You know how sometimes you just need a break between work and home?
You go to work, you come straight home, you go to work, and you come home…
It all gets a little monotonous after a while. And even though I lead a reasonably rich and fulfilling life, sometimes I feel like I’m living and working in a sausage factory.
So tonight, rather than coming straight home, I went for a walk along Oxford Street.
I actually texted a mate to see if he wanted to catch up for a wine. But working as an up and coming lawyer, he responded with “Flat out at work James. Will have to take a raincheck”.
So I wandered up and down the street by myself, in and out of several bars trying to find a spot where I could take a moment to have a glass of wine, relax, and separate work from play.
I finally ended up at The Columbian, which I noted from last night’s television news is one of those bars with a violent reputation. I suspect it’s because of its location on the corner of Crown and Oxford Streets more than the bar itself.
Inside, there were lots of people dressed in suits chatting away with friends.
I found myself a quiet spot on the corner and sat down and drank my chardy.
“There’s a lot of great talent here tonight”, a bloke said to me, interrupting my moment of solice.
“Yeah”, I agreed without really offering much.
“Was he being flirty?”, I wondered. Was he just being friendly? Or was he reaching out to another human soul who he thought needed a moment of humanity?
I was on my way from unemployed life in Brisbane, and travelling via Sydney to take up a job at 2WEB in Bourke. I love this photograph shared by a friend on Twitter today of me and her son, taken in Sydney in 1988 (probably late January/early February). I scarcely remembered it until I saw the photograph ealier. Great memories. We’re both much older!
New Norcia is unique in Australia: it’s a village founded and mostly inhabited by a group of Benedictine Monks. Yes, Benedictine Monks, who settled the community in 1846. Why? Good question. It would appear, however, the founder, Dom Rosendo Salvado, had a belief in the need to form an Australian ministry and, according to the museum, had a particular interest in forming an Aboriginal priesthood.
Although the drive from the centre of Perth takes about two hours, it’s a reasonably pleasant one and there are a number of places along the way to stop off and explore, especially in the Swan Valley. On this occasion, however, we didn’t. Although it’s not all that well signposted for the early part of the trip, sticking to the Great Northern Highway makes it relatively easy to locate.
The graveyard at New Norcia, Western Australia
We arrived a fraction too late to take one of the two walking tours offered each day which was a bit of shame because I would have liked to ask some more questions about the Benedictines and the foundation of the community. The museum gives some information but I always want to ask some more (maybe if we had bought the books in the shop..)
New Norcia
On arriving in New Norcia, Sue and I were a little hungry, so we wandered off to the local pub. The pub, built in 1927, is gorgeous with a terrific verandah and an enormous internal staircase that takes you from the rather grand lower floor to the more “country pub style” first floor. With some thought to restoration, I’d like to see the carpet removed from the staircase itself and the paint removed from the probably gorgeous timber. While Sue enjoyed a Ploughman’s Lunch, featuring some local cheeses, I enjoyed an assortment of dips (probably made with local olives) with one of the famous local breads. The Monastery owns a 100 year old oven in which they bake a variety of breads; the bread I enjoyed was similar in texture to Turkish bread, but perhaps with an olive bread taste. I also had a glass of one of the local wines which, the brochure tells me, was “made exclusively for New Norcia from fruit grown at the Abbey’s selected vineyard at Bindoon”, which is a nearby service town to New Norcia.
New Norcia Brickwork
As we began to wander around the village we became instantly aware that, despite the sightly Spanish flavour of the community, we were in the Australian outback. How? The flies. Flies were everywhere, thousands of them all sensing human flesh on which to do their worst. Although it may have been seasonal, we’d both recommend some Aerogard if you decide to visit New Norcia.
The village graveyard is fascinating: although mostly occupied by former monks, there are some local family burial plots as well. Although the graveyard contains large burial plots for the abbots, the ordinary brothers/monks are buried in a more simple manner. In fact, it looks as if they might have done a “bulk lot” on brass crosses, with the graveyard taking on, in some ways, the appearance of a “war graveyard”. We guessed that most of the local families buried in the graveyard were also Catholic, given the Irish and (one) Italian name located on the gravestones. The most recent grave we saw was of someone buried in 1998.
Amongst the other buildings in the village are two schools – boys and girls – which are now mostly used for camps and conferences. It would appear, however, they were used by the Marist Brothers and Josephite Nuns to teach “the young men and women of Western Australia”.
Although the Monastery itself is off limits to the public, there is a guesthouse closeby and, although we didn’t go in, presumably the nearby Abbey Church is also open to the public.
As we wandered around we wondered how the monks, themselves, felt about the town being transformed into a tourist centre. Sue notes that The Benedictines seem to focus their Rule of Life on being in community and respect for others. Seems like you always place the needs of the other above your own and that in doing this you reflect something of God’s love – although that was not really explained.
After consideration of the enormous of cost of maintaining the buildings, we decided that pragmatism probably demanded this. The Museum has for sale a range of memorabilia, ranging from the spiritual to the culinary.
On the lower floor of the museum there is a collection of artefacts from the history of the mission with a particular emphasis on the contact with Aboriginal people. Sue notes that There was a lovely story about the first contact with the local Aboriginal people. Seems like both communities were a touch frightened by the experience but by sharing food together a bond was formed and peaceful relationships established. Seems like an incredibly sensible approach to life – finding meaning and relationship as we break bread together – that notion gets mentioned a lot in a book I read regularly….
On the upper floor there are two collections of religious artworks – one historical, the other contemporary – which contain some terrific works. Of the contemporary work, I was amazed at the calibre of some of the artists featured – mostly West Australians – including a small work by Howard Taylor and two larger works by Julie Dowling. There is also a series of contemporary paintings of some of the monks who have been in the community in the last few years which I thought were terrific, especially as they featured short biographies of the subjects. The historical works are in the more traditional style of European masters.
Overall, it’s a terrific place to visit. Highly recommended.
There’s a bloke who seems to drink most days at one of the pubs here in Lismore, who seems to have also drunk the Q-Anon Kool-Aid. He’s a big bloke, always wearing hi-vis, and he has a friendly face. But every time I’ve been there lately, he’s been talking rather loudly about various conspiracy theories.
“Trump will return to power within a couple of months”, I’ve heard him tell people. “Big changes are coming”, he’ll add, seeking their affirmation. The looks on the faces of the people he’s speaking to suggest their disbelief.
The other memorable overheard conversation this week was at another pub. “All they have on TV, these days is f…ing COVID, so I’ve learned how to use Netflix”, I heard a bloke say. Yes, I know it’s incredibly important to know what’s going on, but it’s also true the constant media coverage can get you down, and explains why people are looking for distractions.
Maybe the two conversations are linked?
Being home with family in Lismore, I’ve started to spend most nights watching “Neighbours” and “Home & Away”. At first, I found it hard to identify where one program finished and the other started.
But then I’ve started to notice one is set in Melbourne (Neighbours) and the other is set in Sydney. One is mostly set in loungerooms (Neighbours), and the other is set mostly in coffee shops.
“Neighbours” is also way “gayer” than “Home & Away”, with the program currently featuring two gay couples. I know more about these two shows than I thought possible when I came home back in June.
For the most part, I’m working from home, though on two days each week, I’ve been heading in to work at the local office of the ABC. Three days this week, actually.
My “days in the office” generally start with a coffee and bagel at Ristretto, a cafe on Molesworth Street where the coffee, food and service are good. After only a few visits, they’ve come to know me, my order, and welcome me with a smile. Earlier today, I joked I’d probably worked more at the ABC in Lismore this year than I have at the ABC in Sydney. I checked my calendar, and it’s now pretty much equal!
Most days I’ll catch the bus to the office, and generally speaking, I’m often the only person on the bus.
And then in the afternoons, I’ll walk home, which affords me some exercise (about 3km, 45 minutes) and some lovely views.
Late afternoon at St Carthage’s Cathedral.And occasionally, there are some lovely sunsets.
I took a break from work yesterday to catch up with my cousin, Barry O’Brien. We have the same great-great-grandparents, Peter O’Brien and Mary-Ann Goward. https://thelimbshift.com/genealogy/peter-obrien-and-mary-ann-goward/ We both have an interest in genealogy and that’s how we first met when he was living in Muswellbrook.
At the time, my radio program was heard on the local ABC Radio station, and he heard me one day mention my ancestry. We met a few months later at the ABC in Sydney, and I vividly remember Drew (who worked at the coffee shop) asking if we were related. There’s definitely a physical similarity.
He was on his way to Queensland for a funeral and called into Lismore along the way. We chatted about lots of family history stuff, and I also took him for a walk around “the block”. He was amazed by the signs indicating how deep the floodwaters were in the record-breaking 1974 flood.
“Oh look, there’s Wendy, doing the washing up…”, my friend Sue commented, as she pointed towards the upstairs window of the house Wendy Whiteley has lived in for almost fifty years. Downstairs, at the entrance to the house, a number of women had gathered to read the sign declaring the NSW Government had promised to keep the garden open to the public. “I still wouldn’t trust a NSW politician to keep that promise, when there’s always the possibility of “developer money”, I said to Sue.
The story of “Wendy’s Secret Garden” is a terrific one. In the weeks and months after the death of her husband, the artist Brett Whiteley, she began cleaning up the unused railway land in front of their house. The land was almost like a rubbish tip, in some respects. Now, the garden is the kind of place where we saw today: a couple having their wedding photographs taken; a couple of women opening a bottle of champagne to enjoy a picnic; a place where we saw an older woman napping on a park-bench; and where we saw a broad range of ages enjoying some beautiful parkland close to Sydney Harbour.
Located only a few minutes walk from Luna Park, it was a lovely spot for an afternoon wander. And it’s free and open to the public.
We had an argument over wheelchair parking with a man today at Maroubra.
I don’t have one of those stickers to put on car windows yet. I need to go to a doctor and get some paperwork from home. But today we used wheelchair parking spots for brief drop-offs and pickups, while my friends parked elsewhere.
But on seeing us in one of the spots at the beach, the man in question started abusing us. His wife was in a wheelchair; they already had a spot, and he was wanting to use the space we were already in to get her back into the car.
We tried to explain we were not able-bodied people abusing the disability spaces, but he didn’t seem to understand or didn’t seem to want to listen.
In one of those classic ‘don’t back down moments,’ he failed to acknowledge we were telling the truth when I emerged from the vehicle, got into the wheelchair, and my friend drove away to another spot.
My other interactions with people in wheelchairs have been a lot more positive.
“As I’ve been traveling around, I’ve become far more conscious of people in wheelchairs than I was a few months ago,” I told my friends.
As we sat and waited for the fish and chips to be ready, two people in wheelchairs rode by. “Hello, how are you going?” we said to each other, smiling. I noticed one of them was double below-the-knee amputee, but mostly I noticed they were really enjoying themselves being out and about, having a great time down by the ocean.
Later we had a lovely jokey interaction with a couple who, like the first, were getting ready to get back in their vehicle.
My future with a prosthesis means I’ll be spending less time out and about in a chair, but there will still be times when I’ll need to get around in one. Anticipated occasions include long-distance trips, when I’m feeling tired, or when the prosthesis doesn’t fit or work properly.
Today was a further insight into the times when that might need to be the case, and the kind of things I might need to consider.
We went to Maroubra today for a couple of reasons, including that it seemed quite wheelchair friendly. There is a long flat promenade that’s relatively smooth, there seems to be ample wheelchair access, and it was nowhere near as busy as somewhere like Coogee. At the surf club, you can asks for a “beach wheelchair” (large, wide tyres), which they provide free of charge.
We went there for some fresh air (out of the hospital), some good conversation, and (ostensibly) fish and chips.
Fish and chips doesn’r sound good for diabetics, does it? Even though the shop ‘Barnacles’ at Maroubra doesn’t have wheelchair entry, I was able to see the menu from outside and order through my friends who could go into the shop. My friends had some battered fish and potato scallops, and I opted for some baby octopus and a salad. They also had grilled fish (which is also diabetes-friendly). All of our meals were excellent, and I would definitely go back there.
Conscious of my diabetes, I ‘snuck’ a couple of chips and even had a single beverage named after a former Prime Minister.
Later we went to an ice cream shop at the nearby East Gardens shopping center which had something called ‘diabetic ice cream.’ Research tells me it’s sugar-free, or at least low-sugar. They only had two flavors advertised as ‘diabetic ice cream,’ and I chose the chocolate one. I can’t remember the name of the ice cream shop, but it was on the top level of the shopping center, near the outdoor car park.
When I got back to the hospital, the nurse tested my blood sugar levels, and they were right on track. “You’re getting to know your body”, she remarked.
I’m pretty sure these small amounts of ‘leave pass’ are aiding the rehabilitation process. I’m so incredibly grateful my friends today, and others who’ve taken me out for a spin over the last few weeks.
“The guy in my room hasn’t had a single visitor in the week we’ve been together”, I told my friends today. Other people I’ve spoken to in the hospital have been here for periods of four and five months. By the time I get home, I will have been here for three months. I feel so incredibly lucky to have been able to get out and about, thanks to them.
“Just so you know, let there be no doubt, people really love you” my friend said today. We both almost cried.
What I love is that you can turn having a cruise and a bevvy in a Gay bar into an intellectual and philosophical blog entry on the meaning of life. Now that’s what I call ‘spin’ ;-p Takes great writing skills to do that!
It sounds so nice…just being able to decide to walk along Oxford Street.
Hard to know whether the guy was being flirty or not. My guess would be yes…but you never know.
What I love is that you can turn having a cruise and a bevvy in a Gay bar into an intellectual and philosophical blog entry on the meaning of life. Now that’s what I call ‘spin’ ;-p Takes great writing skills to do that!
My guess, James, is that the talent he was admiring was you.