a change in time

musings on behavioural change – the small stuff and the big stuff.

Author Archives: rhinophile


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To be a grandmother

We take on many roles in our lives; some we resist, some we question, while others we embrace. It’s almost a year now since I feel fortunate to have been able to add the title of grandmother to the list of many other roles I have gathered over the 64 years I have been on this planet.

On the 24th September 2020, Towera May Webb was born to Louis and Tam. Well, actually, Tam gave birth and Louis had the role of support person and chief photographer. Giving birth during Victoria’s 111 day lockdown, they were lucky to be booked in at the Royal Women’s Hospital where partners could stay overnight if there was a single room available. There was.

In joining the ranks of those who have gone before me, I have been contemplating how the women who were my grandmothers, and my own mother as a grandmother, have shaped me.

THE MATERNAL LINEAGE…

I didn’t have the chance to meet my maternal grandmother, born Amelia Jane Hateley in Kinimakatka, Victoria, on the 24th December 1890. She died just over two years before my parents were married. She was 58 years old. This is the only photo I have ever seen of her. She raised eight children, four with her first husband and, after he was killed in an accident, she married again, giving birth to four more children, one of which was our mother, Edna. Amelia volunteered for several local community groups in Bendigo and was a founding member of the local state school mother’s group.

I never thought to ask mum if she liked being a grandmother to Peter’s and my two sons, Louis and Yoshi. When I think back over the years, I remember how generous she was with her time and energy, especially when it came to anything grandson-related. She once said to me that she wanted to create memories for them, and based on Louis’ and Yoshi’s recollections of the times spent with my parents, I think she achieved this end. Her desire to be involved in their lives was inspiring.

I like this photo of mum with a very young Yoshi and a very grown-up five year old Louis. She would have been around the age I am now. I like the way she is presenting Yoshi to us, as if to say, and here is another one!

…AND FROM THE PATERNAL SIDE OF THE FAMILY

My father’s mother, was born Lillias Norah Gertrude Mitchell, on the 17th March, 1891 in Wanurp, Victoria. She spent much of her younger years living on their farm near Goschen. She raised five children. Our father was the youngest. She passed away when she 82 years old, the year I turned 16. I wish I could have known her when she was a young woman, she was clearly a resilient person. I remember her as a sweet and quite fragile grandmother, which did not reflect all that she achieved throughout her long life.

MORE RECENT TIMES

In early 2020, Keith and I arrived home from our trip to Japan and Europe. Louis and Tam were eager to catch up. Tam’s mother, Dorothy was visiting from Malawi. It wasn’t long before the news was out – Tam was pregnant! It was very thoughtful of them to wait until we returned home to hear the news ‘face to face’. One of the special moments was the acknowledgment that passed between Dorothy and I, that we would both be grandmothers to this baby, something we would always share.

This photo of mum, Tam and Dorothy was taken when we visited mum at Anzac Lodge in 2016. I like the smiles. Mum would have been proud to show off her book about Barack Obama. Dorothy is already an experienced grandmother to Ivan and Natasha. I’m sure she has learnt a few ‘tricks of the trade’ from them! She was going to be here for Towera’s birth and to support the family in the early days however the pandemic soon stopped these plans when international travel was taken off the map. We hope it won’t be too much longer before they can meet, at least not on Zoom!

My grandmothers, both born in the early 1890s, arrived in a world that had just seen the last of ‘the long economic boom which began with the gold rushes of the 1850s… unemployment and poverty soared.’ (www.parliament.nsw.gov.au)

A happy coincidence was finding this postcard of the Bendigo Art Gallery from 1890. Even though both grandmothers were born in rural Victoria, they both ended up with strong connections to Bendigo in later years.

My parents were born in the late 1920s, growing up just after a devastating war, in the middle of the Great Depression of the 30s and then being old enough to enlist in another war. The awareness of the frugality required to survive difficult times would have been passed onto them by their parents, helping them embrace living lightly and being content with what they had.

‘Dig for Victory’ was an initiative started in January 1942 “the Prime Minister, John Curtin, launched the publicity campaign urging householders throughout Australia to grow their own vegetables as a contribution to the war effort.” (Source: https://www.awm.gov.au/articles/encyclopedia/homefront/victory_gardens) Both our parents came from families that already had such gardens in place however I’m sure this campaign would have encouraged them to grow even more vegetables, to share with those less fortunate.
Ian Campbell and Edna May, taken on the day of their wedding, 19th January 1952, the year they both turned twenty-five. They had met as the best man and bridesmaid for our father’s brother, and ended up getting engaged after only six weeks of having met. They chose well!

Edna and Ian soon became parents themselves, and raised the four of us Hugo, Rod, Jann and I, in an era that, while post-war like their parents, had a very different motivation. Governments were committed to providing jobs for the returned servicemen and woman, encouraging families to ‘live the dream’ with all of the modern conveniences that were promoted as saving time and contributing to the growth of the economy. A refrigerator hardly seems like a luxury!

Our mother outlived both grandmothers, making it to ninety years of age. This photo was taken on her 90th birthday. We spent the night at the Sofitel, the same hotel she and our father had celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.

When I think of the lifestyles of my brothers and my sister, I think our parents’ values rubbed off on us more than we would like to have admitted as teenagers in the 60s and 70s. We all live lightly on the planet in our own ways.

SEPTEMBER 2021 – THIS DAY AND THIS AGE

So here we are, twenty years since the 9/11 attack, in the midst of a global pandemic, with much disagreement in the air about who holds the truth. Towera will be a year old in just under two weeks. What will she make of us, and all of this? We don’t know which way things will go. Will the UN Climate Change Conference in Glasgow in early November bring countries together, to work for a common cause, for our children, our grandchildren, and all creatures on this planet? This is a hope that so many have held over the generations. Only time will tell if we can make it happen, let’s hope we see change for the better.

Whatever future we create together, Towera will have her family by her side, bringing our collective experience, of those living and those who have gone before us, to prepare her for a life worth living. This photo was taken on the 26th August. Towera at eleven months already shows so much sprit and determination. She might be the one showing us what is needed to steer ourselves onto a more sustainable path, where, as my brother Rod would say, we have love and respect for all, everyone included. That sounds worth doing.


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The uncontrollable variables

Have you ever heard a combination of words, and thought, that would make a good name for a book, or a film, or maybe a band? Back in the eighties, this thought must have gone through the mind of Peter Webb, my late husband, as this is what he called our band.

The Uncontrollable Variables, from left to right: Peter Webb, Margot McCartney, Richard Holt, Ruth Williams and Gerard Rowan

At the time, and over the years, I have often secretly thought it was a rather unusual choice for a band name. Maybe it’s the reason why we didn’t become famous, or maybe that was because we were ahead of our time. (Allow me a bit of delusional thinking!)

In recent days, or years, I have rethought my response to the name. When I originally asked Peter what it meant, he would say, it’s an economic term. And I would nod, knowingly, not understanding at all. In case it’s new to you, here is the definition:

The variable in an experiment that has the potential to negatively impact the relationship between the independent and dependent variables. “The issue of uncontrolled variables often occurs in relation to problems with correlation and causation. This, therefore that, is not always true.

I’m not sure how Peter would feel about me transposing the name of his band over to the current discussion of climate change and what we oughta do. I hope he is smiling. The band name lives on!

I’m guessing it doesn’t take much thought to realise how I have linked climate change and ‘the uncontrollable variables’.

I’ve been thinking a great deal about what to write after my last blog, 7 months ago.

Since then, we have attended two of the marches organised by the School Strike for Climate group, in March and September. A lot has happened since the original strike in November last year. The numbers of people attending has grown exponentially.

Sitting on the verge in Treasury Gardens, on the 20th of September, amongst the tens of thousands of people who came together to show their support for the students, one can’t help but be moved.

Extinction Rebellion, which only formed at the end of October last year, has grown to be a worldwide movement in less than a year.

Greta Thunberg has become, even more so, the voice of a generation. (She now has 7.3 million followers on Instagram.)

And Ruth Williams? I have pulled back from social media, even though that is the stage on which we are encouraged to perform.

The photo of The Uncontrollable Variables taken at the Clifton Hill Organ Factory in the early eighties, is the only photo we have of the members of the band.

In recent times, I feel that my life is being stolen from me. I’m not sure if it’s big data or the seemingly constant expectation to share one’s life, or an existential fear of whether we can create a future that will rectify Greta’s assertion that:

The eyes of all future generations are upon you. And if you choose to fail us, I say: we will never forgive you.

I was going to use one of the images of ‘angry Greta’ from her speech at the UN Climate Action however, this is the latest photo she has shared of herself so I have gone with this one.

I’m not ready to join Extinction Rebellion but I am ready to rebel.

My current gospel is ‘Climate: A New Story‘ by Charles Eisenstein. He says many things that are worthy of being included here but it’s probably better if you read the book yourself.

One of the things he says rang true with me even more so today than it had previously:

“If everyone focused their love, care, and commitment on protecting and regenerating their local places, while respecting the local places of others, then a side effect would be the resolution of the climate crisis. If we strove to heal and protect every estuary, every forest, every wetlands, every piece of damaged land, every coral reef, every lake and every mountain, not only would most drilling, fracking, and pipelining have to stop, but the biosphere would become far more resilient too.”

It really does serve as an empowering antidote!

Why today? I went further north, upstream, with Graeme Hamilton, from Darebin Creek Management Committee, as my guide. He showed me river red gums that are between four and eight hundred years old. We visited sections of Darebin Creek that are so unique and so much in need of our love, care and commitment.

My heart was broken and opened at the same time.

This river red gum lives in Parkhill Crescent Reserve, Millpark. It has been tested as being 800 years old. It is one of the lucky ones that has managed to survive the spread of the housing estates.

And being an Uncontrollable Variable seems to take on more urgency.

Dr Samuel Alexander in his paper, The Rebellion Hypothesis: Crisis, Inaction and the Question of Civil Disobedience’ states:

As the broad ecological crisis intensifies, and collapse situations become more common, challenging and disruptive, I have argued that more and more people will face psychological tipping points and become engaged in collective action. At some point, tolerance of ecocide will become intolerable.”

Some ecocide happening in our backyard. Artichoke thistle is spreading silently along and around the creek. A new housing estate will follow soon.

While Extinction Rebellion stage their events around attracting the attention of the media, you will find me down at the creek. There might not even be one photo taken.

Don’t get me wrong, I encourage their rebellion, and admire their willingness to be arrested and go to jail. Rebel for life! They, and we, are the uncontrollable variables.

Rebel for Life at Flinders Street Station. Courtesy of Extinction Rebellion.


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Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?

Do you remember this game? The call-and-answer goes like this:

Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar? Ruth stole the cookie from the cookie jar. Who me? Yes you! Not me! Then who?

It seems appropriate to choose the title of a children’s singalong game for this blog. I feel compelled to write about the current groundswell of young people protesting against the lack of action being taken on climate change by governments and corporations around the world.

This caricature of Donald Trump and his cronies is along the lines of where I’m going with this analogy, however as the above rhyme reveals, I have also had my hand in the cookie jar.

On the 10th of February we attended an event at the National Sustainable Living Festival entitled ‘Schooled: Students striking out for the climate’. We wanted to listen to what younger people had to say about the state of the environment and whether they felt there were any cookies left.

The four speakers were: Marco Bellemo
Northcote High School, VIC, Yr 12
Jean Hinchliffe
Fort St High School, NSW, Yr 10
Harriet O’Shea-Carre
Castlemaine Steiner School, VIC, Yr 9
Jagveer Singh
Hoppers Crossing Secondary College, VIC, Yr 12 graduate

We were interested to notice that there was a greater proportion of adults in the audience than students. This was particularly apparent in the Q&A at the end, where it seemed like those asking questions, mainly adults, were more intent on getting across their agendas. The MC pointed out that we were there to listen to what the students had to say on this topic.

The ‘issue’ that stood out most for me is kind of obvious, and yet it hadn’t really hit me until I was sitting under this dome on Birrarung Marr. The students are not eligible to vote and yet it is their future that we are currently messing with. A member of the audience wanted to know how we can help support them. All students agreed that the first thing we can do is to show up to the next student strike on March the 15th.

Taken in Melbourne at the school strike on November 30th last year. (Photo credit, Julian Meehan) The article in which this photograph appeared is worth a read: https://www.news.com.au/technology/environment/climate-change/unions-back-next-school-strike-in-australia-ahead-of-2019-federal-election/news-story/50dcdc9aae668636129232bdc0518841

Jean Hinchliffe, the representative from NSW, cited Greta Thunberg, a 15 year old Swedish student, as her inspiration for organizing the march in Sydney. There is definitely something about Greta that causes one to feel inspired, and I’m saying that just from following her on Instagram. Interestingly, Greta’s first few posts attracted an average of 600 ‘likes’. After being interviewed by the Australian edition of the Guardian, that jumped to 10,000. Following on from her TED Talk and being interviewed by a range of different media outlets, her posts now attract up to 90,000 responses and hundreds of comments.

Australian readers will appreciate this post! The students commented on how pleased they were that the Prime Minister had responded, firstly because it meant he was taking notice, and secondly, that being told to stay in school just made them want to go on strike even more. Jean also mentioned that after seeing how committed the Australian students were to getting their voices heard, Greta was re-inspired to keep going.

On Tuesday night we joined a full house at Cinema Nova in Carlton to see Youth Unstoppable, one of the films being shown at the Transitions Film Festival. The film was directed by Slater Jewell-Kemker. Shot over eight years, starting when she was just 15 years old, Jewell-Kemker documents the highs and lows of the Youth Climate Movement. We were left with much to think about. One thing that struck me was the involvement of young people from many countries around the world. Jewell-Kemker noted how difficult it was to keep the faith, and that many of the friends she had met along the way had dropped out of the movement, although a handful have remained committed throughout those years. It’s hard enough for adults to keep up the energy and determination required for this level of activism.

Jewell-Kemker photographed with Mike Moore at the Traverse City Film Festival. Other well known Americans have put up their hands to support Jewell-Kemker. One is Adrian Grenier, the lead actor from Entourage, who came on board as an executive producer, declaring, “Young people these days aren’t waiting. They have access to the facts on climate change, the intelligence to understand our negligence as adults, and the platform to stand up and speak out.”

The three person panel assembled for the Q&A after the screening consisted of a representative from United Nations Association of Australia, Graham Hunter, the climate change program manager, as well as a representative from the Youth Climate Movement, and a young woman who had attended many of the UN Climate Change conferences but was now working for an environmental group. This time the audience was mainly populated with younger people. It was interesting to see Marco Bellemo in the audience. We had been impressed by his views and his ability to share them eloquently when we saw him speak at the ‘Schooled!’ panel earlier in the month. His question cut through the ‘feel good’ mood that was in the air.

Marco Bellemo poses with his sign at last year’s school strike. It states clearly what he stands for. On Tuesday night he wanted to know why many environmental groups shied away from declaring that what we are facing is a climate emergency. All members of the panel agreed that it was an emergency but felt that to use such a word in the public arena would panic people, which would make it harder to create change.

George Monbiot, in an article about the student strikes, published in the Guardian on the 20th of February 2019, asserts, “Drawing on the successes and failures of the past, we must help young climate strikers to win their existential struggle. This one has to succeed. It is not just that the youth climate strike, now building worldwide with tremendous speed, is our best (and possibly our last) hope of avoiding catastrophe. It is also that the impacts on the young people themselves, if their mobilisation and hopes collapse so early in their lives, could be devastating.

Many of the issues that people feel passionate about have resulted in street marches and other forms of protest. These marches are a dramatic way of showing that ‘the people united will never be defeated’. And while the excitement and media coverage of a march is likely to fade out sooner than the organisers might hope, the challenge is to refuse to give up. Such complex matters will require many more marches and greater levels of action. It’s not alright for my generation to consider passing on the baton. Everyone is needed for this chapter of our history.

We were all young once and many of us were passionate about a range of causes. The first march I attended was in 1979 in Melbourne, it was to ‘Reclaim the Night’. I took along my camera, taking photos of the streets filled with protesters holding their banners high. The night felt reclaimed, at least for a short time.


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Finding my way back

This blog originated as a response to having completed a Grad Cert in Sustainability at Swinburne in 2014. Rather than expect you to go back through the archives, I’ll give you the brief summary of the history of this site. I chose the title, ‘a change in time’ as a homage to ‘a stitch in time saves nine’. It occurred to me that a change in time, as in us changing our behaviors, would add up to something of value. I still believe this.

A book I borrowed from the library. I didn’t end up reading it but I couldn’t resist the title.

Originally, my dear husband Peter, did not feature in my posts, however as our lives became so closely linked to hospitals and the need and desire to survive them, my posts became inextricably linked to those times and those changes, many of which were to do with our ability to change our attitude, as we weren’t able to change our circumstances.

Peter, weathering the storm of hospital life with his trusty Ovation guitar

When Peter died, I didn’t think I would ever be able to continue to write about such seemingly ‘minor things’ as zero waste and climate change, however over the last few days, some little miracles occurred that have lead me back on the path, both literally and metaphorically. Let me start at the beginning.

Last Tuesday, my girlfriend, Susanne, flew over from Adelaide to spend a few days in Melbourne with me. It is the forty year anniversary of our friendship, so a catch up was compulsory.

Susanne seems to pick the perfect time to visit – last time she came to Melbourne she cheered my mother up immensely.

Our first stopover was a visit to my dermatologist in Moonee Ponds to check on a couple of spots that were a bit suss. We were early so we went for a walk in Queens Park, one of those gardens I have driven past many times and never stopped to visit. We were impressed immediately by the range of trees and shrubs and the iconic water fountain in the middle of the lake.

The fountain often appears as a background image for one of the major news networks.

We noticed a worker raking out mulch around one of the trees. Susanne, in her usual friendly way, greeted him and before long we were chatting like old friends. We soon found out his name is Russell and that he has worked for Moonee Valley City Council for forty years, with most of his time dedicated to this park. I could write an entire blog just about Russell however, for now I will just let you know that, after asking if he knew of any magnificent trees we could visit, he recommended the Ada Tree near Warburton. Based on this advice, we decided to travel there on Thursday.

The following day was my first day back at work after a three year break. Susanne went exploring around the local area, ending up at the vegan bakery in High Street Preston, where a fellow customer sat down and, before long, recommended that we visit the Redwood Forest, also near Warburton. Once again, there is much more to this story but I will cut out entire scenes and let you know that we ended up choosing to visit the Redwood Forest .

Spectacular! OMG! Add your favorite superlative!

I bet you’re now wondering, ‘What the hell is a redwood forest doing on the outskirts of Warburton?’. My first thought. Once I entered the forest – officially a plantation – I no longer cared how it got there. It’s not often that I feel that sense of awe one felt as a child, but here, in the midst of these 1400 or so trees, one feels both small and infinite. It’s not something that I can easily capture in words.

With my ‘red’ hair and brown outfit, I blended in perfectly.

As we were leaving the forest, a few seconds after we walked out, a branch fell from a tree just a couple of metres from where we were standing. Woah! That was close! There were some other folk nearby so they came over and we marveled at the branch falling and us narrowly escaping being clobbered by it.

I chatted with Michael, a Christian monk, who has a strong association with the trees; he actually takes groups there to meditate. He also organised a group of locals that managed to get National Trust status for the trees so that they can never be cut down. Bless! He was both pleased and saddened about the recent interest in the trees. As more people visit, the roads and tracks are being damaged, and rubbish is being left behind in this once pristine area.

It is a sacred place, without a doubt. I felt a similar feeling to the one expressed by Michael. I wanted to tell everyone I know that they need to experience the strength and silence of these trees, and yet, if too many people visit, the peaceful world of the Sequoia sempervirens will be compromised.

That night, Susanne, my brother Rod, and I attended an event at Preston Town Hall – the council had organised an evening to acknowledge World Environment Day, screening two films on the damage plastic is doing to the oceans and waterways. The film that stood out to me is called Baykeepers, in which we meet the local community who remove rubbish from the beaches so it doesn’t enter Port Phillip Bay.

Neil Blake, one of the team, and founder of the Port Phillip Eco Centre, came along to answer questions after the film. Neil is a great example of how one person can make a huge difference, just in following his own beliefs and acting on them.

That’s Neil in the middle, listening to Paul extol the benefits of joining Darebin Creek Sweepers.

After our day amongst the redwood forest, and an evening watching and listening to inspiring people, I could feel a shift in my being. I was back on the horse, and back on the path. And most importantly, back in touch with my desire to do what I can to continue to change my own behavior and maybe even to inspire change in others.

All of the serendipitous encounters that occurred on this day – and there were many – pointed me in the direction of ‘the way back’. I will carry all of those who contributed with me in spirit, including Peter, whom I know would love this story, and would love that I am back on track. Although he may have a go at me for overusing a metaphor!


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On impermanence and new beginnings.

Six months have passed since my last post, which lands us at one year since Peter died. I so want to use every euphemism other than ‘Peter died’. Passed away, passed on, left us, left his body. ‘Died’ is so final. Fortunately I am currently in Japan, traveling with my sister, Jann, and there are many other interpretations on offer here regarding what happens to our loved ones when they die. Besides, it’s cherry blossom time!

This was the first blossom we saw up close, in Kanazawa, walking the back streets, a few days into our trip.

Everybody knows how much the Japanese love their cherry blossoms. I like the fact that they appreciate the blossoms because they flower for such a short period of time, around a week, reminding them of the impermanent nature of all things living. They even have a phrase for it. “It is a notion called mono no aware or ‘bittersweet awareness of the impermanence of things’ (From Cherry blossom season in Japan: the love of the ephemeral well worth a read if you like cherry blossoms and Japan.)

This trip has been ‘mono no aware’ in so many ways. Jann has been the perfect person to travel with. I’ve been like a puppy, dogging her heels, as she guides me from one amazing place to the next. And every place we go, we declare, “Peter would love this place!” He really did love Japan and all thing Japanese. (Maybe not all, but most.)

Shinto shrines for example. This one was a stone’s throw away from our hotel in Kanazawa. A shrine to Inari Okami, the kami of foxes, fertility, rice, tea and sake, of agriculture and industry. Very cool.

Today we made a pilgrimage to Kifune Shrine and to Mount Kurama, north of Kyoto.

I had bundled up a package of Peter’s ashes for the journey, doing my best to make it as symbolically relevant as possible. I hope you like my efforts. Some orange fabric, clogs, a heart, and traveling in a wooden box. (The cute soft toys are along for the ride. Travel Suki on the left has been traveling with Jann for many years, Wabi Sabi Suki is traveling with me for the for the first time. It’s the year of the dog, and Peter was born in this year. He’d probably hate the Suki lookalikes but he wouldn’t tell me to my face!)

The walk from the Shinto shrines to the Buddhist temples, across the mountain, took us five hours. The Shinto shrines are spread out over three sacred areas, so I decided to spread some ashes at each spot. It was both gut wrenchingly sad and unexpectedly elating. I told Jann that part of my intention in doing the pilgrimage was to change my perspective from ‘he should never had died’, to a more accepting relationship to the impermanent nature of life. Which brings us back to the cherry blossoms.

Jann took this sneaky shot of me spreading some of Peter’s ashes amongst the roots of this tree. Someone else had a similar idea so it is clearly a good place for shrines.

While the Japanese appreciate impermanence more so than most of us in the west, they also love the way that the blossoms acknowledge new beginnings. “For people living in Japan, the sight of cherry blossoms invariably brings up memories of starting a new school, a new job, moving into a new apartment.” (From the same article mentioned above.)

When Jann was in Japan last year she had a chance to ask the gods how her friend Anka, who had also recently passed away, and Peter were going in the spirit world. This is what they said, “All human beings die and their bodies will return to the earth. It can be said that people are just parts of the earth. In that sense, human beings and all other living things are equal. It means that all living things are sure to die. In that sense human and nature are not separate things… a deceased person protects and helps his descendants and relatives. I think this is not a general way of thinking in the West.” You’re right about that, God.

So now you know, Peter is looking over us, protecting and helping us. It was such a special day. I love to think of Peter’s spirit flying around the mountain and keeping an eye on us at the same time.

The happy wanderers. Ashes scattered, after three trains, a bus ride and a long walk up and down a mountain. I’ve asked Jann to do the same for me when my time comes.


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Six months later

Today’s date, the 5th of October 2017, stamps this day as being six months since my husband, Peter, passed away.

Last night I watched a film in which the filmmaker used the technique of jumping between the past and the future, with words appearing on the screen declaring it to be ‘three weeks later’, or ‘four years earlier’. I kind of like this method of shortening time. Imagine having to watch every moment of what happened in between. For better or worse, in ‘real life’, we have to pass through every minute, there is no fast-forwarding, no rewinding.

six_months_later_2

Peter and I often talked of life being like a movie, it made some situations easier to deal with. (This photo was actually taken ‘five months later’. I wanted to choose something that looked a bit  cheerful. This was our first truly ‘Spring has sprung’ kind of day this year.) 

We knew that the disease would eventually overcome Peter’s amazing spirit. Even though we did what we could to prepare ourselves for ‘the inevitable’, we weren’t really prepared. The last blog post I wrote, on the 23rd of March, was only two weeks before Peter’s body succumbed. I still can’t believe our situation changed so quickly.

CCK_selfie

Peter took this photo of us on the 18th of March, five days before we returned home. Looking at it now, it is obvious that he was very ill. After having seen Peter’s appearance change so many times over the years, especially since diagnosis, I think I stopped relating to how he looked physically and instead looked past the body to be with his beautiful, irreverent spirit.  

Peter’s sister, Melissa, was brave enough to ask me if we had had a chance to say goodbye, in that ‘final chance to say goodbye’ kind of way. The truth is, we didn’t. Even though we had had many discussions over the years about that day eventually catching up with us, I think we had become so accustomed to planning for the next day, week, month etc, that the time to say such things came and went. I said to Melissa that in hindsight, I think it would have been too hard to finally admit to each other that ‘this is it’. With a little more hindsight, if I could rewind the days, I would make sure we said those words to each other. I wished I had thanked him for being such an amazing life partner. There are just not enough adjectives to describe who Peter was for me.

early days

This photo was taken when we attended the marriage of our friends, Michael and Rowena. I’m not sure of the actual date, some time in the 80s. I like this photo because you can definitely see ‘the look of love’ in our eyes. 

So here I am, six months later. You won’t be surprised to know that my saving grace has has been the support and love I have received from friends and family. Particularly family, especially ‘the kids’, as our mother, Edna, calls Louis, Tam, Yoshi and Helena.

having fun

‘The kids’ taking their mother on an outing to Plenty Gorge Park in South Morang in May.

 You read about people who lose their life partner, and how they appear to do all kinds of things that seem out of character. Some might choose retail therapy, others, the bottle. I might have done a bit of both, however my big one was to unintentionally take on my fear of flying; a secret I only recently revealed to my inner circle. In the last six months I have flown to Adelaide, Sydney and two trips to Tasmania. (My sister, Jann, and I were meant to fly to Japan on the 23rd of September, but that is a whole other story.)
rhino_ruth

While in Adelaide, Susanne and I visited the Monarto Zoo for a good dose of rhino therapy.   

 

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While in Tasmania, I joined Jann and Tony on several walks along the beach. Being on the edge of the ocean, seeing the expanse of water, the surrounding mountains and the sky above, one is reminded of the beauty of life, and that we even exist at all.   

I am learning to live with the paradox that ‘life not turning out as one expected’ foists upon you, being forced to face the biggest change that life has expected of me. Peter is pretty much always in my thoughts. We shared so much together. I talk to him sometimes, mainly while driving, because that is where we had many good conversations. Some days I love living in this house, where everything has been touched by one or other of Peter’s creative urges, and sometimes I just want to run away.

Three months ago, I had my haircut. I think it is fairly common for folks to acknowledge a big change in circumstances via a visit to the hairdressers.

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I now have to take my own selfies! Peter took lots of photos, including the odd photo of me, okay, he took lots of photos of me. I mentioned this to Melissa and she has taken on a bit of this ‘job’. 

The final paragraph.

And so our ‘Ruth and Peter’ film came to an end. It was not the ending we had hoped for. Everyone wants to grow old with the one they love. It is lucky we were more about the journey than the destination. We packed in so much, and I am grateful for those days.


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It takes a village…

It’s six weeks today since we left home and embarked on our rites of passage into the worlds of hospital wards and hospice life. If you read my previous post, Sustaining one’s spirit in tough times, you will know what led us on this latest journey. My last words on that previous post were, ‘next stop, home’. I am very pleased to announce, that we did make it back home, being discharged from Caritas Christi Hospice, Kew, on Monday the 20th of March. We ended up staying at CCK for just over three weeks, and in that time, with the help of a wide range of people, medical staff and family and friends, we sorted through all that needed to be done, to return to our home.

I have always liked that proverb, ‘it takes a village to raise a child’, and I have adapted it to our purposes today, it has taken a village to bring our darling Peter home. This month, our story is mainly told in pictures, I hope you get a sense of just how fortunate we are to live in such a village.

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While this is not a photo of the Occupational Therapist at Caritas Christi – they have a strict policy of not photographing staff – the content reflects just one of the many pieces she put into place for us; providing Peter with the ability to be mobile. She also checked out our house to make sure the entries, exits and surfaces were suitable for wheelchair access.

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Melissa and Philip provided love and support in many ways, including making and delivering the best risotto in the entire universe, supplying light cotton trousers (a necessity in air-conditioned rooms), and organising all kinds of things behind the scenes. they are excellent company at ‘drinkies’ time as well!

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My sister, Jann, travelled from Tasmania twice while we were at CCK, taking me out for dinner on her first visit (Yay!) and doing some much needed garden watering on the second visit, as well as being here to meet the equipment deliver guy, allowing me to head back to the hospice for any final organising that needed to be done. Those Tasmanians!

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Dean Richards, one of Peter’s long standing friends, visited several times while we were at CCK. Each time he played guitar and sang with Peter, and was happy for me to go shopping for items we would be needing back at home.

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Lisa and Darren, our closest neighbours in both vicinity and affection, were kind enough to drop over and mow our lawn THREE times over the period we were at CCK.

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It’s difficult for friends who are overseas to know how to contribute. Shannon, another very good and close friend of Peter’s, sent over this graphic novel, knowing that it would be the kind of story that Peter would enjoy.

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In the midst of it all, my mother turned 90. We had planned a family get-together at the Sofitel, the same hotel where our parents spent their 50th wedding anniversary. Because Peter was still at Caritas Christi, we had a smaller version of the celebration, with just mum and her four children. Here we all are: Rod, Jann, me, Edna and Hugo

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Louis stayed overnight at CCK while I stayed with my mother and sister at the Sofitel. After only a few hours, he had already gained a reputation as being a devoted son. Yoshi also spent time with Peter on a couple of occasions when I had medical appointments. (Okay, I can’t help being a proud mother!)

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The big day came and we made it home! The paramedics almost sent us back because we couldn’t get the control for the bed to work. Suki couldn’t contain herself on seeing Peter for the first time in five weeks.

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We are still pinching ourselves, it feels like a victory, to have been through so much and to make it back. We will continue to need our village to support us, maybe even more so.

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…and here is the view from here. You’re welcome to walk up the path some day soon, just make sure you contact me first! 🙂


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Sustaining one’s spirit in tough times

Things haven’t gone so well for us lately. We have had to muster reserves from our somewhat depleted resources to tackle what we are currently facing. And it’s all because of that darn cat. Well not really, but we have to blame someone and lhasa is fair game.

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How can you hold anything against me? I am adorable! I am even lying here between two delicate yellow flowers. Purrrrr. 

Our lives have changed again. We try to track back to the beginning of this new stage. The first fall happened on the 21st of January, just one week after we had been at home, following a not very successful chemotherapy treatment that was meant to halt the continuing colonisation of Peter’s bone marrow by the myeloma cells. (Damn!)

Peter was being an absolute darling, albeit somewhat naughty, checking the drip irrigation system, tending to a leak near the tap. He crouched down to fix it, and then tumbled backwards, hitting the bamboo screen behind and hurting himself more than he should.

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Here is my evidence that Peter can’t help himself. On the same day, after that nasty fall, he was helping Tam set up the bed for their imminent arrival. 

The next fall was on the 24th, as Peter tried to stop Suki from running to the door as I returned home. The next morning Peter was feeling stabbing pains in his legs. Fall #3 occurred on Saturday the 6th, that fateful day when Peter didn’t see Lhasa, with no time to stop himself from falling forwards onto his hands, tearing a tendon in his rotator cuff.

Fall #4 occurred while Peter was reaching out to place a glass on the table in the lounge room. Fall #5 happened before bed when Peter lost his balance in the bathroom. You’d think we would have started to suspect that something was wrong, but that thought must be relegated to hindsight.

On Monday the 6th, Peter was due at the Epworth for an MRI to assess the extent of the disease. He was surprised to discover that lying on the bench in preparation for the scan was so painful that they had to stop the proceedings and inject pain medication into his lower back. The next day he had a CT scan in the planning session for the radiotherapy treatment. Once again he felt excruciating pain whilst lying on the bench. More pain medication!

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Our first day back in hospital, on the 6th of Feb. Peter caught me pondering the thought of eating hospital food again. Peter’s oncologist had wanted Peter to stay in, but he felt fine and, who wouldn’t want to go home if they had a chance? 

Fall #6 was the final straw. The 9th of February. We had been at the Epworth for Peter’s first radio therapy session, on returning home, and on our way into our bedroom to meditate, his left leg gave way, with his shoulder hitting a nearby chair and his back hitting the ground with a thump.

That’s how we ended up in hospital for two weeks. That’s where the need to sustain our spirits in tough times really kicked in. Peter was taken in by ambulance and admitted that night, I joined him the next morning. He had four more sessions of radiotherapy – Friday, the 10th, and then the following Monday, Tuesday and Thursday, with an operation on his right shoulder on Tuesday afternoon. Valentine’s Day. After that final session of radiotherapy, Peter was no longer a ‘usual patient’. This status lasted for another week. Probably the longest week of our lives, or at least it seemed that way. But we have our coping strategies and, mostly, people were kind.

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It was Melissa’s birthday on the 12th of February. Mel and Phil kindly brought in some birthday breakfast fare for us so we could join in the celebrations.  

The hospital environment was no longer suitable for Peter’s situation. The staff are accustomed to looking after people with acute care needs. We couldn’t go home as Peter could not walk, needing three people to move him from bed to anywhere else. He couldn’t go to a rehabilitation unit because he wouldn’t be able to participate in any training. His oncologist suggested palliative care as a place to take a breather and work out our strategy for returning home. So we spent a week waiting, and in the meantime, it was the little things that sustained our spirits.

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Yoshi and Helena found this impressive rhino for us in a nearby op-shop. It immediately became our trusty little mascot. 

Having spent quite a bit of time in hospitals, both as an inpatient and as an outpatient, one soon develops a way of relating to staff members. It’s hard not to feel that your fate is in their hands so it seems very important not to get in their bad books. Some staff members relate to you based on their job title rather than as fellow human beings traveling through this life together. Others shine out like beautiful stars in the night sky.

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James was probably our favourite, we even offered to adopt him, seeing, at 26, he is halfway between the ages of our two sons. On the day Peter was being taken to the operating theatre, I overheard James saying he would take Peter as he knew him well. Sometimes connections happens quickly. This one took five days. 

I was lucky to be able to stay with Peter for those two weeks. Before this new round of hospital stays, we decided very early on that we were going as a team. We are very good at hanging out together. There are fun times, and just as many ‘deep and meaningfuls’. Fortunately the staff were happy for me to make up a bed on the floor. (They are not as yet set up to really welcome family members to stay overnight.) Part of that luck we had is that Louis and Tam had moved in just six days before Peter broke the bone in his shoulder. Lhasa and Suki would not have to survive on the birds that frequent our back yard.

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Tam trying to get Lhasa to smile for the camera, while Suki watches on. Ask me, ask me! 

I have become very good at turning a previously  unfamiliar environment into a home-away-from-home, including finding out where the extra blankets, sheets and towels were kept. I became a familiar face in the kitchen, making milo, filling up water jugs and toasting bread. The cleaning and catering staff soon became my new best friends.

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Sarah and I hit it off immediately. She has been working at the hospital for seven years and enjoys it very much. We came across each other many times in the corridors and the kitchen. One day she asked how my husband was going. On the last day, I introduced her to Peter. She said, ‘Money and house you get from your family, a good woman you get from God’. (I think she was talking about me!) 

By Thursday the 23rd, we had dug into our reserves as deeply as we could. When we discovered there were seven people in front of us on the waiting list for the palliative care ward at the Olivia Newton-John Centre, we were devastated. Catherine, one of the palliative care team at the hospital, suggested we try elsewhere. Caritas Christi in Kew was not too far from our home so we put all our cards on the table. The application went in on Thursday and by Friday morning, Peter was allocated a bed. It felt like the happiest day of our lives. Now we are in a place where the staff are trained to care for people with the kinds of issues Peter is currently facing.

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Here is the view from our room, looking out towards the west, we enjoy the clouds, the trees, the aeroplanes, birds and bats. 

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Yesterday, Peter picked up his guitar for the first time since ‘the big fall’, and managed to strum a couple of tunes. We’ll get the physio back in to advise on the best way to play without aggravating that shoulder. Good Ruth and Peter! 

Next stop, home.

 

 

 


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Lamb is the elephant in the room

Much has already been written about the new spring lamb campaign from Meat and Livestock Australia, an advertisement encouraging Australians to embrace diversity. Not surprisingly, it has managed to divide opinion along opposing sides.

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The criticisms range from Pauline Hanson, who accused the ad of bowing to the demands of political correctness, through to Luke Pearson, an indigenous reporter for NITV, who saw it as being ‘rife with cultural stereotypes’. (Tv trivia: Meyne Wyatt, the actor on the right of the screen, was the first aboriginal actor to have a main role on Neighbours, after the show has been showing on television for 29 years!) 

This post is actually about food. The lamb commercial just happened to provide a point of entry to a conversation about identifying an Australian cuisine. My interest in this area was piqued after reading John Newton’s book, The Oldest Foods on Earth: A History of Australian Native Foods.

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Encouraged by our son Louis’ recommendation, we read Dark Emu, by Bruce Pascoe. I was after something to follow on and the above book showed up as ‘people who read Dark Emu also read this book’. So I gave it a go. Reading it has resulted in a whole new way of viewing native foods and the value they offer to our national cuisine.  

While reading Dark Emu, I learnt about the damage that was caused by sheep when they first arrived on our shores. (I don’t blame the sheep, it’s the folks who brought them here that are the real perpetrators. Bad folks!)  Pascoe brings Eric Rolls’ book, A Million Acres, to our attention. “The lush yam pastures of Victoria disappeared as soon as sheep grazed upon them as the dentition of sheep allowed them to eat growth right to the ground, destroying the basal leaves.” Murnong, a perennial herb with edible tuberous roots, was one of the staples of the aboriginal diet and without this regular supply of food, the aboriginal people had to find new sources of sustenance.

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This fine example of microseris lanceolata (murnong) is growing in our backyard. Louis bought them from the St.Kilda Indigenous Nursery Co-op back in July 2016. They seem to like the soil in Reservoir. 

In the opening pages of The Oldest Foods on Earth, Newton does not hold back in letting us know how he sees our history with Native foods: “In more than 200 years of occupation of this continent, European Australians have turned their backs on the vast majority of foods the Indigenous people have been eating for 50 000 years; ignored their sage and intricate management of the environment and its abundant foods…”

Things are slowly changing, the influence of books such as Pascoe’s book, Newton’s book and Bill Gammage’s The Biggest Estate on Earth seem to have caused a tipping point, inspiring multitudes of Australians to question their beliefs about how aboriginal people managed the land, and the wide choice of plants and animals that were part of their diet.

Bruce Pascoe launched a pozible crowd funding campaign in 2015, raising $32,874 to support “Gurandgi Munjie, a group of Aboriginal men and women determined to recover the traditional food plants of their culture. The company has begun growing yams, grains, vegetables, fruits and herbs on several south coast NSW properties. We have growing trials at Berry and Brogo on the south coast of NSW and Genoa and Mallacoota on the far east of Gippsland.”

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A photo from the pozible campaign page, showing Bruce Pascoe with the murnong seedlings, as a very attentive canine looks on. 

We have our own little project about to start up at our farm in South Gippsland. Louis and his friend, Julian Brown, have plans to set up a site where they will research the effect of using fire to encourage the growth of native plants such as murnong, chocolate lily and Kangaroo grass. They have plans to sell the produce at a local store and donate the funds to Bruce Pascoe’s project in Mallacoota.

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Louis and Julian walk the paddocks looking for a suitable site for their research project. In Newton’s book, he tells us of his meeting with Merridoo Walbidi, at Bidyadanga in WA. Newton goes onto say that, once when Merridoo was interviewed regarding how modern culture and traditional culture could co-exist, he had replied, ‘we must walk together’. 

Newton made ‘a proposal’ in the final pages of his book: “Australia Day on 26 January celebrates the day Captain Phillip raised the flag at Sydney Cove. It continues to be a contentious day; some even call it Invasion Day. I would like to suggest that we celebrate the day, in our cities and towns, with a meal of native Australian foods shared between European and Aboriginal Australians. To take up Pascoe’s suggestion, the meal would be giving thanks to the Indigenous inhabitants for caring for the country, and – admittedly belatedly – showing us the foods of the land.’

I like this idea. Encouraging ‘Australians’ to eat lamb, somehow seems insulting, considering the role grazing sheep played in changing the face of the land. If you have been at all interested in this post, I highly recommend reading ‘The Oldest foods on Earth’. It is a revelation.

 

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These sheep have clearly heard of our plans to grow murnong and are rushing down to the back paddock to stake their claim. I don’t think they are going to like the boundary fence, designed to keep them from using their devilish dentition to munch those basal leaves! 

 

 

 

 

 


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Choosing a different narrative.

For eleven years, every morning on my way to the Distance Education Centre, I would pause briefly at the corner of Locksley and Excelsior Streets, to wave to a woman as she waited for her brother to take her son to school. Every morning. In one of those years, my Year 11 English students were studying The Truman Show – sometimes it felt like I was living just up the street from Truman.

Movies have that affect on me.

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Truman cheerfully waving to everyone he meets – everyday – with his catchphrase, “Good morning, and in case I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!”  

Do you remember the scene in The Matrix when Cypher explains why he would rather live inside the Matrix, even though he knows that it is only his mind that ‘makes it real’? In scene 72, we see him talking with Agent Smith; he is in a fancy restaurant eating a ‘thick, gorgeous, steak’. Agent Smith asks Cypher if they have a deal:

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           You know, I know that this steak doesn’t exist. I know when I put it in my mouth; the Matrix is telling my brain that it is juicy and delicious. After nine years, do you know what I’ve realized?

He shoves it in, eyes rolling up, savoring the tender beef melting in his mouth.

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Ignorance is bliss.

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Joe Pantoliano as Cypher, good at being bad. 

Cypher chose to live, hooked up to a machine, in an imaginary world, rather than in the ‘real world’ where life was harsh, and the food was hardly edible.

The Matrix was a film for the times. Hitting the cinemas in 1999, it ignited our imaginations, we were heading into ‘the 21st century’, that’s if we made it beyond Y2K. Maybe I shouldn’t assume that it affected everyone the same way it affected me. If I had the same choice as Cypher, what would I choose? My immediate response was, of course I’d take the red pill, “offering the truth. Nothing more.” And yet, sometimes the truth can be hard to take. And what is the truth anyway and what is real?

Let’s look at another film that played with the idea of reality. Snowpiercer was released in 2013. It was nowhere near as popular as The Matrix, with box-office takings at $86.8 million compared with The Matrix at $463.5 million, but for me, it has left an unexpected imprint on how I perceive the world around me.

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For all my French followers. (I wish!) 

In this film, we are lead to believe that the downtrodden people who live on the train will eventually overthrow the establishment. We soon discover that the riots we witness are ‘allowed’ so that the people think that they have a voice, and a chance at freedom. Now I’m usually not one to  jump straight to conspiracy theories, but after seeing this film, I’m thinking, what if the 1% just put up with the 99% protesting so we feel like we are getting somewhere?

These films are messing with my head!

And then along came the TV series of Westworld – the most-watched first season of an HBO original series ever. (Wikipedia) Recommended by two of our ‘go to’ people for good TV, Mike Seymour and Philip Jackson, we were hooked from the first episode.

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In case you haven’t seen this advertising still for Westworld…

Here, instead of the machines ‘using’ humans, as we saw in The Matrix, the humans are exploiting the androids, with the human ‘guests’ being given licence to live out whatever fantasies they desired. Hmmm, humans being allowed to get away with whatever they please? Androids with the potential to discover what is actually going on? This can only end badly.

While Westworld has been likened to several other high profile and well-received science fiction films, one experiences it more as an evolution of the stories we have already seen and heard. Anthony Hopkins, in the role of Robert Ford, the co-creator of the park, declares in episode 8, “The self is a kind of fiction, for hosts and humans alike. It’s a story we tell ourselves.”

Each character is given a narrative that fits in with other characters in the park, with the added ability to improvise if something outside of their experience should occur. It’s not long before I start squirming in my seat; are they talking about these fictional characters or are they talking about us? When did sitting down to relax in front of the TV become so not relaxing? And yet, it’s the best and most satisfying kind of television.

I want to be challenged, I want to be able to step outside of the loop when I choose. (This brings up the whole issue of free will vs determinism!) When Maeve, one of the main characters in Westworld, realises that even her rebellious nature is scripted, we start to wonder how deep the rabbit hole goes.

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In a show with the title, Westworld, you would think it might be dominated by cowboy types. For those of us who like strong female leads, you will be pleased to meet Maeve, played with finesse by Thandie Newton. Here she shares the frame with Clementine. (Angela Sarafyan.)  

How does this relate to this blog, about how the changes we make all add up to make a difference? What if the narrative we live by does change suddenly, will I be able to adapt? It’s easy to change certain habits, but a whole way of living? I guess that is a twist in the story that we will just have to wait to see.

P.S. Has anyone else noticed that Ed Harris is in three of these films? Conspiracy theory warning bells going off!! To save you having to google it:

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Christof in The Truman Show

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Wilford in Snowpiercer

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The Man in Black in Westworld