Category Archives: People

Stories and observations about the human among us

find your powerful…

24 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by in Inspiration, People, We're the People

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There is something happening. Now. It is sad and it is uplifting at the same time. Probably all of you know about the tragic shooting of students in Parkland, Florida on February 14th. Maybe you are even sick of hearing about it. I have been following what has happened afterward fairly closely. A few days after the event I was explaining to my husband an interview I had seen where a father spoke of the loss of his son. Among other things, the father said he was ‘pissed’. I’m sure. My voice cracked and I began to cry, having to pause to be able to finish the story. Imagine losing your child to such senseless violence.

In their abject grief and shock, the students of Margory Stoneman Douglas High School, wasted no time. While grieving their best friends and classmates, their anger cut through the BS that has surrounded this issue for decades. Because they are young, a large portion of their journey has played out on social media. It is one of the times when I have been glad to have some connections on Twitter and Instagram. It has been so impressive to see how these young people handle themselves. There has been very little ego, hubris, double talk or any of the things adults are given to using. They just tell it like they have experienced it. This has happened to THEM. To their friends. They are the targets.

It is humbling. It is powerful. And totally frightening.

Things do not ever stay the same. Change happens whether or not we are ready for it or invite it. The United States is the country of my birth. It is where I lived the first 30 years of my life. I still carry an American passport as well as an Australian one. But most importantly, I am still a member of the human race. I’m a human who values life. I’m a human who doesn’t want to see senseless tragedy.

We should all care about violent death from terrorism, war and oppression in every country. But it is nearly overwhelming, and hard to know what to do. In this instance I have seen enough to recognise a genuine movement and one to which I can contribute a small amount. My small amount has been to follow the students, trying to understand and support their journey with comments and sharing. And this blog post. This week I also downloaded a song from iTunes, part of the proceeds from which will go to support the students who have organised Marches in all 50 states of the United States. The song is a ‘mashup’ (combination) of two songs from two major Musicals, ‘Hamilton’ and ‘Dear Evan Hansen’. The songs are titled ‘The Story of Tonight’ and ‘You Will Be Found’. The creative genius of Lin-Manuel Miranda, who wrote ‘Hamilton’, has penned this anthem called ‘Found Tonight’. Miranda and Ben Platt, winner of a Golden Globe for ‘Dear Even Hansen’, sing it and I have included it here for you to… contemplate.

Saturday, 24 March is the March for Our Lives day. I hope it is a peaceful but powerful day. In his Golden Globe acceptance speech Ben Platt said:

‘Don’t try to be anyone but yourself, the things that make you strange are the things that make you powerful’.

Let’s all find our strange and powerful selves, and strive to make a difference. Lots of little tiny powerful moments together can cause a big thing to happen. The students are showing us the way.

sixties and you’re done…

03 Saturday Feb 2018

Posted by in Life, People

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fullsizeoutput_3eb0Reviewing life events is not unusual for anyone who has had a serious illness, or life event. Mine just happened to be breast cancer, but it could have been any number of things. Most of you probably have your own version of this. There is a periodic reconnoiter, that my husband and I have done many times over the 34 years of our marriage. Without reviewing where you’ve been, it’s hard to see if you need to alter your course.

When I did a major rethink, about six years ago, for the most part I was very happy with life. Trepidatiously, I had wondered if I would find some things seriously out of whack. I discovered, blissfully, that much was ‘in whack’. There was some tweaking to be done, but that is always the case, isn’t it?

In subsequent years I closed a few chapters of my life and focussed in on some others. After four years or so the theme of these adjustments became apparent. I had reached the limit of my shit tolerance. And by that I mean I’d had enough of badly behaved people. And by that I mean, people who should know better, treating our relationship with a distinct lack of care. There were only a few of those people, but they were part of my inner circle and they didn’t deserve to be there. They occupied space in my psyche that could have been much better fulfilled by others. None of them will be reading this, or would even recognise themselves if they did.

Did I have a big confrontation? Did I tell them how I saw them? Eventually, I just didn’t feel the need. Any anger I’d had was dissolved. Poof. Ethers. I realised that none of those people meant me, personally, any harm, they just didn’t know better, and didn’t see any reason to change. Me, I’m all about change. It’s how I could move my entire life halfway around the world and start over. It’s one of my superpowers.

I realised I would gain nothing from having a big blow up with those people. Nor would they. Perhaps this was even why they were in my life, to teach me this valuable lesson.

So what did I do?IMG_0792

Just as the observation goes, when we ask God for something, and don’t get it, the answer is ‘no’….

Just as I have realised that having less stuff in my life means saying ‘no’ so that I can enjoy more of what is left…

I have learned that there are some people with whom I can have a satisfying relationship, and some people who were not built for it.

Many years ago I heard advice (via Oprah, from her mentor and very good friend Maya Angelou)

When people show you who they are, believe them the first time. —Maya Angelou

This wisdom bore a shaft of light straight to the centre of my understanding and has guided me many times since. Another of my superpowers is the ability to almost immediately assimilate wisdom that rings true to me. When someone shows you openness or compassion, believe them. When they show you ego and intolerance, believe that too.

I don’t expect more than is possible from those who have shown me who they are. I’ve learned to identify those people within minutes of meeting them. They are the people who want to tell me what is wrong with everyone else in the world. They are self absorbed. They tell me how I should behave and what I should do, and they never ask me about myself with genuine curiosity. There is ego and judgement…or worse, passive aggression. When I meet people like that, my inner voice says, I will not engage with you on a level that allows you a conduit to give me your shit.

And I say it with love.  And respect. For myself.IMG_0787

A couple of years ago I began saying out loud, in the company of others who know me well, ‘I’m done with badly behaved people’. It might seem unnecessary, or even dramatic to say, but it is my personal emancipation from the quiet tyranny of those who portend a kind and loving relationship and can’t deliver.

Recently in an interview with Oprah, she confirmed it. I knew I liked that woman. She and I are the same age for about five months of the year, currently both 64.

When asked to tell about life in her 60’s, here is what she said…

You take no shit. None. Not a bit. In your 40s you want to say you take no shit, but you still do. In your 60s you take none. There’s both a quickening and a calming—there’s a sense that you don’t have as much time on earth as you once did. For me, there’s also a sense of calming about that. —Oprah

You go girl.

Are you OK?

12 Tuesday Dec 2017

Posted by in Life, People

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fullsizeoutput_3e75I’ve hit a speed bump; a creative block, perhaps–but not a snag that hangs me up completely. I have a slowing down of creative flow. Consistently crowding out the writing and drawing, is the growing presence of other obligations. No matter that I have reduced Christmas to a minuscule event, no cards, only gift is for our daughter, no baking except the normal once every couple of weeks event, I don’t seem to be able to have the time, or perhaps it’s the mental energy, for creative pursuits at the moment. Last week I wrote and wrote, in excess of 10 hours, with no satisfying result. You may have noticed you didn’t hear from me. I have a deal with myself. If I’m not able to produce a piece worthy of your time, I won’t publish. I know you won’t begrudge me the indulgence of not putting that pressure on myself.

The unending stream of Christmas hype on TV, online and in the shops is overwhelming. It is no wonder this is a difficult time of year for many people. If you are a person who loves Christmas and all of the busy-ness of it, lucky you. I was once obliging, working myself to a frazzle with shopping, decorating and baking. I am no longer in that place. It is no wonder incidents of depression, domestic violence and self harm are higher this time of year. In my case it is just the ‘overwhelm button’ that prevents life from resuming its normal service.

‘RUOK’ is both a suicide prevention charity and a national day here in Australia. The national day was in September, but it seems to me a reminder now wouldn’t hurt. We are encouraged to engage people with this single question, ‘Are you okay (RUOK)? in hopes we can make a difference, somehow, some way. There have been plenty of times when I should have probably asked this question and didn’t. I’m always wary of people feeling like I’m prying or invading their privacy. But I’m also pretty sensitive to body language and verbal cues so I do often ask people how they are going? I wait for an answer, and sometimes ask again if it seems warranted.

IMG_0439The weather here had been unusually wet and so I had been using the alternate walking route, turning left out of the driveway. I’m a bit foggy some mornings and I don’t think so clearly at 5.30am, just put one foot in front of the other to get myself going. Somewhere along the 40 minute walk I usually wake up and by the time I’ve had coffee shortly thereafter, I’m hitting on all cylinders.

On this particular morning I turned left and walked about 3 minutes. I had passed an unusual feather laying in the road, and decided to go back and pick it up. As I tucked it safely in my pocket I realised the road and surrounds were quite dry again, and that my favourite route–in the opposite direction, would probably be dry enough for me to not get ‘bogged’*. I continued walking back toward my house, passing the driveway from which I would have turned right, had I been taking this route originally.

Once passed the driveway I noticed some movement up ahead. Eventually I realised it was a neighbour, bent over and working in her ‘landcare for wildlife’ patch of ground. It is actually a second, and vacant, lot next door to the house she and her husband built from homemade mud bricks. She has toiled for years, removing buffel grass, and other introduced species, so that the native flora would thrive. This, in turn, made it a haven for native animals and she had regular visits from wallabies, lizards and many different birds.

She and her husband had invited us for a little barbecue when we first moved to our house across the road 17 years ago. But it wasn’t like we’d moved from another town and knew no one, we had a circle of friends established. We became friendly neighbours, but nothing more. To be perfectly honest, I found them exhausting. He was very self absorbed and she talked a million miles an hour and had no ‘off switch’, so when we had our little neighbourly visits I always had to plan an exit strategy. I hasten to add, this is as much about my own limitations as is about any behaviours they might have. Being an introvert, I often feel very overwhelmed by people and so I need to feel that I can cope with the situation.

I wore my earphones and was listening to a podcast, but cheerily waved and called out ‘Good morning, Karen’(not her real name) as I approached. She jumped to attention and the verbal shower began. First she had me smell a native plant that is good for colds, then she jumped into a sad fact about her son who had been very ill all year with back surgery and recovery, then she was back talking about the landcare for wildlife, then about a small wallaby that sheltered from the storm on her veranda, then things took a deeper turn. I mentioned it had been a long time since I’d seen her around and she said her son was in Melbourne and she had been going back and forth seeing him.IMG_0504

I recalled our last substantial conversation over a year ago, almost two years now. Her husband had left and moved interstate with a young woman he’d been having an affair with for several years, so Karen had told me. She had been shell shocked on that occasion and recalled it briefly in light of the fact that her son had not seen anything of his father during his year of treatment. I was suddenly aware she was wiping tears from her face. Unprompted, she said, ‘I’m not crying, it’s just the weather’. I gave her a hug. Her body was tight and stiff and she scarcely stopped talking as she related the story of losing many family members early in her life, not speaking to certain other family members due to their extreme judgement of her life choices, and finally drawing breath, she said ‘it’s hard when you are different to everyone else’. There it hung, in the humid, warm, silent air of the early morning. More tears. It was not the weather.

I listened for about 15 minutes and finally she said with a slight smile ‘I needed this, I was feeling a bit down this morning’. And I felt it was okay to move on. At least she would know that someone nearby knew her plight. Sometimes just knowing that someone will listen is enough. And sometimes we take the wrong turn out of the driveway, only to find it was the other way we were supposed to go.

fullsizeoutput_3e78

I hope you are all OK. xx

* ‘bogged’ is an Australian term meaning ‘stuck’, usually in mud.

when you know better, do better…

17 Tuesday Jan 2017

Posted by in Books, Life, People

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Our country is like an old house, and old houses need fixing, and more fixing –Isabel Wilkerson (from podcast ‘On Being’ with Krista Tippett*)

As you will recall, I usually post a list of my favourite books at the end of each year. This one just couldn’t wait. Because we can’t wait. Our world needs every day possible to do better. The Warmth of Other Suns by Pulitzer Prize winning writer, Isabel Wilkerson is the best work of non-fiction I have ever read. The story she tells is one of a country within a country and how its people struggled, and still struggle, to be recognised as equal. But in this day of mass migrations it is also a universal story. Isabel researched this book for 10 years and then spent 5 years writing it. The quality and care of her efforts are evident. The historic fabric of one of America’s most underreported stories is woven from carefully transcribed anecdotal telling, research and statistics so deftly threaded throughout, it reads like a novel. All 622 pages of it.

The Warmth of Other Suns is one of those books I did not want to end, but not because it paints a pretty picture of life in the US between 1915 and 1975. I didn’t want it to end because it was a fascinating revelation—a third of which happened during the first 20 years of my life. If you think you know this story, you probably don’t. I am very sorry to say, I was completely oblivious to what is now called The Great Migration. Since it was so underreported, my ignorance is partially understandable. The Great Migration is the epic story of how over six million black people living in the south of the United States, moved north and west during a period of about 60 years, trying to escape the extreme segregation of the south. ‘Jim Crow‘, as the segregationist regime was called, disallowed colored people to walk on the sidewalk alongside white people, to sit in the same seats on public transport, to buy the same real estate, indeed any real estate at all…and worse.

Lincoln Memorial, Washington DC,--cloudy skies but light on the horizon

Lincoln Memorial, Washington DC,–cloudy skies but light on the horizon

Growing up in rural southern Ohio is also partly why the movement was not in my consciousness. Ohio was geographically part of the North. It boasted a very effective ‘underground railroad’ which spirited runaway slaves to safety, but later on would deny migrating southern blacks the same opportunities migrants from Europe enjoyed. I may have missed the movement, but I was not oblivious to the undercurrent of prejudice that still existed when I was growing up. You may pose the question in your mind, as I did, but weren’t the blacks treated equally after their emancipation at the end of the Civil War in 1865? Not only was this not the case, but the situation worsened for most so-called emancipated ‘colored people’ as they were called in those days. Even after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, many states took another ten years to invoke a version of equality.  The truth of this will vary, depending upon who you speak to, much as the extermination of Jews has at times been a point of contention for holocaust deniers. This book has such depth, there can be no doubt of the terrible injustice  done to people who had purposely, and gainfully, been introduced to the US, in some cases by tearing them away from their families in Africa, and bringing them to enslavement.

But it is even more than that.

 Migrating is never just about migration—it is about freedom    —Isabel Wilkerson

Isabel Wilkerson tells the story of speaking at a book signing and looking up to see a little old Greek lady with an armload of copies of her book for her to sign. The Greek lady said “You have told MY story too.” She wanted to share the book with her family. This was the associative experience Wilkerson wanted to convey with her book. As a migrant to Australia, and the grandchild of a migrant, I read the book with great interest. The Great Migration was also about moving from the ‘Old Country’ in the south, to the ‘New World’ in the north for the migrants. It overlapped the huge influx of migrants from Europe, some of which were my family, and so it was the plight many people faced. But the colored people were at the bottom of the pile, even though they had been in the country for twelve generations previously.

If all history books were written as well as this one I would have been a better history student. This work has been a real awakening with respect to government policy regarding migrants, as well as the recalcitrant behaviour of the general population whose unconscious collusion continues today. When we know better we can do better, but it is still a choice.

A month ago when I began reading, I had no idea I would finish it on Martin Luther King Day (USA), in the same week as the first African American President of the USA would finish his second term in office. With Australia Day coming in a week, I can’t help but think of all the challenges both of my countries have before them. We have so much experience from which to draw it is a wonder we still falter when encountering someone who is different from us. And yet we do. I hope many will read this book and find knowledge and compassion, and perhaps even part of their own story within its pages.

Do the best you can, then when you know better, do better. –Maya Angelou

 *If  you have 51 minutes, listen to the podcast linked in the opening quotation, via your computer.

i am an immigrant…

11 Friday Nov 2016

Posted by in Alice Springs, Inspiration, Life, People

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I am from a lineage of immigrants. My paternal Grandfather migrated from Italy to the USA, early in the 1900’s. I have seen his name etched into the wall of names at Ellis Island. My maternal Great Great Grandparents migrated from Germany. My husband’s Great Grandparents also came from Germany. My husband and I migrated to Australia and are both citizens of this country. If you go back far enough, all of us have relatives from somewhere else.

I grew up in small-town-middle-America. There were a few migrants in the town, but not many, and they had their share of haters. There were virtually no people of colour in the town. There were bigots, racial, religious and other, and I heard their comments all my life. Even in my own home. Even now I still hear them when we visit. I hear them where I live now, too. Bigotry is a pastime in which we all participate, at some point.

Bigotry, and its fear and intolerance, is the opposite of compassion.

In light of the political unrest of the moment, Ailsa from Where’s My Backpack, has written a stunning poem and requested us to create, or do, something ‘Great’ this week or in coming weeks, instead of her usual photo theme. She inspired us to do something that will add positive energy to the conversation the world is having. Hit the reset button, as she says. Only in our participation do we have a chance to make a positive contribution, even if it is a very small thing. Great journeys always start with one small step.

I had no photograph anyway, my tiny story is one about feeling…

The day after the US election results made Donald Trump President-elect, I had my 6 monthly appointment at the eye clinic here in Alice Springs. It is a world class eye clinic, tucked away in a none too salubrious setting. We have excellent care, however, because so many of the Indigenous people have glaucoma, which, incidentally, is what I have. An appointment usually takes a couple of hours, including waiting time in between the various exams, drops, scans and consultations. There are always a number of Indigenous people waiting as well. Many of them are elderly and very, very sad to see. Clearly, glaucoma is not their only health issue.

This week I sat quietly, waiting for drops to open my pupils for a retinal scan. Sometimes I closed my eyes to simply relax and remind myself how lucky I am to live in a place where excellent care is available, and in a time when glaucoma is not necessarily a sentence to blindness. I didn’t want to bow my head into my phone or a magazine, I just wanted to sit quietly and ‘be’.

There was an elderly, Indigenous woman who hobbled out from an exam room. She had no one assisting her and she had no walking stick. She unsteadily and slowly made her way to the seat across from me, to await the next stage of her examination. Soon it was her turn for a scan and the nurse called her into the room. I heard a small groan as she got up and she paused, uncertain of her balance. Then came another small groan of uncertainty, ‘I hope I can make it’. I know the sound of a person with hip problems, from personal experience. Without thinking, I hopped up and offered my arm to steady her. Without hesitation and with a flicker of smile, she leaned on me, immediately relieved . Surprisingly, the others around us looked up and smiled too; one Indigenous gentleman had a tiny nod and smile, with a glint of moisture in his eye…perhaps just his eye drops glistening, but still… It was a moment of pure human to human compassion that I want always to remember.

For a moment, it didn’t matter that she was from a lineage of the first Australians, and I was a migrant from far away. We were humans, touching and showing kindness. That was what mattered.

That is always what matters.

“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”                                                                                       -Ralph Waldo Emerson

a pause for thought…

07 Wednesday Sep 2016

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There are many things in the world, which I do not understand. And the older I get, the more I realise there are more things that I don’t understand, than that I do understand. And yet, I know I am wiser than ever before in my life.

It is not normal for me to be able to photograph things I don’t understand, so when it happened twice in one week, it gave me pause for thought, and that is why I share it with you.

One morning as I walked I came to the road that I cross. There in the exact middle of the road was a piece of litter. Rubbish. Refuse. Sunlight fell across it, as if to highlight the faux pas. Since I am a light chaser, and there was not a car in sight, it was a shot I could not resist. I actually believe we can highlight inequities more effectively by using beauty than by raging.

the beauty of ungliness

the beauty of ugliness

Litter is possibly number one on my list of things I don’t understand. I know the excuses for it, but none of them are valid reasons, in my experience. The very least we can do to help the earth and to be thoughtful of our environment is take our rubbish with us or deposit it carefully.

The second event happened only a few days after the first one, but in a completely different place, Adelaide in South Australia. We were visiting our daughter and while she was at work and my husband was at the reference library, I was doing shopping errands in the city. As I walked down the Mall I saw a woman bend to give a man, who was begging, an apple. He accepted it and seemed to put it in his pocket.

A short while later I was walking passed the spot again, and saw this…

misunderstood apple

misunderstood apple

The apple. At the time, when I saw the man, something about him had struck me as slightly ‘not quite right’. His beard was a little too well trimmed, his clothes a little bit too clean and tidy. And yet, he was clearly begging. And clearly he was not begging for food. I suppose it is possible he can’t eat apples. I can’t eat raw apples, so I can allow that may be possible. Perhaps my assessment of his appearance was judgemental, thinking that homeless people are all a bit scruffy looking. Perhaps he was being thoughtful and leaving the apple for someone who needed it worse.

Later that same morning I was approached by an elderly man asking for money. Not food. Money. The experience with the first man made me wary of the second one. Not that I usually contribute to street beggars, but it made me wonder. If I gave him money, would he use it for alcohol or drugs or food? Was I being compassionate by refusing—or by donating? How does one know what to do? Soon after, as I passed a mobile coffee and cafe vendor who I believe to be reputable in helping to feed the homeless, I made my contribution to him. Perhaps that was the right thing, perhaps not. How does one know? I have come to believe that it is the intention with which we do these things that matters. Is there compassion and love behind the act?

These are two very different events, most of us have seen many times in our lives. We are confronted with decisions and therefor, actions, or not. After 63 years on this earth, I wish I had gotten beyond my misunderstanding of such commonplace things. But I have not. Share your thoughts with me. Illuminate me.

karma can be a pain in the butt…

16 Monday May 2016

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Every now and then I have a photo that has a little story, or explanation behind it. I thought I might start posting something short to share it with you.

I took this photo last year when we were in Pennsylvania, visiting a couple of Frank Lloyd Wright homes. We stopped in a place called Ohiopyle (even though it is in Pennsylvania) and we walked down to the Youghiogheny River which flows through. On that sunny autumn day, a young couple was sitting beside the picturesque waters, and the fellow was smoking a cigarette. I thought to myself, I’ll bet he throws the butt of the cigarette into that beautiful water. By the time we reached the water, he had removed his shoes and socks and was rolling up his pants to wade. Sure enough, there, floating in the water near them was a cigarette butt. My husband commented that he could have predicted that outcome, just as I had been thinking it.

wader at Ohio Pyle

wader at Ohio Pyle

I composed a nice shot of the river and bridge and took the photo. We turned around to walk back to where our friends were sitting and we heard a huge splash. We turned around and looked and there was the fellow, flat on his butt in the water, cigarette butt floating nearby. My husband said “I’ve never seen Karma work quite so fast”. I could only agree. I had to restrain myself from taking a follow up photo as the fellow tried TWO more times to get up, only to slip and fall again and again. I seriously doubt he understood the connection, but we were pretty sure we understood only too well.

 

a Melbourne moment

02 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by in People, Travel

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The weekend just passed was a special one for us. We nicked off to Melbourne for a few days. The primary purpose was for me to meet one lady in particular, whose blog I have followed for a couple of years, as well as two others who I have met through the comments section of the same blog. The blogging community has been a revelation to me, and one of the more positive outcomes of our fascination with the internet and social media. The ladies’ whose blogs were represented at the lunch were Cecilia: http://thekitchensgarden.com/; Dale: https://elladeewords.wordpress.com/; Kate: https://talltalesfromchiconia.wordpress.com/; in case you want to have a closer look. Also joining us was Celi’s cousin who is from New Zealand but has been working in the Northern Territory for the last seven years. When we lived in Darwin on the northern coast we were not far from where Maria has been living. All very interesting how our lives have intersected, paralleled and overlapped.

Celi, originally from New Zealand–but living in the USA, is in Australia visiting her daughter who lives in Melbourne. Celi operates a farm half a day’s drive from my hometown. Kate migrated from England, and so there you have it, only one true Aussie out of the five of us! And none of us live in Melbourne but that is where we met. A truly global group. It was a uniquely simpatico meeting, in some ways like when you get together with special old friends and you just pick up the conversation as if you’ve never been apart—except that none of us had ever been together before!

The rest of our time in Melbourne was spent eating fabulous food, attending one of the more impressive art exhibitions of my life, and generally enjoying the urban offerings of Melbourne. On Sunday we nearly overdosed on city life, attending not one, but two ethnic festivals. The Melbourne Summer Japanese Festival was full of surprises, including many young people dressed in traditional costume as well as comic book character costumes. The Greek Festa was full of good smells and wonderfully evocative Greek music. Now that I have learned to share video clips with you, I may become a nuisance.

If you get a chance to see the Andy Warhol/Ai Weiwei exhibition please, go see it. It has been thoughtfully and carefully curated so that the exhibition is truly more than the sum of its parts. It is at the National Gallery of Victoria in Melbourne until 24 April, but hopefully it will visit other parts of the world before disbanding.

And if you ever get the chance to try ‘Crema Catalana’, the Spanish version of Creme Brulee, just do it.

Crema Catalana

Crema Catalana

Melbourne is a truly diverse, exciting city. I leave you with a gallery of photos from our short visit. (if you click on one of the photos you will be taken to a slide show that you can click through to see them in a larger format)

Young viewers at Japanese Festival
Lane in late afternoon light
Coffee at the Queen Victoria Markets
333 Collins Street
Costume at Japanese Festival
Manga character at Japanese Festival
A brief conversation
Manga character at Japanese Festival
Flinders St. Station
Porcelain Flowers, Ai Weiwei
Quote from Warhol
Fun with street artists
State Library, Victoria
Resting street artist
Hosier Ln

vale Phillip Hughes 1988-2014…

29 Saturday Nov 2014

Posted by in Life, People, We're the People

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In my experience most humans are at their best when times are the worst. Sure there are a few that will loot during a riot, or take advantage of a situation, but for the most part when things are tough, people rise to the occasion. It has always touched me deeply when a stranger performs a kindess.

This week the tragic loss of a young sportsman rocked the entire sporting world, but especially here in Australia. He was one of our sons. Several moments have brought the tears, but none more so than last evening during the news when the Captain of the Australian Cricket Team choked back his own tears and quoted the young man:

Where else would you be, boys, but playing cricket for your country? –Phillip Hughes

 

Phillip would have been 26 today, the exact same age as our daughter.

Our daughter is in Human Resources management at the South Australian Cricket Association, Phillip’s adopted home ground. Needless to say she and everyone there was rocked by this tragedy. Some tragic events are especially evocative and galvanise people in extraordinary ways. On the day Phillip died, Twitter spontaneously erupted in a series of memorial tweets and photos that were hashtagged #putyourbatsout. Then again on Instagram more bat photos with a hashtag of #63notout (which was the score Phillip had when he was hit by the bowl that took his life) Never has social media been better.

The photo taken by SACA of the memorial bat and hat and retired #64 shirt

The photo taken by SACA of the memorial bat and hat and retired #64 shirt

At his young age, Phillip had already covered himself with glory, both as a batsman and as a loveable, cheeky and humble young man. Several of the broadcasters have tried to add their insights, but it is very difficult for everyone to grasp. One mentioned the following though I’m not sure all of us would agree with it:

“One crowded hour of glorious life is worth an age without a name.” -Sir Walter Scott

To be sure, there are many thousands of people dying in the world every day from tragic, and probably heroic, circumstances. We don’t know them we don’t even hear of their deaths, but we know it happens. Perhaps when it is a situation such as this, and we not only feel we know the deceased, but had the unusual and disturbing occasion to see the impact that took his life, we are awakened. Why must it take this kind of thing to make us pause and realise how tenuous is life? Perhaps it will bring new gratitude to the fore of our minds so that we can realise what is truly important in life, especially at this time of year when it is easy to become swept up in the frenetic sale-abrations and celebrations.

The images of bats set out all over the world in memory of a man most of us have never met will live long in my mind. Adding to the poignancy is the term ‘vale’, an old English word derived from Latin, used when someone has passed. It means ‘farewell’ or ‘goodbye’. A Valedictorian gives the ‘farewell’ speech at a school graduation.

Vale Phillip Hughes, may your passing remind us to be grateful for what we have.

We’re the People – Sydney jogger

30 Tuesday Sep 2014

Posted by in People, We're the People

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jogger-sydney-harbour

Lunch time jogger Sydney Harbour

This morning, early, I heard the weatherman say Sydney would be having the warmest two September days in succession for 150 years! I harkened back to a winter day in July, when we stopped in Sydney on our way back from overseas. We found an inviting bench near Circular Quay and did some people watching at lunch time. There were dozens and dozens of joggers, this being one. All the times we have been here in the middle of the day, it has been like this. I wonder what someone transported from 60 years ago, into this situation, would think?? Some of the joggers might be tourists, but I wonder if people who have long commutes find it easier to fit their exercise in at lunch time than before or after their work day? I admire their commitment, regardless.

My morning walks are done as a moving meditation and contemplation time, as well as to keep my lower back in check. Usually, they are a time to soak in the serene arid land beauty and listen to a bit of music. Lately, they have become occasions for photography too. But this morning, two rogue Spurwing Plovers chased me! I stared them down and clapped loudly, which sent them in another direction, eventually. But they had a few jolly good dives at me first! Goodness knows what the neighbours thought!!

Plovers aside, those of us who walk or jog as a diversion lead privileged lives indeed.

Have a great week.

~Ardys

 (This is part of a series of photos based                                                                     on an original post titled ‘We’re the People‘)