is - it's near ❤

Early mornings

This last week I've been waking up just before dawn, even when I should be sleeping. There is a silence that isn't silence - the hum of cars really is just background noise and gains frequency as the clock ticks on. Eventually the birds wake up, and while it is still dark I try so hard not to think a million thoughts but today (especially) I have failed.

A song is playing over and over in my head and I can hear it just like it's real. It's a beautiful song but I wish it would go away. 

And between now and writing these words the sky has moved from dark grey to a hint of light and blue, so I'm safe to get out of bed and play some music to block out the soundtrack playing over and over in my mind. Or maybe I should just say fuck it. Maybe I should embrace the song and the thoughts and the happiness and the sadness, because as coincidence would have it I stumbled across some fine words by Maya Angelou. They kinda make for good dialogue to go with the soundtrack and my thoughts but also remind me that there is a beauty to words and storytelling about everyday life. That these words about life, that we can all understand, are just important as words about war and events hard to imagine. I'm struggling to explain what I mean and I wasn't going to copy the words here, because god knows that this blog reads enough (at times) like a 14 year old diary - but they are too beautiful not to share in part and maybe you need some words to warm your heart today too.  

"You see, love liberates. It doesn’t bind. Love says I love you, I love you if you’re in China, I love you if you’re across town, I love you if you’re in Harlem. I love you. I would like to be near you, I’d like to have your arms around me, I’d like to hear your voice in my ear. But that’s not possible now. So, I love you. Go.” Maya Angelou

www.goodreads.com/quotes/549888-love-she-liberated-me-to-life-she-continued-to-do

Heart breaks

I'm writing this to you as you sleep - light little breathes with your paws running in your dreams. I've dreaded this moment. It's been a week of lasts. The last Sunday night you will get a gentle goodbye and your ears scratched. The last dinner, the last night you'll sleep in the tiny hallway and then, sometime tomorrow, the last time you will lick my tear stained faced.

I can tell you now that I've never cried so much in my life, and there have been some very cry-able moments - but the difference is that you have always been there. Always. 

I spoke of this over the phone lines to a world away and we talked in sadness and fondness about you and there was more crying. It is funny how things turn full circle. It wasn't so long ago that you and I would walk down big boulevards in Canberra and I couldn't stop the tears and you would look up at me worried. Such a sensitive dog you always hated it when I cried. How we both missed him then and now he and I cry together because we are going to miss you. Did you know that polaroid photo of your first winter in Canberra, with snow falling around you in Barrallier Street? That photo sits beside his bed in a big city in Pakistan. I didn't know that, but it's something good to know. I can picture that photo so clearly even though I haven't seen it in years and I can picture you. Just shy of being a grown puppy, all lean and slight with big bright eyes and big fluffy snow drops floating through the sky. Just like yesterday.

But then there is today and I'm surprised at our good fortune that you and I have someone so generous and kind hearted to see this thing out. What a bloody brave soul and I'll never forget this, because in my mind, it is probably the nicest thing a person could do for you and I (that and buying you premium chicken breast and devon).

And you should know I've been quietly telling those who you love about this, which is why each of the gypsy girls said goodbye in sadness this week. The best person we know from Dubbo has been checking in too, she likes to know how you are going - but to be honest I think she is more worried about me. And that's nice too. Then the phone call with lots of tears from the big sand pit of Dubai. If anyone was to be in this house tonight it would be her, just because we could cry together all night and it wouldn't matter. So many other people have sent the nicest messages and have asked me to tell you they love you. And I have told you that each and every time.

What will I miss? The pitter patter of your feet clipping the floorboards, they way you look back at me whenever I open the door for you to go outside, the clinking noise your tag makes on the water bowl as you drink, that every morning you still walk to my side of the bed to see that I'm there. I will miss your beautiful spots, the way you always look to me, your snoring, and that even though you are tired and old - when you see my for the first time in hours you wag your tail in happiness and bound towards me. Lets face it. I will miss every single thing about you. So many other people will miss you too.

We are the very best of friends and I would do anything for you - which is why I am doing this. And by the time this is read, it will all have been done.

Love you forever B Dog Xx

Little old dog with the big heart

Arriving home today to your little dog smile, melts my stupid heart. I spend a lot of time lately thinking about you and while mostly you've changed...every now and then my cheeky, happy, neurotic dog reappears. The one who busts into the bathroom to check on me in the shower (your head pushing the curtain to the side),the one who impolitely taps when he wants attention, the one who licks my tears away (yep that's you right now). 

We've been through a lot together, you and I - more than anyone will ever know. I can't imagine you not being here but if I were honest you haven't been here for a while, there have only been little glimpses of you.

Tonight as I scroll through old photos I think about the day I picked you. The cheeky, loud, naughty one of the pack. You barked all the way home and there started our life of you being you - a bit naughty, too clever, very handsome, intensely loyal and loving of your people. I would pick you over anything and I hope you know that, as much as dogs can know these things. Xx

Just like always

A difficult week full of busyness, sickness and a long trip to a city without seeing any city. Some nice things too. Friends, cheese, film, pho, ramen, and ending the week with tuna slop, animal beers, cocktails and making pretty things. There is nothing more relaxing than staring at pretty illumination patterns on the wall - like a very small enlighten festival exclusive to the yellow house.

But now for a second I've stopped and I'm trying to get my bearings because it seems life is catching up. All the tiredness but no sleep and the sickness that is still here and then all the things. Forever the optimist, I want to see the best in everything but every so often I need to chip away at that and I guess that time is now.

So this morning has been put aside to drink tea, eat toast and to do nothing but think. Stupid thoughts, sad thoughts, empty thoughts, nothing thoughts and everything thoughts. 

One thought is that there won't be many more mornings that look like this, which to be honest, just breaks my heart. It's hard to get beyond that thought but for now I think I'm allowed to get stuck on it long enough to stop being busy and make sure I spend enough time watching him run in his sleep, with his little paws twitching around. And it's nice to see that even though so much has changed these past months he still sighs his sleepy dog sigh and every now and then looks up to check I'm still here. Just like before. Just like always. 

Hugging through phone lines

Crap news is crap and sometimes I wish you could hug through phones, especially when your voice goes all crackily, but you are really trying to be brave. I might sound brave too but I'm not. I'm sad I'm not there and that you sounded so alone for that second. But with bad comes good and it makes me think. My strong willed tenacity comes from watching you bring up two kids with no money or support. My big heart - I inherited that from you. The person I admire and respect more than anyone else, is you. 

I love you. 

The Book Thief

Hats off to the brave person who came to see this movie with me. After reading and sobbing throughout the book I gave plenty of warning that this movie watching could involve two long hours of crying. But in the end, I was brave the mojito, banana choc top, and giant glass of shiraz proved to be a sufficient distraction. I only cried four times.

When I first saw this had been made into a film, I was disappointed it wasn't in German and worried it would follow the likes of many others - set in Germany with a bunch of actors speaking in English with no believability around the characters. Nup. While there was only a smatter of German, the accents where so authentic that the fact that everyone was speaking English in Nazi Germany was not distracting at all. And the little things like the linen, the kitchen, the music, the landscape - all bang on the money. 

I did shed a little tear when I heard the main character sing 'Guten Abend, gute Nacht, mit Rosen bedacht' in one of the early scenes. My Mami used to sing that to me and I bet she used to have had it sung to her pretty much around the same era the book was set. Hence my sadness as this story and my own do intertwine. 

One day I hope to understand more of my family history, but what I do know is that for my mother her past involved the war, Stalingrad,foster homes and missing siblings still today. Her story is like a big puzzle impossible to solve because it's full of emotion, faltering memories and half truths. I'm not sure if I'll ever get to know what happened but there is no denying that it shaped the woman she is today - a juxtaposition of a determination with an emotional vulnerability like no-one else that I know.

The author, Markus Zusak's, parents migrated to Australia around the same time as mine and I suspect his parents were able to tell him more of their past. Or maybe he was just better at recording and remembering it? I'd like to do that when the time is right, but for now I shake my head in wonder because this story is my history too - a world away from my little yellow house life in Canberra.

After the film, there was a medicinal whiskey to reflect on what was then and to talk about what is today, in the context of war. The book (and the film) reminds us there is a beauty in the words and the strength and braveness of everyday people. It's sometimes hard to remember that when thinking about the horror and pointlessness of war.

2014 - be brave with words

'I've never been so certain and uncertain of anything all at the same time' is what I wrote some time in 2013. I saved it in a draft, because while I didn't want to say it out loud back then, all the same - I wanted to remember it.

It's a funny feeling being so sure about something - that it is all going to turn out right. It's like you can see yourself in a few years time, looking back at these days with a wry smile. Like I told you so. 

I'm not really used to that - but it's liberating in a strange way, that unexpected confidence and surety. And while things start to feel settled, its again not for long. That certainty is quickly displaced, but I guess that's life isn't it? External factors, right place at the right time and the converse of that. Etc, etc.

While I'm a big believer that everything happens for a reason, I'm not sure if we foster the best environment in terms of honesty and taking chances. Sometimes people are too worried about what others might think when they share an honest thought or words. But I'll tell you a secret…some of my most memorable interactions from the year just gone were the unexpected words - people putting themselves out there, sharing thoughts and feelings both big and small. And some of those people are reading this now, and they need to know that I cherished those words and I think that sort of honesty is (and that you are) amazing. 

So with that, I declare in 2014 we should all be brave with words. Because without words, there is nothing. 

Feels good to be home

Longs drives mean optimal thinking time for me. 290 plus kilometres of thinking time (270 of that in the drizzling rain). I won't bore you with the thought process because it really does not make sense. How does a rational happy person end up a blubbering mess after listening to one too many sad songs in a row....quite easily as it turns out. I really need to learn how to NOT THINK SO MUCH. I also need to learn how to make a happy driving playlist.

But when it comes down to it, it's ok to feel sad you know, because it helps you understand what makes you happy. Driving into Canberra with its rolling brown hills and bright blue sky, I felt at home. This is where I belong, maybe not for always - but definitely for now. I've made a place for myself here, with people that I love who will be forever people. And in the words of Kanye - feels good to be home. 

Friendship

You know sometimes I write these blog posts in my head as daydreams and then never come out near as good in practice. I guess in my mind I can be brave with words and feelings - but in writing I seem to lose that free thought.

So today, I was thinking of friendship, because today is one of my oldest and dearest friends birthday. It occurred to me just how much our friendship has seen - many laughs and long phone calls, holidays, births, a marriage, death, big heartbreak, loss and life. There are things she knows that others don't and the stories and memories we share that cover nearly two decades of life. 

The holiday in Seville with a baby who is now a teenager. I still have the empty packet of lucky stripes from our last night on the town...and I remember the hangover. And even before that - the four of us travelling to Blackpool (disaster) Tomich, Madrid and Barcelona. And at the Atlas Hotel, just hanging out. That was the year our friendship started and here it is, still today, and will be I'm sure until we can no longer remember.

And all this made me think and wonder if other people know and understand the value of friendship. Or more to the point, if they know how important their friendship is to me. I have many good friends who I hold dearly. New friends, old friends, Canberra friends, gypsy friends. Friends who are far far away and friends up the road who go get ice-cream. Friends who have influenced my decisions, who I go to for advice, who make me laugh, who keep me sane and make sure I know I'm loved. 

I don't know if half of those people actually understand how important they are to me. But for those who are here, reading this now - know that you are. 

Sideways To The Top

So tonight I went to the book launch of Sideways To The Top. I haven't read the book, but it is described as ' a unique, thought-provoking book that addresses these questions along with other longstanding assumptions about women. It chronicles the experiences of 11 women leaders — some of whom are Australian icons — who challenged the status quo and took alternative career pathways to the top. ' You can read more about it here: www.melbournebooks.com.au/sideways-to-the-top.html

So here's the thing. The panel members were smart and articulate and they reflected on being a woman and having a career and stuff. Some of them mentioned how their kids inspired them - others talked about having a balanced approach. Some talked about starting a business in a nurturing kind of environment. I can't really remember any of the other key points because instead of being shades of grey, it was kinda shades of beige.

The conversation then turned to the audience and observations were made about gender stereotypes and it was all about mums being mums and losing out on careers and the horror that young men today were still reinforcing that 1950's housewife thing. 

Well - that aint the view of the dudes I know. I don't know who these women hang out with, but I for one am surrounded professionally and socially by men who partner with their partners, men who co-parent, men who are the primary carer and men who solo parent. I'm proud to have wonderful friendships with men who don't propagate the stereotypes these women have assumed. And on behalf of these men I'm totally outraged. I am also outraged on behalf of all their partners and also for the women who have made their own choices (gasp - some of whom have chosen to stay at home).

Yes I'm simplifying this, but really...big...massive...yawn. Maybe I just hang around different people, or maybe I'm not bitter from the inequality in my past - I don't know, but either way this sort of stuff makes me livid. Middle class, white women who themselves go on to generalise and marginalise themselves all the while complaining that they are stereotyped and marginalised. Sure there is still inequality and my word our recent political history kind of highlights that. Yes there should be better paternity leave entitlements for men and men should be supported to make the choices they want to when it comes to parenting. But maybe collectively, we can reflect on how to make improvements and stop the wallowing and the generalised stereotypes, because hey...that seems ( I don't know) a little hypercritical. 

I bet the book is much better than all this and I know as a feminist there is much I can learn from other women, just as I can from men too. 

Vale Jim Shepherd

Dear Karin,

Thank you for allowing me to use your popular blog to write about the passing of Jim Shepherd, who was the director of Frew Publications.

Frew has been publishing the Phantom comic in Australia since 1948 and I sincerely believe that I would not possess the enthusiasm for comics I do today were it not for the newsagent next to my Dad's restaurant that used to give me Frew Phantoms.

One of the most endearing qualities of these particular comics is that Jim himself would write an introduction to each issue. I do not know how familiar your readers are with the story of the Phantom, but he is the 21st in a long line of crime fighters. Often, issues will focus on the heroic deeds of past phantoms, and in these issues Jim would usually provide a little more detail on the historical setting, which was a nice touch. Other times, he would simply speculate on the direction of the story, and what lay ahead for the 'Ghost Who Walks'.

Most of all, his introductions betrayed the fact that he was a genuine fan of the Phantom. In an era where comics are an increasingly cynical medium driven by merchandising and licensing, it was nice to know that there was still someone who had a genuine regard for the character, and respect for the readers.

I understand that Jim died today after collapsing whilst out dining. I am saddened by this loss, but happy for the humble legacy he leaves.

Thank you again for publishing this. I would also like to encourage your readers to seek out the Phantom at their local newsagent or comic book shop. Its a great book and suitable for men and women of all ages.

Thanks,
George

Bye Bye Olive

Heard news today that my oldest friend passed away on Sunday. Not old as in the one I've known the oldest - but old in an old way. This isn't so sad because I think 93 is pretty good, don't you think? She got to spend her whole life in her little house and for that I'm glad. 

I'll always remember her pretty pink nail polish and her gentle gruff way. Our trips out for coffee which would make her smile. And before we became friends, the random sneaky bits of chop tossed over the back fence for the barky Barney dog. 

I'm told she wants to be buried in her pyjama's which I think is probably pretty sensible. You want to be comfortable for these occasions. And also her lilac dressing gown. And slippers. Bless.

Young at heart

So here we are...you, you're full of surprises. Just when I thought the old man had overtaken the body of my crazy little ball of mischief, you make me play your favourite game. The last of summer has gone, but it is still light outside and there you are in the fading shadows. With me, the one constant in your life (and you in mine). You drop the ball on the ground and without asking, you bring it closer and it thuds on the concrete stairs. And you are off. Not as fast as before, but your tail - your tail is making up for it going a hundred miles an hour in semi circles. 

I know I should stop, but I don't see this in you very often these days. Mostly now you like to follow me from room to room in silence - finding a warm and sunny corner to nap in the day. At night there is a half hour of the old cheeky dog where you bark and play fight. But mostly those days are gone. So while I know this isn't good for your aching bones, I know it is good for my aching heart. Because I guess that was the last summer and time is too short (and just between you and me the thought of that takes my breath away). 

But this time makes me remember that it's okay to sleep in on the holiday and get crumbs on the sheets while I listen to you snore. The sky is turning pink and my feet are cold and we should go inside, but I don't want this moment to end. You see, this game makes me happy and sad all at once. But mostly happy.

I'll look for you if I'm ever back this way

So today was a sad day for one of my gypsy friends and her family...but in that sadness I learned about a man I didn't know. A man of contradictions with a complicated soul and a damn fine taste in music. A man who was a gun at the guitar and mastered the speedway like a champion. Liked, admired and loved but not without his flaws. I knew that bit already and it is amazing how so much can be forgiven in life and death. Equally astounding is the amount of wisdom and poetic words that can come from an ordinary man. 

Even in the ordinary there is the extraordinary, and I guess that's what is so good about life. We all live our day to day lives the same, but somehow we are different and interesting enough that we want to engage, discover and enjoy (or maybe it is we are so similar and that's our connection).

It is a joy to learn about snippets of history of those who are close to you, but bloody sad that it takes a day of loss to get there. We should share more stories about life and the living. 

Much love to my gypsy friend xx

Anchored heart

At the most surprising times, I just still miss you.

This is what a weekend is...

Sometimes I go around and round and around. Then it stops and I go around and around some more. Lately there seems to be more going round and not so much on the stopping. This weekend was about pulling in the reigns on crazyland because I realised I was getting used to feeling dizzy. And that my friends is not a good thing. So for 48 hours I did things my way and had a holiday in the yellow house. An early morning trip to the farmers markets to stock up on good things...fresh apples, and walnuts in the shell. Then home to fill the house with flowers from the garden and read the paper in the sun. Mandarin juice (bought from the nicest gruff man wearing the Saints hat) and a fresh prawn sandwich made with the best avocado this side of Byron Bay.  A nap outside followed by cocktails made from more mandarin juice - sweet and the sunniest drink ever made. Olives, cheese and then dinner of fresh fish caught from the Bay. Chocolate sorbet, fresh strawberries and a night in watching the football.

Big sleep, bike rides with the wind in my hair. It makes a difference riding free and easy, a bit dangerous and fun (I won't do it again, I was on holiday). A trip to the Bus Depot markets for lunch and some antique browsing.  Walks with the dog, who is in holiday mode too - enjoying long sleeps in front of the heater snoring. Listening to my neighbours BBQ filled with reggae music and laughing. Sneaking bits of Rosas florentine biscuits before dinner, then the rest of the prawns for dinner on doughy sour bread. Sparkling wine, mindless television and the heady smell of daphne and jonquils as I move from room to room. So now I'm just dizzy from the flowers and that works for me.