Last year, when I visited Sweden, I was lucky enough to meet “Sandra In Sweden”.
As I noted at the time…
She’s an American married to an Australian and on her blog she writes about their life in Stockholm. They’ve been in Stockholm five years now. This month Sandra and I have swapped lives. She and Robert have been visiting Robert’s family in Australia. Co-incidentally, Robert spent much of his early life in Young, which isn’t far from where I used to live in Wagga Wagga. So while they’ve been travelling around the region visiting family and friends who live in the Riverina and Central West and visiting places I know very well, I’ve been in Stockholm visiting the places they know very well. While they’ve been enjoying the sunshine in Australia, I’ve been enjoying the ice and snow in Sweden. For me, the ice and snow are interesting and exotic, not so for Robert and Sandra. I got an email from Sandra the other day asking when I was returning to Australia. Suddenly it became obvious we had a small window of opportunity to meet each other. So at about five o’clock today, I paid a visit to their fantastic apartment on Sodermalm, which, incidentally is the place in Stockholm I’d most like to live. Literally ten minutes after they walked in the door of their house, I was there to “welcome them back”. Over an hour or so we chatted about our lives, and made some interesting observations about both Swedes and Australians
Ten months later, our lives were reversed again as she and her husband were visiting Australia. We went out for lunch in Chinatown at my new favourite restaurant, Red Chilli. I’m pleased they enjoyed it as a different, but still authentically “Sydney” tourist thing to do.
Later in the afternoon I had a nap, ahead of catching up with some friends, including The Best Judge, as well as a couple of fellow ABBA fans. A fun and wild night was had by all.
Thank goodness for the cool change which came through mid-afternoon just as I walked Robert and Sandra to the car-hire place.
I was briefly reminded today of the seminal 1980s Australia book and film, “Puberty Blues”. It’s a book/film about surfie culture (and gender) set at Cronulla in Sydney’s South in the 1970s.
As I recall from my middle years in high school, it was a book that was “handed around” at high school because of the large amount of graphic sexual detail it contained. I’m pretty sure you needed a note from your parents to borrow the book from the school library. Within a couple of years of reading the book, it was on the big screen with Nell Schofield starring, and a fantastic soundtrack.
What brought back the memory of “Puberty Blues” was catching the train to Cronulla. Although I don’t recall exactly where they got on, I found myself at one point surrounded by a bunch of teenage girls and their surfie boyfriends. The lingo may have changed, but the conversation could have been lifted directly from the pages/script of “Puberty Blues” as they made fun of the “Muriels” of the world. In this case, it was a group of Middle-Eastern guys also in the carriage.
I mention Muriel because of the similarities with “Muriel’s Wedding”. Growing up on the NSW North Coast – not far from Porpoise Spit – I knew those bitches who made fun of Muriel. I could name every one of them. And while I wasn’t Muriel – though I did sit in my room and listen to ABBA songs – I knew the girls who were “Muriel”.
Although it’s often said we turn into our parents at about the age of forty, I suspect it’s actually much earlier.
I was on my way for lunch with the ex, and then to catch up with a friend for coffee and to “meet” her new baby (nine months old). Both experiences were lots of fun. Baby Emily and I have similar faces and hair-lines, so naturally we connected well.
On arriving back in the city, I helped a friend set up his television for the new digital services, and re-configured his internet connection over a month overseas.
It’s been a pretty amazing week with lots of people in town for a work-related conference resulting in a big night out on both Tuesday and Wednesday. On Tuesday night, I took some visiting colleagues from Darwin out to a seminal Sydney experience: dinner at BBQ King.
Had a funny moment the other day when Yvette and I were on a morning walk. Walking past one of the many methadone clinics in Surry Hills, we noticed a large lineup of people waiting for it to open at 7am. Five minutes down the road and we had to lineup outside Cafe Nikki for our morning cup of coffee. Machiatto or methadone? That’s life in Surry Hills.
Christine Johnston as Decent Spinster
Last night, Damien and I went to see “Decent Spinster” at the Opera House. We had decided to see “Decent Spinster” based on her short performance at the media launch of “The Studio” at the Sydney Opera House earlier this year. Our memories of a “mad looking woman” performing bird calls and playing the musical saw remain vivid, although this show bears only minor resemblance to what Christine performed then.
The “Decent Spinster” is an old fashioned, perhaps Victorian woman, dressed entirely in grey, with a wild bee-haircut, who communicates in a mostly non-literal sense through bird calls, operatic sounds and the musical saw, relating to what is now mostly outdated technology such as the overhead projector, slide projector and even one of those 1950s “weight loss” vibrating belts.
Through the “Decent Spinster”, we are taught a completely logical new language, where the written word, images, and the spoken word (both literal and implied) collide.
The show is a roller-coaster of humour and emotion, on the cutting edge of contemporary performance, with a “European” feel, but firmly placed in the suburbia of contemporary Australian life.
Irish Famine Memorial - Hyde Park Sydney I’ve just spent a few hours walking around in the company of historian, Richard Reid.
Richard, who works at the National Museum in Canberra is noted for his interest in the history of the Irish in Australia. In particular, his interest in the many young women who came to Australia during or immediately after the Great Famine of the late 1840s.
Here in Sydney, the famine is remembered in the Irish Famine Memorial at the Hyde Park Barracks. Reflecting the displacement experienced by the many young women (and all immigrants and refugees, really), part of the wall at the barracks has also been displaced. They’ve taken the brick-works, turned them at an angle, inserted a large glass plate with the names of many of the young women engraved, and have placed a small table with some household implements to tell the story of their life before and after arriving in Australia where many gained employment as domestic servants, ahead of marriage.
It’s a very touching and beautiful memorial, and I was lucky enough to go along to the launch of the memorial ten years ago.
Today’s walk was organised by the Historic Houses Trust, and most of those attending were either trust members, or descendants of many of the famine girls.
Irish Famine Memorial in Sydney : the names of some of the young women who came to Australia as Assisted Immigrants are engraved in a large glass plate. My own connection isn’t that straight-forward. Strictly speaking my great-grandmother, Hannah Lynch wasn’t one of the “official” famine girls. She didn’t come to Australia on one of the famine ships. But she has a lot of the common characteristics. She came from a town badly affected by the famine. When she came to Australia (along with her sister), her parents were already dead. And she came as an Assisted Immigrant.
So although I’m not a direct descendant of these “famine girls”, I was interested in going on the walk to learn more about some of the common issues she may have faced.
Of the many points Richard Reid made today one was clear: that although these young women are often described in desperate terms, for most of them a life in Australia was a vast improvement on conditions back in Ireland. Here, they mostly received a regular wage (whereas they would often have experienced large periods of unemployment back in Ireland). And he emphasised that while some of them experienced problems associated with their relocation, the vast majority settled into a reasonably happy life in Australia and just “disappeared”.
The walk took us from the steps of the Opera House (they would have arrived at Circular Quay), up Macquarie Street, to Government House (to reflect on the significant number of NSW Govenors who were Irish, and who often did things to improve the conditions of the Irish in Australia), before finally arriving at Hyde Park (where many of these women stayed in the early part of their settlement in Sydney).
In terms of my own research, Richard Reid mentioned the availability and importance of weather records in helping to tell the stories of immigration. “The weather which greeted them on arrival would undoubtedly have influenced their impression of life in Australia”, he noted. He also mentioned the “Catholic Weekly” (and before it, “The Freeman’s Journal”), as an historical source (a source which I had given little thought to until today).
He also mentioned the opening of an exhibition at the National Museum on March 17, 2010 about the Irish in Australia, and of the forthcoming tenth anniversary of the Famine Memorial at Hyde Park.
It was a really interesting and enjoyable tour. Thanks to Richard Reid and to the Historic Houses Trust. Bloody hot though…
As Noah, my support worker, and I strolled earlier today, we got into a conversation about how drastically life changes when you move at a very slow pace. For Noah, this isn’t a choice; he needs to match my walking speed. Although I’ve become more independent in my walking, I still proceed at a rather leisurely pace. What might have previously taken 5 minutes to walk can end up taking close to 30.
During our morning commute, we found ourselves being passed by a whirlwind of people in a rush, most of them absorbed in their mobile phones. When you walk at a snail’s pace, you become acutely aware of the bustling world around you.
This contrast was especially pronounced as we traversed the Devonshire Street tunnel. While it was past the peak rush hour before 9 a.m., there were still plenty of hurried commuters.
In the past, my routine through this tunnel involved ordering a coffee via a mobile app at the tunnel’s entrance, which would be ready for me by the time I reached the exit. What would normally take two or three minutes ended up consuming nearly twenty. In the future, I’ll have to be more discerning about when and if I use the app, as it proved just as convenient to order my coffee face to face, without the “time-saving” app.
On the flip side, moving slowly can lead to unexpected interactions. When people have approached me for money, I had little choice but to engage in a brief conversation, whereas in the past, I might have quickly responded with, “Sorry, I don’t carry cash.” The response remains the same, but it takes a bit longer to express it to them. However, I’ve noticed that fewer people ask me for money, possibly assuming I’m in a dire situation due to my amputation, prosthetic leg, and crutches.
As I strolled down the street in the afternoon, I found myself in a lengthy conversation with a man about my situation, hoping he would eventually move on. He finally got the hint and bid me farewell with a heartfelt “God bless you.”
Later, on a bus, another man shared his story of breaking both legs in a car accident. Normally, I wouldn’t have engaged with a stranger on a bus, but today was different. He marveled at my ability to get around, remarking that when he was injured, he spent his days in bed, feeling despondent.
The words “remarkable” and “inspiring” have been used quite frequently in recent months to describe my situation, but they don’t sit comfortably with me. I’ve started telling people, “I’m just very determined.” While there have been moments when I’ve felt overwhelmed, I’ve been trying to maintain a positive outlook.
I received a message this week from a close relative who is nearly 90 years old, and it deeply touched me.
In March this year my daughters little cavoodle scratched me. Not a big wound. I left it a bit long to go to emergency. The smell was dreadful. Went to Camden emergency and the Dr said that is a dog bite. I was adamant it was scratch. Anyhow, went to Liverpool Hospital I thought was overnight for debridement of wound. It took 3 weeks to clean up infection and 3 more debridements and was mentioned I had to have a skin graft and this infection could attack the graft. Anyhow, I was very lucky not to be in your predicament. My granddaughter in law was a nurse and said this particular infection is very hard to control. I don’t think I would have been as strong as you if it happened. I was so very lucky James. You are my inspiration. I have quite a hole in my leg and they nicked a nerve doing the graft operation so half my right foot is numb, but I was a lucky one.
I’m glad that I’ve been able to make such an impact, though unexpectedly. Positivity really does rub off.
Everything that’s happened in the last few months has also (hopefully) made me more thoughtful and thankful.
Today, I had to return to the hospital for the “Amputees Clinic,” where various members of my rehabilitation team came together to assess my progress. The prognosis was positive. My ability to walk independently has improved, and my specialist doctor recommended that I can now use just one crutch when walking outdoors. He did express some concern about the possibility of ingrown hairs and commented on my leg hair. Personally, I’ve never thought of myself as particularly hairy, but due to the surgery, I have an unusual concentration of body hair in one area. We discussed various options, including laser removal, but decided that vigilant monitoring and occasional trimming would suffice. He also informed me that I don’t need to return to the “Amputees Clinic” until February, which is a significant change from the monthly visits.
Feeling a bit celebratory, I decided to treat myself tonight.
Sashimi from Ichibang on Crown Street, Surry Hills
After months of hospital and home-cooked meals or dinners with friends, I ventured down the street on my own, using just one crutch, and enjoyed some sashimi and gyoza. There was much to celebrate at my “party for one.”
This year’s lecture was given by Peter Cosgrove, former head of the defence forces.
In today’s lecture he reflected on how many times Australia has gone to war without facing any direct threat, but for reasons of “national interest”.
In the case of the First World war, he argued, it was about sureing up our position with the UK.
In the Vietnam War, it was about sureing up our position with the US.
In between, he noted, we did actually face a threat from Japan, but ended up fighting for more important reasons against Nazism.
He also reflected on the many reasons why a country goes to war, and the many issues that need to be considered, including the cost and the possibility of success. In doing so, he reflected on some comments he made a few years ago about how he felt Vietnam was a mistake.
It was an interesting speech, and a nice way to spend a bit of Sunday afternoon.
This is Valborg, a pagan festival still happening each year in Sweden! This video was from 2013. I loved it, though it was a little bit warm, being so close to the fire. One of the things I love about this video is the combination of English (Australian and American) and Swedish, and the fact, when you see the crowd, you see the modern face of multicultural Sweden
