so long and thanks for all the fish…
amber shadows creep white paneled walls as I lay this evening, far from my love in this cocoon of loneliness – a remnant from times past, when the difference hardly seems significant.
surroundings aren’t greyed buildings or narrowed streets, there is no bustle or squash of crowds. resides, this suburbia, consumed by the jaws of the valley and one may discover it without deviation from Canterbury; it is an awe-inspiring transit. well, it used to be, anyway. each sunday i pack my kit (always forgetting something in the process), dreading the arduous distance, adding to sleep deprivation, feelings of loneliness and loss.
I say this as an outsider, a city slicker whose status remains in limbo, for I do not work the daily grind like most, nor have the comfort of close proximity to home, where previous years dictated. literally cut-off from my family and seemingly living this double-life: i miss the simplicity of my wifes smile, amoungst other things. each pay-slip received reveals my true income after expenses and i look at it in astonishment, how i’ve reverted back fifteen years by pay-scale comparison. how can this be my life now, i ponder. all this training; the endless hours spent learning new technology. yet, in a moment of complete confusion, it unravels: this knowledge – i doubt and question what i truly know as opposed to what remains. have i been kidding myself? i have yet to understand, for i may not know as much as i think. my knowledge seems insignificant.
i think back to the last holiday: christmas – i took one week off, though with the meandering public holidays interspersed, that time increased two-fold. apart from our Tasmanian holiday earlier this year, I feel like I haven’t had enough of a break in between the terms and i’m truly feeling it.
now it feels different, i’m on the cusp. all images associated with this position seem to be fading like the desaturation of a photo. when i broke the news to the prin, i was confident of what to say; it was easy, it came from the heart. i told him the reason why i am leaving:
In perfect circumstances I could stay at this school for life, I love the staff and the kids kind of grow on you over time. But it has never been a perfect situation, it has been extremely difficult and i guess in many ways nothing lasts forever (Josa Amnesia’s song ‘eternal – sunrise mix’ encompasses this finality quite perfectly). I have always been a strong believer in honesty and the truth, even though sometimes i slip up.
When I gave the letter to the prin, who’d come to see me about the pressures of last week, I reiterated that it was important he knew why I was leaving. It was not because of the pressure or anything like that, I told him it was because when I am up here, I am not there with my wife and have no communication and the distance while being vast, was doubled when I couldn’t simply speak to her face-to-face. He seemed to understand this and noted that he was surprised I’d lasted as long as I had.
When I told my ICT Manager, she was visibly upset and I declared that I’d most likely be the same. I related the very point that without this opportunity, I’d still be building robotic machinery, or collinear aerials, or driving forks for heavy industry or mixing chemicals or any number of other directionless dead-ends I’d found myself in previously. That this position, granted me the freedom to expand my knowledge, build experience and feel good about something I knew I was always able to do, yet may not have had the confidence to undertake. I have found my place in this world and have the school to thank for that. This school has become the model that I will follow and other schools will know henceforth that what I implement will have come from Alexandra.
“Where’s that?” one teacher at the new school said.
You know the Blue Mountains?
“Jesus, all the way up there?”
No, nowhere near it actually. It’s one hundred and eighty kilometres from Melbourne.
“You drive that every week?”
Yes.
“Geez. Why don’t you work at a school closer to home?”
Many reasons.
It feels very strange now, this loss. It hurts. I feel the same way Banjo Paterson felt when his romantic vision of life in his earlier years faded with age, oh how he longed for it:
And, of course, there’s no denying that the bushman’s life is rough,
But a man can easy stand it if he’s built of sterling stuff;
Though it’s seldom that the drover gets a bed of eiderdown,
Yet the man who’s born a bushman, he gets mighty sick of town,
For he’s jotting down the figures, and he’s adding up the bills
While his heart is simply aching for a sight of Southern hills.
~
Then his face was somewhat browner, and his frame was firmer set –
And he feels his flabby muscles with a feeling of regret.
But the wool-team slowly passes, and his eyes go slowly back
To the dusty little table and the papers in the rack,
And his thoughts go to the terrace where his sickly children squall,
And he thinks there’s something healthy in the bush-life after all.
My friend will move back to Broadford and I back to Mount Waverley, permanently. But for a window in time, we were both here in Alexandra trying to make the school a better place in terms of technology and temperament. It’s not a great feat by any measure compared to the work done by teachers and townsfolk alike in their pursuit to raise families semi-isolated, but the town bandies together as one vast community. I haven’t been here as a son of the town, and I’ve felt as awkward as pair of cords, but I’ll be tributing it whenever I can.
What does the future hold for me now? I will be continuing in the role of ICT Technician at South Oakleigh Secondary College, but by the end of the year moving into an ICT Manager role, training Technicians. After this I may continue building into the TSSP/Specialist Technician field or get my Diploma of Education and teach IT, it all seems possible now.
The learning never ends, you must keep up to date or get left behind, but never give up, because if you do it just becomes a job. That’s the difference here. When you work in a factory, you want no reminder of your surroundings because the reality is: it’s depressing. You have no recollection of time, you never see the environment, only notice more white hairs over time – have I been here that long? How do I escape? Is it too late? Working from early morning to night, you never see the sun, just gray buildings, pollution and equally down staff who seem to find their soul in nitpicking tiny things because there is nothing else to look forward to.
I feel the music flowing now when I think of this fact and how far I’ve come and know that nothing is impossible.
An alien in Alexandra
if there was ever a case for loneliness, this would be it.
situated two hours distance from my wife for four days, in a town where i am the alien, and my bastardised ET communication device back home is woeful to supply some piss-poor reception, AND having learned that my friend and mentor will be leaving in three weeks: this fills me with some sorrow, reflective realisations and an abundant ***-load of alliteration.
i have always had a problem with loss, i have no way to recoup what is missing. i know people who see things so light-heartedly and positively, it pretty much makes me sick. i don’t live in hope, i live in truth and this is how i ride, always. be that a forgotten vestige from years passed or any other element, which makes me feel uncertain of the future. why should this hold so much value? it’s a knowing that when this friend was here, i knew the network was safe. i trust him, our tssp, my friend. this school loses far more than a great resource, they will lose a valued man of skill and integrity, the likes i wish i could measure up to, let alone verbalise without stammering.
when he told me he received a positive confirmation of the job interview he attended months earlier, it was shock at first. then i thought about where he was going in life and that this avenue could lead to a far more prosperous future, than the short-end of the stick STs carry. i could understand the desire to work in one job only and not travel constantly, though he said he liked the drives, nobody can do it for long; with all the different schools he attends, he’s driving as much as my undertaking each week.
am i wasting time driving, when that time could be better spent working as a tssp doing four schools a week additionally? what have i learned in the past year? sometimes i feel like i just fix things, patch-ups if you will and don’t move forward. am i alone in this thought, or are there other tech’s who see this too? they are decent people out here in the hume, their distance measured by humility; though i daresay I remain as a statistical outlier.
all i know, is that the dynamic has shifted and as the earth moves, nothing stays the same. i will miss the stupid puns, which usually made me cringe and look for a reason to avoid choking him and hope to the god of cpus that i don’t repeat any to another poor listener, who will also find themselves inevitably humming some ditty a few years later only to have an earworm of biblical proportions, a mind-exploding logic-loop and a possible aneurysm with a cherry on top.
Dear Doctor…
A woman walks in to see her endocrinologist.
WOMAN: ‘This medication I’m using is causing me to grow a lot of hair.’
DOCTOR: ‘Well that’s quite normal with testosterone replacement therapy. Where is the hair growing mainly?’
WOMAN: ‘On my balls.’
Misshapen
So I don’t understand, is that right? How could one even think that? I’ve been dealing with this condition all my life, but it doesn’t get any easier. That seems to defy the normal order of things, surely the more exposure the more able we are to deal with it. Not when you’re infertile. Simply the understanding that I will never actually be a natural father is enough to make me depressed. But then, in the process of IVF, I have no actual part to play, no involvement what-so-ever. Nothing. Nada. Zip. I remember feeling so down that I was looking for the exit, when a woman who was infertile, had her husband’s sperm inseminate a donor ‘womb’ via the IVF process. She complained (rather endlessly) that the baby didn’t feel like it was hers because she was not involved in the process. What alarmed me the most, of course, was that I understood exactly how she felt. As far as I’m concerned, what matters is the involvement and though as many people have said, the role of a natural father is very small (it’s all about size isn’t it!), it is still a very crucial part.
In terms of how I fit into this procedure, I am there as an accessory and for support, but then again, even that is out of my hands. It’s all scientific and regulated and machinated and formulated and constructed and artificial in the greatest sense of the word, but we need it…oh how we need it. And this niche in medical science exists because people like us NEED it.
I could complain like that woman did, in front of other patients impaired by their own genetics, but all I’d be doing is opening old wounds. Truth is, it’s never easier to deal with being infertile. I see reminders everywhere too. I see them in the city, walking aside their parents and pointing at the vastness of the towers and I dream in vain. I see their formations at the sight of large bellies, I turn away and find something else to focus on. I hear the tales of other men bragging about their kids’ achievements at school and the fun things they did on the holidays, I return to fixing the computer and getting the hell out of there. I avert my gaze when I notice them following their parents to work to understand how their mum or dad earns a crust. I see them with my siblings and cousins, with the inquisitive poses and questions, I teach them, and then they are gone. I can’t understand their baby-talk, but I want to learn the language. Maybe then I won’t be angry about not having an active role in the whole damned process and the very same process that pulls at the purse-strings and says ‘if you’re rich, you can have me!’
eye.ewe.eye
August 31st 2009
In the last grey chill of winter dusk, I ponder how I became sensitive, given that it was not a family heirloom passed down genetically. My siblings are all efficient go-getters by nature, hard workers to the degree of excellence, their resolve concrete and moods not ‘subject to change without notice.’ I seem to automatically live by cause and effect and never really take to a situation without at least some consideration of the possibilities of each choice. Though I must say, that this is not the only use. It also allows a great deal of analyticality, to monitor body language and the true meaning behind the words that others say in a certain context and manner.
How then, do I find a expressionless mother completely overlook the tear-filled eyes of my wife without so much as an inkling of investigation into the state she obviously and quite literally is pouring out onto the patio bricks? We needed to get away, if only for an hour.
It is very difficult to describe the way I felt at that time; there seemed to be no feeling – I was static, expressionless. Sometimes I feel like a video camera wielded by some operator and viewing life through the 4:3 letterbox ratio of normal screens, nothing special, ordinary and certainly not able to see myself in the reflection of the eye-piece. Just that life goes on moving like a film, yet there are no actors, only objects and props.
I was angry at other cars for driving slowly and keeping us from the park. I had in mind to walk, voice our concerns and cry. At one point we witnessed a car accident right next to us, though we did not stop; we could offer nothing at that stage, we felt numb. The altruism that normally would have prevailed, failed to start like some decrepit lemon of a vehicle. Though I could hardly say I thought about it even a second after it happened. Even when she tried to fill the gap in the space I left for her and the ute colliding into her drivers side door, I felt nothing.
The park I wanted was closed to cars for the day and angrily we drove to the last resort, which was open. There we sat upon a felled Eucalypt and moistened the soil with our sorrow. I could not think of anything, though my mind was not short on subjects. I dreamt a lot those past few weeks, of the possibility of fatherhood. I’d thought about our child’s first day of school, or me reading stories at night, or clowning around in some way or another.
What I wasn’t able to verbalise was the complete absence of love felt from my mother; we weren’t welcome and did not know exactly why. “You never talk to us, you come in, you go out.” All the time my wife wept and became more upset with the complete lack of sympathy and regard for why we may have felt this way in the first place.
In a moment of surrender, I asked my wife “You know what I’ve thought about for the past few months?” as we walked around the sodden clearing, “did we make the right decision coming here?” That was my decision. I made it -like everything- with the consideration of every element relying on our comfort and spaciousness, though I hadn’t considered the love. That sensitivity that sets me apart from my family; I literally feel light-years away. “I certainly don’t feel the love here, only the scepticism and distrust of our chosen path. Your grandparents love us so much and to them that is all that really matters in life.”
Then, inexplicably and uncontrollably I felt the fangs creep in, embed and take over. That pang of pseudo-autism that prevents me from being neutral: guilt. And out it reeled, that “I shouldn’t talk like that, they’re my parents!”
My wife exploded in support of my flaw, “what about her guilt? She says the most inconsiderate things. She treats those cats better than she treats you.” There was no denying it. I never forget an altercation that hurts. She said once, not long ago “we didn’t have to have children, you know, but we did.” I’m glad she had the choice, because we certainly didn’t, least of all me.
If it were not blatantly obvious, I’ll spell it out. We’ve just finished a round of Intra-Uterine Insemination and my wife just got her period today, after a month of ups and downs, cramps, strange behaviour and idealistic dreams.
black sheep go forth…
I’ve just watched one of our all-time favourite films for the ‘nth’ time with my wife: Big Fish. It always leaves me with a lasting impression of hope for family and whilst I think about my relationship with my father, it is as complex as the protagonist(s). I can see many similarities with my father in this film. He imparted stories to my siblings like old friends, but had not directly to me. Maybe he doesn’t think I’d find them interesting or is it just that we don’t connect in the same manner?
While others I knew had already made their mark and were heading toward their cyclic-life, it was apparent that I was only starting out. This could have caused anguish for my father who wondered why I was not moving into life as expected and thus became frustrated. Both my older and younger brothers are financially successful and have families of their own; I feel a little behind by this measure.
He always seemed bothered to help, like I was detracting him from what he really wanted to be doing. For example, I’d had an car accident some years ago. The other driver involved was an eighteen year old kid who’d just received his P-plate and on his maiden voyage, ran a red-light. I hadn’t seen him at all, as he was in the windscreen-arch (-) as I started to complete my turning circle. The first acknowledgement of his existence was the look of horror on his face at the crumpled-up impact of my car into his drivers-side door. He looked directly into my eyes at that crucial point before his car spun around, hit the curb, rolled once and landed on it’s wheels again. I was stunned for longer than I even knew, but somehow moved the car off the road, opened the door and ran as fast as I could toward the P-platers car in a desperate hope that he was alive. All I could think about was that I’d killed someone and the horrible feeling that ensued. However, accidental it may have been, he was just a kid and had at least ten more years of living before he reached my experience.
I’d never been more relieved when I saw that he was alright, but had blood running down his face. Once he told me his mum’s number, I called to inform that I’d hit her sons car, then called an ambulance and the police. I was shaking when she arrived and expected to be king-hit. She actually embraced me as well as her son and asked if I were okay. I felt so muddled with shock, but called my father to tell him about it and asked if he could pick me up (you always call your parents first). He did not respond in a manner of typical fatherly concern, he was angry. It seemed unbelievably misguided to be more concerned about my car. ‘Fuck the car, dad!’ At the very least some inquisition, but he filled me with such emotional confusion I just hung up on him. Following that, every number I called resulted in the ‘I’m too busy’ remark.
The person who came to my aid was someone who had proven themselves trustworthy countless times. And if he is reading this now, he knows the importance of trust and honour, for those qualities are akin to him. He arrived within fifteen minutes of the call I’d made, with a bottle of water and genuine concern. Told me to sit down, drink the bottle and relax. I was overwhelmed at his mateship, but also with the total absence of affection from my own father when compared with the P-plater’s motherly concern.
Okay, maybe there isn’t a huge correlation between my father and the protagonist in Big Fish. However, there are many and varied examples of the difference in behaviour and action when compared with my siblings over scenarios that warrant fatherly attention. But that doesn’t mean to say that I cannot still desire it, like we all do at some point that feels like we’re missing something from our lives. I want to be recognised in my fathers eyes as someone worthy to be concerned about, nothing more.
misunderstood
In case you are unaware, I’m Miss N de Stood. Though I lack the certain undercarriage, I do not lack the depth of emotion. From a universal point-of-view, my intentions and humour are lost on some people. Chaos and cynicism though unavoidable, are not my relish; I am neither selfish nor ungrateful. Two people know this: my wife and my best friend (though truth-be-told, my wife is my best friend, so in this case could be rephrased to: my wife and my best male friend).
This ancient friend of mine – we both have known each other some twenty years – knows things about me that only another ‘xxy’ could ever know. To extrapolate, how did we become friends, while unknowingly he had the same condition? While the ratio states 1 in 700 have Klinefelter Syndrome, does it not seem rather unlikely or uncanny that we both could meet and share this experience as friends? All I know is that without his support, it would’ve been a lot harder to deal with.
One example is analytical contemplation. It is something I do a fair bit, though do not know whether it could be attributed to my condition exclusively. Day dreams are frequent and in many cases I find solutions in this ‘virtual sandbox’ (also in the shower sometimes). However, the drift into fantasy can become too intangible, because most of the time we dream what we want to experience and life doesn’t always work out that way. So we doubt our dreams as we doubt ourselves and ultimately, I doubt.
Though, in this mind-space there is no relaxation and I long for the comforts we shared in what seems like eons ago, at Frankston; where the beach was our doorstep and the water, our home. It is lonely where I am now. I shake with a sort of exhausted disregard and tire of the directed anger and petty particularities. Yet, I amass guilt of the hospitality given, when we had no other option; and the unmistakable realisation that we’re not really welcome anyway. Subtle hints. Do you take them on-board and harbour them, or ignore, hope they’ll go away for long enough so you can relax, settle down and become comfortable? Newsflash!!! Once you’ve experienced discomfort, it doesn’t slither under a bush, it manifests.
Sometimes I get so frustrated I can’t think straight. I sit down perfectly still and hope I can quiet my mind long enough to think of some good advice I could follow, but I seethe unto exhaustion. Just last year I was finishing my VCE, working part-time and read books every hour that work, school or home-life did not fill. We had a rich and full life with our loving/manic pets and each other, but now, where is home? Where can we relax and be ourselves? I don’t even know the meaning of the word anymore, because it’s no longer a place.
To some, I will only ever seem like an enigma: a perplexing dilemma since I am honest and open, though could be considered an introvert on ‘face value’. Over time I’ve learned that if others only judge in this manner, without truly opening up themselves, then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
I guess I just feel particularly overlooked and unconsidered when it comes to the things I’ve contributed. I am so tired, I will rest now. Write more at the perpetual ‘later’, only to regain consciousness at intervals and find a thousand j’s. Is it too much to ask for some happiness? All this pride-swallowing and emotion-cloaking is becoming as transparent as the tension I can almost breathe.
2009 accelerated catch up…
First of all, our wedding:
Time was moving quickly toward our destiny, when two weeks beforehand my brother and sister-in-law invited us over for dinner. LASAGNE!!! It was magnificent, truly the best I’d ever experienced and had three servings, but found it strange that Rod only had one. Later he said, I’ve got to go out to get some more smokes, you wanna come Paul? I felt so full and good by that time and said “Yeah, what the hell!”. Rod grabs two carltons and gives me one. We walk from his place, up the adjacent streets to the golf-course and through a back entrance. As we walked toward the pub or the course (19th hole), Rod nonchalantly says, go inside and get yourself a beer. I walk inside and find Shaun (family friend from way back) playing pool with my mate Adrian. I see Shaun first, because I’ve known him for so long: Shaun, what the hell are you doing here? Then Adrian’s laughter draws my attention to him. Adrian? Then CLUNK! Ohhhh, man!!!! This is awesome! I was caught completely off-guard! Then most of the groomsmen turned up, my older brother and Dave, including some ring-ins whom Rod knew. We played pool, while chatting and catching up.
When the day finally rolled around, I was both extremely excited and bloody nervous. I had written my speech and was all prepared for the day ahead, my groomsmen really took care of everything. Following on from my Bucks Night at Clifford Park and then Bucks Night 2 at Chirnside Golf Course, we had a final Bucks Night at Portsea Hotel (by the time we’d buggerised around with the cars and afterward travel arrangements). This time, it was just my brothers and my sister (and her partner Andy). What a night! Rod and I played an arcade golf-game, while we waited for the others to arrive. Richard and Nicole were going to see ‘The Killers’ that night, so they left the kids at the hotel with their eldest daughter and her boyfriend. When Ingrid and Andy finally rocked up, we wined and dined and started getting lightly into the scotch (I’m still learning to drink it in smaller sips!). Then Dave and Mel surprised me and turned up to join in the festivities. An excellent night and awesome support from my family and mates.
That night however, I barely got a wink of sleep. I felt a bit groggy, but were so excited I just couldn’t sleep. I got up and paced the hotel hallway numerous times to try and wear myself down. In the end, after all Rod’s snoring and my insufficient sleep, the sun started rising. I headed into the bathroom to start preliminary preparation: shit, shower, shave. Then headed down to breakfast (buffet!!!). My parents had arrived and our whole family ate together, with Dave and Mel. Finally, it was time to don our penguin suits. Rich said he’d just be a second. We’d only just got our jocks on when he came back fully dressed. I was saying ‘What the hell Rich?’ He said ‘I wear suits so often these days, it’s a breeze to put on!’ Rod kept dropping his guts and we had to borrow two fans from neighbouring rooms to fan the farts out the window…believe me…they were BAD!!! I had almost everything on: Beautiful suit pants, shoes, french shirt, white vest, tie (Richard assembled it for me, because I couldn’t get it the way I wanted it). When all of my groomsmen were together, I gave them my gift of cufflinks (all stylish but with an obvious wave-like design to signify the event near the beach) – mine were special and different. Finally, I donned my overcoat and fog-watch, just as the button-hole flowers arrived (corsage?), with a telegram attached. IT WAS FROM TASH! I tried enormously not to breakdown crying at that point. It was a beautiful letter to me personally about Tash’s dreams. I felt like a bit of a mess after that. With the shoes on, I became 6’10″ and literally all eyes focused on us as we emerged from the accomodation area of the hotel, into the lounge and foyer. Ten O’clock. 1/2 an hour. I was shaking.
The celebrant Corrinne told me Tash had just left from Rye and was heading toward Portsea. Glen notably reminded me of the Hitchhikers premise ‘Don’t Panic’. Glen and Dave held my shoulders each and said ‘we’re here, relax!’ We all walked out the front to have the videographer roll some footage (I looked into the lens a few times. The decision was left to me, whether the staff set the chairs up inside or out. I looked at the looming darkness of a storm rolling in, smelt the air (which still smelt dry) and said ‘Outside…it’ll be alright for a while.’ They complied, but with an expression of amazement. It had not much to do with magic or anything. I wanted the bay as a backdrop, not a plastic window in a black tarp and besides, the air was still warm and dry. We walked back outside to the ceremony area, on the lawn overlooking Portsea pier and Melbourne in the far distance. Nerves. We all stood in a ring, congratulating each other and preparing. Everyone kept asking me ‘Are you alright? Are you ready?’ Then, a page ran out and said ‘she’s here!’ I shit myself on the spot. We all assumed our positions. The audience of eighty all stood and looked back. Adrian (as Bride’s mate) was first to walk slowly down the grassy gnoll and assemble over the far right (left to the audience). Then came Melissa (Tash’s cousin), smile beaming as we looked at one another and stood beside Adrian. Then came Ania (Tash’s best friend), walking slowly down beside Melissa. The wait! More waiting. I was tensing up like a sheet of ice on a glacier. And then, when I saw Douglas (Tash’s brother) walking my bride toward me, with her beautiful dress and the smile I’ve loved from the first time I saw her, those plates of ice broke apart one by one, all the way up and I started crying like a baby (but keeping composure as much as I could). She glided slowly down toward me, never taking her eyes from mine, if only to watch her footing. Douglas, literally looked like a man now (I am proud to call him my brother). I took Tash’s hand from Douglas and held his. He walked back somewhere (I don’t know, I wasn’t watching him anymore). I held both of Tash’s hands in mine, still bubbling away with tears etc. She was gleaming with happiness. I heard my sister speaking a reading and Tash’s grandmother, but I wasn’t listening really. My only focus was my wife to be. Then it came time for our vows (we wrote our own). Even though I’d rehearsed mine numerous times, I still relied heavily on repeating after the celebrant. Tash read out hers, which made me more emotional. Then Rod stepped forward, with the (immitation) ivory box I’d bought Tash as a surprise wedding gift, to become our ring(s) vessel. We placed the rings on each other’s fingers and kissed. We were then and now, One. Cheers and applause. We walked over to the signing table, to sign the certificate and registry. Then we were walking down the isle, cheers and applause, rose petals and laughter. Catching up with everyone and shaking many hands.
Our photographer took us down on the beach for group photos of our wedding party and Tash’s cousin Chris took photos with Tash’s camera also (we have SOOOO many photos – somewhere upwards of 1000). The beach shots are amazing, as with the cliffs and our jumping fun. The weather drove us in and out a few times, but enough to truly capture the moment we all shared. The reception passed by so quick, it was hard to grasp it for any length at a time. We seemed to choose people for our wedding by instinct and were not wrong with any of them. The acoustic band was great: sombre and emotional. When it came time for our speeches, Dad, Tash’s gramp, Rod, Shane, Ania and especially Tash all made an emotional impression on me. When it came time for mine, I think I covered everybody and left nothing out (not even Tash’s father and brother, who died many years ago). We all felt the love in that room together. After shaking everyone’s hands and embracing brothers and sisters, it was time for us to leave fashionably early. A car awaited us outside the hotel, to take us to Arthur’s Seat Summit Views accommodation honeymoon suite (for the night). When we finally got up there after Lucas and Ania’s hospitality, we were blown away by the view. Tash gave me my wedding present, which even now makes me teary. It’s a book of our history and one which I will record all the changes and additions to our lives (i.e. parents, children, steps through life etc). I remember feeling so loved by everyone that day and special night, not that it is changed or anything, but just a lasting aura of care and love, it’s truly amazing. That’s what we all need and desire. The rest of that night remains a secret.
Honeymoon:
Got out of there early, around 8.30am. We had to race from Arthurs Seat, Dromana to Hampton Park; to drop off the car and get a lift with Douglas and Judy to the airport, to start our honeymoon in Queensland (Cairns): Palm Cove. We took the home-made bread from the villa and brought it with us to Queensland. Leaving Tullamarine to land at the brisbane terminal, change planes to Cairns and finally at 8pm, we arrived in Cairns’ shed of an airport (I thought Hobart was small). I was feeling buggered by this stage, that when they said they’d lost my luggage…I just wanted to collapse from exhaustion. But they found it. We boarded our shuttle-bus (pre-paid) and we were off to Palm Cove. The first thing that struck us when we walked out of air-conditioning was how beautiful and warm it was. Way more than Sydney and this was in autumn. As we were heading to the hotel (Mango Lagoon), we kept exchanging glances and touching hands and looking at the differences. I pointed out strange and archaic street signs: ‘WOW!’ But then looking deeper, I noticed that there didn’t seem to be many fences. In fact I was later to discover that there were no fences on any of the national parks. Even the cane fields were devoid of fences. It felt like we were in another country. We got to the hotel at 9.00pm and had to retrieve the key from a safe (afterhours). There were geckos on the ceiling making weird chirping noises. We walked down the pathway to our hotel room, I thought I saw movement, but cancelled the thought. As we entered and saw how well set up we were for the eight nights ahead of us, we almost collapsed on the bed. Almost, because we realised we hadn’t eaten at all since Melbourne. So we ordered a pizza and then afterward immediately forgot we didn’t have any transport. So we had to walk down to the foreshore and find the place (they didn’t deliver). There were bats flying just over our heads and strange yobbos sitting around drinking. As soon as we turned the corner on the main strip, wow!
The most tropical view I’d ever really wanted to see (and a feeling like I’d seen it first hand before). Palm trees jutting out of the sandy pathway and more palms just over the road and a sweeping tide pulling back and forth. We bought the pizza and head down to watch the tide and dark clouds drift over the bay. It wasn’t particularly busy and felt very relaxed. We explored the shops, until I fell down some stairs and hurt my ankle. I was okay the next day, but it was hurting for most of our honeymoon. The walk back to the hotel was long and felt even longer since we didn’t know much about where we were. That’s when we vowed to hire a car and buy shopping for a week (saved us around $1000). When we picked up the car (toyota bomb), we booked in for a snorkelling / scuba-diving tour of the Great Barrier Reef for the Wednesday (the next day). We spent that day buying food, buying fruit (custard apples, my new favourite) and relaxing by the 50m pool outside our hotel room and just chilling out.
When it came time for our ‘Reef Experience’, we head into Cairns and walked along the crocodile infested boardwalk to the marina, past the Cairns Lagoon. The crew had made breakfast for us and I stupidly grabbed a greasy burger of egg and bacon, regretting it as soon as the kat started lurching side to side with the waves. Land-lubber. I was the first to be sick and the only one incidentally. I sat on the deck at the back of the ship, looking at the horizon, but the motion was driving me crazy with a green face and brown paper bag. After I’d released all of breakfast, I took two chemical tablets for motion sickness and was fine for the rest of the day. When we finally reached Norman Reef, all fifty or so of the customers grabbed their snorkels and flippers and wade out from the twenty metre depth toward the reef itself, Tash and I amoung them. Tash asked if I could see the reefs below, I couldn’t. Just a reflecting sun shimmering out in a star. As we approached the others, the endless transition from blue the black gave way gradually to the reef. I was thrilled beyond belief, but also scared shitless. This was the deepest water I’d ever swam in (I’d normally be fine in just over three metres at Frankston), this was twenty to thirty metres! But it gradually lessened to about ten as the reef loomed higher ahead of us. At some stage I lost Tash in the complete resignation to a desire of oggling the beauty below us. Tropical fish like I’d never seen before, with a brilliance only a first-hand experience can deliver dancing about us like inquisitive children. People were diving down fairly far to get a closer look at the sights below the reef-shelf. Some reef-sharks patrolled below us, but were of no concern really (though initially added some trepidation). But there we were in the ultimate of places. My heart was racing like a thoroughbred, the experience was beyond anything I’d seen before while snorkelling and only managed to set the bar higher. After an hour paddle, it was time for our introductory scuba-dive. Unsurprisingly the tanks were heavy as they deflated our suits and we sunk to the preparation bars below the ship. There we went through the hand signals to make in case of a problem or something to point out. Up top, we were told that we had to equalise every one and a half to two metres down. By holding your nose (the goggles have a rubber nose-seal) shut and blowing air through it, it forces your ears to release the pressure / equalise. We headed down, arm-in-arm, equalising as we went. But Tash was having trouble, she could not equalise, because of her perforated ear-drum. She beckoned me to continue and she skimmed the surface with the instructor (unfortunately, she may never be able to experience what I did). As soon as I released the pressure numerous times I was down the bottom, watching a school of black reef trout poking around for food. Each time you equalise you drop in depth automatically, so it’s a constant reminder to keep equalising. The others were high above me, as I skimmed just above the sand (it was rather cold down there). The sun played around up there and the shadows of my teammates and wife were sometimes frightening to be caught within as the mind wanders in the depths. Gradually I felt the need to return to the instructors side and started climbing and equalising once more. I was always scared of deep water, even at such a young age, but with my wife’s enthusiasm and encouragement, I feel like I can do anything now. We finished our dive and head into the boat for a smorgasboard so breathtaking I had to have four serves to take it all in (plus I was pretty hungry after my earlier purge). The crew started the kat and we headed from Norman Reef to another location for the coral gardens and deeper dives at $50 per 30mins. We agreed to do a snorkeling tour with the marine biologist Phil and then I’d participate in a further dive. Tash was already in the water by the time I climbed down the gang-plank. While I was forcing the flippers onto my feet (they were a size or two too small), Tash was yelling out that fish were circling us, they were blue reef schnapper and beautiful creatures to see. I waded toward Tash, as the weather changed and became a bit drizzly, but even that couldn’t ‘dampen’ our enthusiasm. Phil escorted us toward the garden-wall and pointed out various interesting creatures, then as we entered the coral garden entrance, the sheer volume to fish pouring into the abundant beauty was staggering. We were caught in the commotion and I guess must’ve appeared as fish ourselves entering with them. We followed Phil as he led us toward 300 year old giant clams. One was green with encrusted molluscs and a orange ‘lip’ (i say this because it was the softest thing i had ever touched). The other was kind of blue and yellow. The lip-part itself was spotted with dark blue or purple dots. It looked highly poisonous like a blue ringed octopus or something, but Phil assured me it was perfectly safe to touch. I duck-dived down three metres and placed my hand inside the opening and touched the luscious ‘lip’. The giant clam started to close slowly. We headed back to the main crowd after that, with more spotting here and there, until a dingy alerted Phil to remove me from the group, as it was time for my dive. Tash continued with the tour and I headed out with Lance (diver) and the other introductory diver (only two of us this time).
The hardest thing to get used to when diving is the breathing, you must keep yourself relaxed and breathe easy, and of course remembering to equalise often, once you can do these things, it becomes a cinch. We dropped down from the boat and followed the anchor line, there was a turquoise haze all about us and reef schnapper dancing about the chain. I was so much more relaxed now than previously and each ‘sssssshhh’ sound from my ears during equalising dropped me further. The haze darkened and objects loomed far below us. Lance took us near the reef shelf and pointed out some amazing creatures, like a coral that reflexively disappears when you wave your hand near it. I looked up at the top of the shelf and surface above, and it looked like how it’d imagined a song by Moby called ‘the blue sun of the underwater reef’: a shimmering white amidst the cascading and constantly changing tide, beams of light coming down below the surface like sun rays in a foggy sky and a multitude of small fish silhouettes passing by above me. This is how I’d envisioned a reef experience to be like, and it was raining above the surface!!! I’d fallen behind a bit, and worked to catch up, using my hands like I do snorkeling, but there really isn’t much need when scuba-diving, it’s all legs. We passed an open shelf with coral and moved up further, to a cave entrance, where I was staggered by the adventure we were being taken on. Thousands of purpley-blue irridescent fish moved about around the cave walls, like a busy city block and we had to be aware of the bulkiness of our gear and the dimensions in the tight location. As we emerged from the other side, the three of us were hovering in another coral garden, surrounded by bright black and white angel-fish leaping back and forth from rocky crags. Lance wanted to push on and as we left that area, I saw a very strange shaped object on the sandy floor below. I gave the uncertain hand signal to Lance, to get his attention and he headed back to check my gear. I gave him the ‘I’m cool’ signal, but pointed at the black and yellow spiky metre-long thing. He picked it up and let us both touch it. It was apparently a pineapple-sea-cucumber, with an armored exo-skeleton, not unlike the spines of a pineapple. We headed off again and passed some reef-sharks below us, and I felt the trepidation rise again. I had seen amazing things on that dive and vowed to do a lot more diving in the future.
end of part 1
We’ve sensed it, we’ve felt the contractions, now…it’s Crappening!
“The Crappening”
Written, directed, choreographed and product-placement endorsed, by M. Night Shyamalan
Starring Mark Waldorfsalad, Zooey Funnynameitis and lots of other b-grade actors
A recap. Its half price at the pictures tonight Special K. Let’s see what’s on. Hey, there’s a ‘Night’ movie called ‘The Happening’ at 9.30pm, let’s go. Lady in the water was great, this should be awesome. Internal Thought: Maybe I should check IMDB to make sure it isn’t shit; we don’t want another ‘I am Lame!’ No, that won’t happen: This is M. Night Shyamalan. We bought the tickets, we ate the Nandos, now…we digested the crappiest movie of all time. Wait…I can hear the brain-dead skeptics rehearsing in pure white-trash ad nauseum: ‘derr it was really good.’ No, Cledus, it wasn’t. The plot, it’s all about the plot and a worthy set of twists; that at least was our heightened expectations from so previously brilliant a director as the aforementioned. So it was with complete surprise, that the movie fell out like a hopeless can-of-worms.
Bees. That’s where Waldorf brings our attention to. What could cause these insects to vanish without a trace? Bee-nappers? Bee-aliens? Bee-grade actors? This was supposed to be a profound statement from a teacher of science, whose use of technical knowledge is non-existent. Yet it is obvious that his comment about vanity of a male student acts as a preface for the entire film: shallow. This teacher, whose indescribable relationship with his friend (gay lover) and his girlfriend (wife), holds all the answers and asserts from plant-liaising hippies, that what is ‘happening’ is an airbourne toxin released from plants (striking revenge against the damage man has done to this planet), that seems to follow people by utilising the wind, causing people to freeze on the spot, talk shit and blow their brains out or lie in the path of a lawn mower. Paradoxically, this is the exact effect Shyamalan must’ve intended for his audience. Stand still, talk crap then kill yourselves from boredom.
