Back to nature

I can't remember the last time I escaped Sydney. She wraps me up in her pulsating breast and I happily suckle. I throw myself into her upbeat pace of things to do, places to see and friends to visit, then one, two, three months down the track I wonder why I'm feeling so exhausted. 

That's not to say Sydney doesn't have her pockets of paradise where I can step back and breathe again. I live near Bondi Beach, after all. And it's gorgeous – in winter. However, on a warm day, it seems the whole of Sydney flocks to its golden sand and you can no longer see it. All you can see is a great sprawl of people, playing, reading, sunbathing and flirting under the perfect sky.

It's a stark contrast to the secluded spot on Wallis Lake near Forster in NSW that we boated to today. Not another soul around, only our small party, a curious pelican that floated near to see who was there, and three graceful dolphins, diving breezily through the water. A swim in the lake under the bright blue sky and here I was, heaven on Earth.

I'm back at the camp site now, happy to be on dry land. A kookaburra laughs in a tree nearby, a bush turkey runs past, an open fire burns in front of me, and a lamb stew boils and bubbles in the coals. The air is dry and brushes cool against my face. It's a damn sight better than the evening I thought may be before me when the boat got caught in the shallows on the way back, far out in the middle of the lake, the reeds an unwelcome sight as they waved to us from below.

That's the thing about nature, it can surprise you at every turn unless you know your shit. In hindsight, it probably would've been a better idea to find out BEFORE we went out that 80% of the lake was only knee deep.

Yet, here I am to tell the tale and none the worse for it. A few drinks and a smoke later and I'm laughing along with the kookaburras. Just look at that bush turkey run, its large black body atop tiny thin legs that seem to defy gravity, a blur as they rush past.

Not that I want to romanticise nature too much, like my sister's friend who attempted to feed a gonna. The gonna happily accepted the offering and bit into half her finger as well. When she tried to pull it out of the goanna's mouth, the goanna wouldn't let go, clearly not happy that he had to forfeit the tasty hors d'oeuvre he'd been given.

Yet it's difficult not to romanticise nature when you see the stars on a clear night. In the city, it's hardly worth the neck strain to look up unless the moon is particularly spectacular. Yet, here, away from the lights, the whole galaxy smiles down at you, and you can't help but smile back, an insignificant speck in the bosom of Mother Nature. 

Judge not lest ye be judged... and step in dog shit!

A friend of mine recently said, "I never judge. I'm not a judgmental person!" I thought to myself, Shit! I do! I am a judgmental person. 

I make judgments all the time. Just the other day I was bemoaning to my partner about the drivers in Sydney's Eastern suburbs, after yet another car quite happily pulled out in front of me and the driver drove off without so much as a wave. 

Bloody typical, I thought, and said angrily to my partner: "The more expensive the car these arseholes drive, the more arrogant they are!"

"He mightn't have seen you," my partner responded calmly.

"Oh, thank you, wise Zen master for awakening me to my deeply human faults," I snapped.

Now I wasn't only pissed off because some areshole had pulled out in front of me, but also because I had to begrudgingly concede my partner was right. These types of judgments are fruitless, unfounded and generally don't contribute to greater harmony and love in the world, something I do aspire to, though, admittedly, don't always achieve. 

Another kind of judgment I tend to indulge are those of the paranoid type. Take, for example, the young man who approached me the other day while I was out with my kids. My initial thoughts were: "Who are you? Some con man who thinks I'm a single mother they can bed then take for all she's got?"

I surprised even myself: how could such profound paranoiac thoughts erupt from my mind? It turned out he'd just arrived from Germany and was excited about being in Bondi for the first time. 

Today was another doozy. After years of wearing the ring I'd bought him from Mexico, my partner decided to take it off and wear a ring an ex-girlfriend had given him instead.

"Hmmm," I said. "That's telling!"

"Telling of what?" he asked. 

I was silent. I couldn't quite decide what it was telling of, but it was something, and something bad, I was sure of it. It's an ugly ring anyway, gold with a black stone. Ooops, there I go with my judgments again. (Sorry, honey, they're your fingers, you can wear what you want. Just don't be surprised if you're missing a finger one morning... ha, ha, joke! What's that? Not funny? You're right, probably not the best joke to make about a guitar player.) 

Yet, not all my judgments are this, well, unenlightened; I'd like to think that of the hundreds that pass through my mind each day, some of them are sound, and that mostly I use my better judgment to get through life. 

I haven't yet been hit by a bus or ended up in jail. Nor am I living on the streets, though if you look at the way old Jim has his place set up overlooking Bondi Beach, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I could probably make that work for myself if I had to. But with a family to support that's probably not such a good idea, so I use my better judgment to steer us through the streets of life as best I can. 

Every now and again there's the dog shit to navigate, but mostly I skirt around it with graceful ease, much like those unenlightened judgments that pop into my mind. I figure dog shit is inevitable in life, but it's easy to step around if you know what it is. And if I do happen to step in it, I can only hope that I have shoes on. The thought of it squishing up between my toes... well, let's not go there, shall we!

Beautiful death

Early this morning my mum rang to tell me Grandma had died in the night. Finally, after many, many long years of tormented thoughts and restless, unhappy moments, she'd allowed beautiful death to take her.

The last time I saw Grandma we shared a rare happy moment; at least that is how I wish to remember it. She even laughed at Grandad's joke about old age: "You wouldn't wish it upon your worst enemy, would you love?" 

She was dressed in a skirt and light blouse and sitting up in the armchair that sat beside her bed, sipping a cup of warm tea through a straw that Grandad brought to her lips. My daughter, only a year old, had just learned to walk and was exploring Grandma's room in the nursing home where she had lived the last four years of her life. Few words were exchanged; mostly we watched my daughter, whose life was ahead of her.

Grandma's life was behind her and she didn't much like to touch upon her past. Though she was sitting there, a faint smile on her lips, she had left a long time ago. 

Slowly, over seven long years she withdrew from life, from those around her, further into herself, and what she saw in the darkness of her own soul, she didn't much like, and would often moan of demons and bad thoughts, tormented. 

Each time I saw her, though, I would get a momentary glimpse of the grandma I knew as a young child, the grandma I remember as a young woman, the grandma who had a sharp mind and was interested in life. 

As a child she would hand out pocket money to me and my siblings; the amount we received matched our ages, which always suited me fine because I was the eldest. As a child, grandma was the adult with the treats: biscuits, cakes, ice blocks, ice cream with topping... I always chose caramel. She always had time to play games, too, ensuring the board games she bought us each Christmas never went to waste. 

As a young woman, Grandma always recognised and congratulated me on my achievements and, along with Grandad, attended my Master's graduation ceremony when my mother and father couldn't. As a young woman, Grandma gave me one of her coat hangers with clips so I could hang up the only skirt I owned. It broke only a couple of weeks ago. 

                                    *****

Dear Grandma, dear ashamed Grandma, whose father left, remarried, started another family and never visited again.

Dear Grandma, dear money-conscious Grandma, who learned the value of how to save during the Great Depression and would always know exactly how much money she had – down to the last cent.

Dear Grandma, dear graceful Grandma, who won Grandad's heart when she danced at the Palais Royale in Katoomba, only 16.

Dear Grandma, dear meticulous Grandma, whose ability to keep her home dust free was second to none.  

Dear Grandma, dear repressed Grandma, who refused to cry when her daughter died of asthma when she was ten.

Dear Grandma, dear disciplined Grandma, who kept her sweet tooth in check for many long years rather than have her gallbladder removed.  

Dear Grandma, dear delicate Grandma, who would daintily sip half a glass of sherry each night before dinner.

Dear Grandma, dear sensitive Grandma, who always gave me the benefit of the doubt, even when I didn't deserve it. 

Dear Grandma, dear departed Grandma. You live on in me, though I may never have a home as dust free as yours, and in my memory of you. May you be at peace. I love you.

 

 

After the election

I had another topic in mind for this week's blog, but how could I think of anything else with the US election on? Not that I generally get excited by US elections, but there was something about this one that piqued my interest, ie. a young, handsome and healthy African-American with a gift for oratory.  

I spent Wednesday in a state of nervous anticipation and was overjoyed when the results came in, overwhelmingly in favour of Barack Obama. This time there was no question who had won!

I shared my joy with everyone who happened to be near and, not surprisingly, my positivity attracted the attention of the doomsayers, naysayers and cynics. "Sorry to rain on your parade," said one, "... but it unfortunately won't bring much change."

Yet, for me the change had already happened and it was huge. An African-American was now the President of the US, a little less than 150 years after the abolition of African slavery. It gave me restored faith in humanity and its ideals. If we believe long enough and work hard enough, we can change things. The process may be long and arduous, but success is possible.

Furthermore, it gave me a renewed respect for Americans that I've never really experienced before. I've always turned up my nose at American nationalism. To be honest, I've just never really understood it because it's so removed from the Australian way. But talk of liberty, freedom and the American way sounded so much sweeter when Obama spoke. From the lips of George Double Ya it just sounded like a heap of bullshit.

What kind of change do these naysayers expect anyway? Are they dejected idealists who hanker for utopia and haven't yet woken to reality? Are they secretly waiting for a messiah to save them and take them to paradise? They seem to forget that we're talking about politicians here.

The best we can hope for when it comes to politicians is that they have a modicum of intelligence and commonsense, and I think Obama has a touch more of each than George Double Ya ever did. This makes me feel slightly more comfortable about the future; yet I have no illusions of Obama riding in on a white stallion and making right all the ills of his country, many of which have a direct and powerful impact on the rest of the world. (Read: subprime debacle!) He has his job cut out for him and I'll be interested to see how he faces the challenges.

So much fear is generated in the media about the present day economic meltdown, as well as a lot of contradictory viewpoints, which is as it should be in a democratic society (we don't want propaganda). I lap it up but I don't take it on because I know that life is much bigger than this. Hasn't humanity forever dealt with crumbling empires, war, destruction, devastation? Isn't our present economic meltdown simply another stepping stone on humanity's journey? And when we're about to face difficult times, is not the hope of something new, something different (Obama) exactly what we need to see us stand strong in the face of adversity? Hope and faith work well when they walk hand-in-hand with diligence, realism and pragmatism. 

Where's our faith? Where's our stamina? Have we all become so comfortable with life during these years of growth that we're just going to lie down and let the world swallow us up? Hardly. Obama has restored my hope in humanity; he reminds me how far we can come if we believe, have hope, work diligently, be resourceful, be courageous and never, ever give up!

Sure we've enjoyed wonderful benefits over the past years, but is society truly happy just because there are more shopping centres to go to where we can consume? Look at the obesity, the depression, the stress... humanity is suffering under the weight of its own greed. And isn't greed one of the seven deadly sins? 

Perhaps it's time to unshackle ourselves from the unnecessary clutter. Perhaps we'll realise that we can live without two houses, two cars and five TV sets. And as we unshackle ourselves, perhaps we'll have more time to spend with the people we love without the stress and anxiety that comes when we chase after the elusive dollar.

That's not to say I don't enjoy and like the benefits of a flourishing society. I've enjoyed unprecedented freedom in the past decade. I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world, eat the best food, enjoy the best that life has to offer. Yet I also know that there's a lot of fat I can cut if I'm called to do so. 

Ultimately, I'm blessed not because I own the latest plasma TV but because I have a roof over my head, food in my belly and my husband and children by my side. Everything else is just icing on the cake.