How was your trip?

It's been a bit over 2 weeks since we returned from our Chilean adventure. As you would expect, lots of people have asked us 'How was it?' Well, the short answer is: 'It was amazing!'

But that answer, even when fleshed out by brief descriptions of where we went, who we met, the food, a few of the cultural differences etc, it doesn't even come close to capturing the myriad of incredible sights, sounds, smells and interactions we got to experience and participate in for 3 short weeks. Not to mention the delight of reuniting with old friends and introducing our kids to theirs.

In the olden days, people would host 'slide nights' where they subjected their friends to blow by blow accounts of their holidays. 'And here we all are in front of the *insert famous but boring -looking landmark*, wearing tacky T-shirts or mixing it with the locals'...You get my drift.
These days we can do the same instantaneously through Instagram et al, but I for one get a bit sick of scrolling through umpteen images with little explanation or context.

Also, I think that as a 'reflector'-type personality, I need time to process my experiences before I feel able to share them in any meaningful way. But also being a procrastinator, I rarely get the ideal conditions I need to sit down and write out what has been doing the rounds in my head. Ah, the joy of being me!

So, a single photo and a thought will have to do for today. The photo is of me and my 2 boys in front of a majestic lake and mountain in the Torres del Paine National Park, way down in the Southernmost tip of Chile. We nicknamed them the Misty Mountains as Dan was reading 'The Hobbit' aloud while we were away.  I love it because it captures us, out 'in the wild' and out of our comfort zone, yet managing to live in the moment and enjoy one another. Maybe that is more than enough, even for a procrastinating reflector-type like me.

Misty Mountains

Go Set a Watchman

Recently my bookgroup decided to read Harper Lee's 1960 classic 'To Kill a Mockingbird'. I was in two minds about reading the companion book 'Go Set a Watchman', which was just published in 2015. But in the end I did. Here's an interview with myself about it. 

So why all the fuss? 

There was quite a bit of controversy in literary circles when it was first published last year because Lee was an old woman (she has since died), and some people felt that she may have been pressured into publishing this work which she actually wrote in the 1950s, before 'Mockingbird'. 

Basically, it's the story of Scout Finch's coming of age. She is 26, returning to her hometown of Maycomb, Alabama from studying up North in New York. She sees the town and its inhabitants through new eyes and questions her place in it. The biggest crisis relates to her relationship with her father Atticus. The book's climax describes the severing of her 'watchman' or conscience from that of her father and thereby becoming her own person. 

Are you glad you read it? 

I deliberated a fair bit before taking the plunge and reading it. Even then, I read it quite quickly and with low expectations. I tried to treat it as a research task and not get too emotionally involved. 

Clearly it is an inferior book - people who've said it's like the first draft of 'Mockingbird' are pretty much on the money. However, I didn't hate it. In fact, I think it helped me appreciate the first book in a new way. 

But what about the alleged portrayal of Atticus as a racist? 

Well, it wasn't as clear cut as all that, in my opinion. Seen through the eyes of Scout the child, Atticus Finch is pretty much faultless. But seen through the eyes of 20-something year old Scout, her god turns out to have clay feet. It is around the issue of civil rights that they clash - Scout is horrified at her hometown's calcified parochial attitudes towards Negroes, her own father included. Whereas the aging Atticus is uncomfortable about the rapid changes taking place and does not think that the Negroes are ready to participate in society as equals to their white counterparts. 

Personally I think it's a bit too easy to call somebody a racist from where we sit on the other side of Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement (which I must confess I know embarrassingly little about). If the Atticus of 'Mockingbird' is the same Atticus of 'Watchman', then he is a man of integrity and truly believes that all humans should be treated equally, simply because they are human. Scout does accuse him of denying Negroes full human rights because he doesn't think that they are 'ready' to have the vote. But he is also the kind of person who believed that not every white man should have the right to vote. So, maybe he was a bit racist by 21st century standards, but he was still ahead of his time.

OK, so would you recommend others to read 'Watchman'? 

Well, it depends. If you adored 'Mockingbird' as one of the finest pieces of literature ever written, then it may break your heart to read a lesser piece by the same author. If you loved the Atticus portrayed so brilliantly by Gregory Peck in the black & white movie, then maybe you'll be unimpressed by the 'shades of grey' version we find in 'Watchman'.

But, if you are curious about the wider social & historical context of the first book and you can handle a bit of uncomfortable exploration, then maybe it's worth a look. Someone in my book group suggested that 'Watchman' is actually the book we need to read today, in that it speaks to the question 'What is racism?' in a more nuanced  fashion than did 'Mockingbird'. It challenges us to consider the prejudices inherent in each of us and the enormous impact that a parent has on a child's worldview.

The message of 'Watchman' is consistent with that of 'Mockingbird' - "you never really know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them for a while". It also is a poignant tale of a young woman re-examining her childhood suppositions and finding her own path.

Friendshifts

Hubby and I are gearing up to do something we have managed to avoid for 16 years of married life: Renovations! Hence, I have been delaying decluttering by going through old photos. Which has led me to reminisce about friendships.

I once read somewhere that middle children tend to form a tight knit group of friends in their teen/adolescent years, almost like a surrogate family. If this is true, I certainly fit the bill. I remember countless hours on the phone, having intense conversations with friends, occasionally interrupted by the 'Call Waiting' beep - "I'll call you back, Ok?" - or my big sister, who wanted to use the phone herself. Ah yes, the days when there was only one telephone per household and you actually talked rather than texted...

Besides being a textbook middle child, I'm also one of those sentimental souls who like to keep physical momentos of every person who's ever impacted my life - cue the hoarding tendencies.
But, I've had to get a bit ruthless with chucking out momentos and am also rethinking my youthful ideals about what makes a 'good friend'.

I used to think that an ideal friend should understand you, actively support you, have common values and be ready to say a hard and honest word to you if necessary. Oh yeah, and be a friend for life. Talk about setting my potential friends up for failure!
Thankfully, I've realised over time that there are many different kinds of friendships. 'Friends for a reason, friends for a season and friends for life' I believe a wise woman on the radio surmised.


'We were friends, and have become strangers to each other. But perhaps this is as it ought to be. We are two ships, each of which has its own goal and course. Our paths may cross and we may celebrate a feast together, as we did - and then the good ships rested so quietly in one harbour and in one sunshine that it may have looked as if they had reached their goal and as if they had but one goal. 
But then the almighty force of our tasks drove us apart again into different seas and sunny zones. That we had become strangers to one another is the law above us - by the same token we should also become more sacred to each other and the memory of our former friendship more sacred. 
There is probably a tremendous but invisible stellar orbit in which our very different ways and goals may be included as small parts of this path.'
Friedrich Nietzsche.

So here's to friends of all kinds, of all backgrounds, ages and stages. I truly believe that our lives are made richer by allowing non-relatives to share in our lives. Even if it's just for a brief time, they still help to shape you and hopefully you, them. And, if you have the good fortune to have a handful of like-minded pals who've stuck with you through stormy and calm waters, count yourself incredibly blessed.

What it is is beautiful

I turned 43 last week. One of the best things for me about moving to Melbourne has been getting the Melbourne Cup public holiday, which often falls around my birthday (November 4, FYI:)

This year I threw a little 'Cuppa' party, which was pretty fun... Although I discovered that when it comes to my friends, if you ask them to wear a hat, they won't; whereas if you say 'Don't bring a present', they will. I guess we're all getting to the age where we do what we like instead of sticking to 'the rules'. Or maybe we just need better reading glasses.

Anyways, Dan gave me a book of poems by Sarah Dunning Park. It's called 'what it is is beautiful' and the byline is honest poems for mothers of small children. Bingo!

Here's a taste of one of my favourites:

RX
It hit me,
helping my listless kid into the backseat
And then reaching, tissue in hand,
To swipe at her sister's runny nose:
It's impossible to stop.

Her incessant stuffiness, yes, and that junky cough that won't quit --
but even more, it's impossible to stop
This cycle of constant motion.

I thought all this
while shifting into reverse
and tapping at the map on my phone
and passing a sippy cup to the back
and unwrapping a piece of red candy
masquerading as medicinal balm
for my sore throat.

The sloughed-off wrapper landed softly
among the library books beside me,
but the lozenge's marketing slogan
kept looping through my head:

The show must go on, 
it urged, or perhaps warned,
since I felt a sense of deep foreboding
that our show was teetering
on the brink of collapse.

Do you like it? I just love how her mind works, possibly because it's a bit like how mine works (I love that we have so much in common!!!) And I think she does well at being honest & real about the challenges of motherhood without being a martyr or overly sentimental.

In case you're wondering, the poem does have a happy-ish ending. Basically, the mother imagines that in a bygone era a kind doctor would come to her house and prescribe the treatment (RX) she needs for her soul - to slow down.

So, here's to finding moments of 'slow' in the midst of life's chaos and busy-ness. And to birthdays, that remind us of how we're getting older but hopefully wiser and quirkier and still loved, quirks and all.

Blood and Water

Holidays can be wonderful. Especially if you get to go somewhere that involves passports and free accomodation. For us, that was our holiday last week to New Zealand.

Highlights: Seeing my sister Jenny's new house & being swept up in their family dynamic for a week, making a campfire in the backyard & toasting marshmellows, indoor camping/sleepover for the kids, discovering quirky shops, cafes and architecture (I fell in love with the Hampton-style houses in St Johns and surrounds), fish & chips at Mission Bay, walking around Mt Wellington and the kids tumbling down the green Shire-like hills.

Unexpected delights: being contacted by an old friend & sharing a spontaneous plate of oysters, wandering the grungy K-Road with Dan - a tradition which we began as uni students, reconnecting in  idyllic Matakana with a family who'd spent a 'gap' year in Melbourne and attended our church ("Why did we never do this in Melbourne?") and picking out a caseload of scarves, jewellery, knick-knacks and gifts from Jenny's warehouse to take home...My sister & bro-in law run a gift wholesale business, so it shouldn't be that unexpected, but I'd forgotten how fun it is to raid her stuff! As teenagers she'd tell me off for 'borrowing' her clothes...But she's more than made up for past angst now - even providing an extra suitcase to carry all the extra luggage.

Material aquisitions aside, the biggest delight for me was seeing the cousins having a ball. Nothing like spending a week living together for family bonding! My niece is 9 and has 6 male cousins so was over the moon to meet Evangeline and spend 'girltime' with her.

No family is perfect, but I feel incredibly blessed to have these people in my life.

Seasons Greetings

Hello Spring!

2015 has been a pretty momentous year. My third child Evangeline (a girl!) was born December 30 of last year. We moved house 2 weeks after the birth (crazy, I know) and my eldest boy Nate started school in the new suburb.
So, almost 9 months later and I feel like I'm just coming up for air, looking around and saying 'Ah, so is this what my new life looks like... Actually, it's not bad!'
I am so, so happy to see the cherry blossom trees blooming everywhere, signalling that we've made it through one of the coldest and bitterest Melbourne Winters ever.

Scratching around for some 'Springy' poetry, I found myself drawn instead to an Autumnal one. It's  'At Mornington' by Gwen Harwood, one my all-time favourite Aussie poets. Here's a taste:

This morning I saw in your garden
fine pumpkins grown on a trellis
so it seemed that the vines were rising
to flourish the fruits of the earth
above their humble station
in airy defiance of nature
- a parable of myself,
a skinful of elements climbing
from earth to the fastness of light;
now come to that time of life
when our bones begin to wear us,
to settle our flesh in final shape
as the drying face of land
rose out of earth's seamless waters.

See the clip for a complete rendition of 'At Mornington':

I wonder what you thought of it?
My hubby would probably call it a sad poem, but I prefer to think of it as nostalgic, reflective and cathartic. It's about memory, friendship, mortality. What more could you want in a poem?
May this Spring provide more than enough to refresh you, in whatever season of life you find yourself.

Cape Crusade

I hate to admit it but I've all but abandoned my search for the perfect cape. Inspired by Lord of the Rings and Sherlock Holmes, I've spent the past couple of weeks dreaming about a forest green woolen cape with plaid lining and a fur collar. I've posted on Facebook, pinned on Pinterest and trawled Etsy and Fabricworm for suitable materials. I even had a skilled seamstress lined up who has drawn up a draft pattern and everything (hi Rosey dear!).

So, why? Well, a number of reasons (including cost), but in the end, I've determined that I just need to give the whole cape caper a break.

Recall with me my futile search for my Dream Jacket in my 20s. I was looking for (funnily enough) a knee-length, dark green, 70s style jacket. I had spied one in a (closed) shop window on K Road, Auckland while on holiday and become fixated with finding one like it once back in Oz.

There were many 'interim' jackets - brown suede from Glebe Markets, brown leather from a random Op Shop in Auckland, dark brown vinyl/velvet from Glebe again and more recently, a navy leather jacket from Retro Star on Flinders St.

When I took the navy jacket to the counter at Retro Star, I said to the saleswoman "You know, this is so close to my Dream Jacket except it's navy instead of green..."
To which she replied "I like navy, it's smart. But we do get green jackets in a bit so you should come back!" (Great sales tactic, hey?) "And anyway, that's what makes it a Dream Jacket, isn't it?"

Interim 'cape'

I left, thinking about the wisdom of the op shop checkout chick. I've come to think that she is right. Anything that we spend lots of time and energy dreaming about is probably not going to be that satisfying once we actually get our mitts on it. The beauty of the Op Shop find is that you stumble across it, like hidden treasure in a dusty dungeon filled with other people's offcasts. Then it becomes an anecdote when you receive compliments on the coat/shoes/bag: "Oh, this old thing? I found it in an Op Shop on King St and paid 20 bucks for it..."

Anyway, where God shuts a door, somewhere He opens a window (thankyou Reverend Mother). This week I found an 'interim' cape - well it's a woolen jacket thing, plaid and a bit cape-ish. And warm, and covers my growing belly (baby #3 being cooked as we speak). And it was on sale, so everyone's happy.

For now.

How about you? What's your Dream Thing - be it clothing, household appliance, electronic device or miscellaneous item? How did you feel when you finally got it? I'd love to hear all about it!