Letter To...

‘Turning Point’ is a pivotal moment in your life that brings you in a new direction. Things become a lot clearer and you are moving forward again. In a narrative it can be the climax followed by the resolution. In maths it can be the stationary point of the compass moving round and round, pressing it’s subject.

There I was with every orifice open to the five women delivering their very personal letters at Women of Letters* at Thornbury Theatre on a miserable Melbourne Sunday afternoon.

With a Cab Sav in one hand I listened to the very diverse panel of Australians.  The first lady discussed her breast reduction and poor self image rather humorously. The next talked about her choice to be involved in filming over being a musician. The third let us in to her very raw feelings for a past boyfriend with an anxiety disorder. The following had a similar turning point when she realised she was clinically depressed. Through a video link up we listened to one lady and gained an insight into politics and how being a school mum was her turning point to fight for democracy. The fifth and final speaker was eccentric and fittingly as wild as her red hair. Her turning point was when Winona Ryder was caught for shoplifting,. Her idol caught like a deer in the headlights. A nice lighthearted final speaker.

All were read with purpose and beautifully and tastefully articulated. No tears and self-indulgent comments. Just a moment when we as a collective body felt that turning point and lived it for those six or so pages of each letter.

After the speakers had presented their letters, we had an opportunity to write a postcard or aerogram ourselves. I can proudly say that I was one of Marieke Hardy’s missal writers. Keeping the art of snail mail alive. I even posted it!

It was such a wonderful moment when I realised my recipient was one of my turning points and told me to write because I never knew what it could truly bring to me until I tried.

Being there was a turning point…

*On the last Sunday of the month six different women from interesting celebrity, sporting, pioneering, musical, political etc backgrounds come together to respond to a topic via a letter (read aloud by them) to like-minded women and men. The whole purpose is to preserve the ritual of letter writing and help fund a vegan farm in Kilmore called Edgar’s Mission.

I was lucky enough to be attending with a dear friend who also happens to be Marieke’s cousin and we sat in the front row, ears tuned to the creative thoughts of these women.

All the letters are unsighted and uncollaberated beforehand and can be humorous, soul searching, outrageous and more often than not inspiring.

The speakers I listened to this month were Maude Davey, Natalie Van Den Dungen, Sian Prior, Missy Higgins, Joan Kirner and Lorelai Vashti 

Dust – Book Review

Dust is everywhere in this house and you don’t need a white glove to prove it. From the bedside tables to the kids’ bookshelves, I can see evidence of a tardy housewife.

My excuse is that dusting sets me off sneezing. Great fits of “achoo,” a spray of snoot and a nose that sniffles and snuffles for the remainder of the day. Why would I want to dust?

So what is dust? ‘Dust is a general name for minute solid particles with diameters less than…500 micrometres. Particles in the atmosphere arise from various sources such as soil dust lifted up by wind, volcanic eruptions, and pollution.’ 

There are three main components of dust: dead skin cells, the dried faeces and corpses of dust mites (nice!) and tiny fibres shed by clothing such as cotton.**

The story I am reviewing today though is far more serious than a dusty bookcase. It is about the humanitarian disaster in Niger, Africa, in 2005. Entitled Dust, by Colin Thompson, published by A.B.C Books, this picture book follows the tragic journey of a mother and child starved and exposed to the elements.

The book starts by saying: “I died last night” and haunting illustrations give weight to the text. Fourteen well-known illustrators designed a double page each and the unique styles interpret the journey of death for this nameless African mother and her child.

“I had no years to fall in love, no weeks to laugh, no days to learn that two and three make five.”

There is a sad reminder that the western world ignored their pleas when it shows a man wearing cufflinks shoveling his left-over dinner into the bin on top of a newspaper that writes about the famine in World News, in contrast to a two million dollar wedding entertainment article.

The second last image in the story has a corpse carrying a sickle and lantern with skulls scattering the ground. He is holding the hands of other cultures.

“Tomorrow we will be back in the dust, gathered by the wind and spread across the world.”

Perhaps this is saying that the Africans' plight will be spread across the world or that they will merely be dust - forgotten under our feet.

It is the final image that shows the frailty of life. Four burning matchsticks with earth the centre in each matchstick head, are glowing, burning, and finally burnt out. A message to the world how quickly we pass from life to death and that we have only one Earth.

This is not your usual picture book but it is a story that needs to be read and shared with your children. Thompson has poignantly retraced this dreadful famine and highlighted the waste of life through beautiful illustrations and evocative text.

While my dusting prelude was completely insignificant it does have a similar theme of neglect.  In Niger, we neglected people who were thirsty, starving and weak. Let’s owe them the respect of being remembered before they were dust. 

*Wikipedia

**answerbag.com

picture - illustrated by Colin Thompson

Story to Tell

The second hand bookstore is always full of surprises and while it is backbreaking work lugging books up the hill from the school shipping container and sorting and pricing boxes, it is cathartic sitting among thousands of pages of books. Vintage, new, hardly read, dog-eared, names inscribed, ex library or with the bookmark still resting between the pages. Every book has (pardon the pun) a story to tell.

My reward for spending so much time voluntarily running the bookstore for the fair is free access to the books. Not surprisingly I don’t grab for the shiny covers or the chick lit. I prefer to pick up books with a history like the weather beaten copy of Lord of the Rings (definitely an early print from the 70’s and a well-loved book with pages loosened at the spine. I am like the Lost Dog’s home for books. I cannot send a book to the recycle bin if a child has scrawled on its pages. I did the same with my books as a child, pretending to be a librarian and stamping the back page. I wasn’t being destructive. I was expressing my love for books at an early age – just like this child.

As I sneeze my way through dusty book after dusty book, I find a cricket story for my son and a book about dogs for my daughter; again pretty grotty books that some child must have read over and over again. Then I stumble on The Prose Works of Henry Lawson and on the back cover is a membership to the Marvic Book Club in Ascot Vale. The postcode reads as W2. The book was printed in 1935. Inside in lead is written, “This book is 3’ per week. Obviously the price you paid back then to loan books. I wonder if they had wine and nibbles at their book club?

I love the treasures that surface every week in the second hand book store and think of friends and colleagues that might be matched to certain books just like families are paired with stray cats and dogs. Veggie growing suits this friend, readers are appropriate for Preps, bike touring for my neighbours, crime for another friend and so on. I even found a book, Two for the Road, which my friend’s husband was pictured in. Apparently her Auntie’s sister-in-law was the author. Such a small world – I promise I’ll review it later.

Don’t worry I will sell some of the books, but my friends also deserve a new book in their lives. I am the gatherer and distributor of once treasured books for both the young and old. My book club loaning sticker would read: All I ask is that you enjoy and love this book!

Is that Name a Poke?

“A little ray of sunshine has come into the world. A little ray of sunshine in the shape of a girl…”

It’s so exciting when you hold your newborn child and name them after nine months of scouring name books and agonising over a mutually acceptable name. It’s a name for your child to own and grow with.

Recently the major papers published the list of the most popular names in Victoria for 2010. A lot of the classics like Ruby, Charlotte and Mia appeared for the girls. Jack, William and Thomas topped the list for the boys*. These are traditional names that fit a newborn as well as a senior citizen’s face.

Recently, an Egyptian father was happy to forego the traditional names of his country by naming his newborn daughter Facebook in appreciation of the role that this social media site played in Egypt’s revolution.

We all watched the bloody protest unfold with thousands packing Tahrir Square and other cities in Egypt demanding the end to President Hosni Muburak’s reign. This father was that impressed by the influence of social gossip and networking that he named his precious daughter after it.

Imagine when Facebook grows up and her teacher says “Get out your laptop Facebook and Google the Egyptian uprising from 2011.” That might explain a few things for her. 

Perhaps if the trend in social uprising continues she will have friends called Yahoo and Twitter!

I Love You Too Babe

How could I possible top this! Ten years married today and I am sharing this beautiful red letter delivered in a handmade tin because according to wedding anniversary custom ten years is "tin." My hubby has made my card out of the appropriate material every year from cotton and wood to pottery and iron and I have kept every single one. This means a great deal to me. To my number 1 follower - I love you x

Speed Mingling and Bidets

There is a definite social awkwardness when you throw 15 new prep mums in a room – at least until you pour a glass of champas. Cliques appear and people get stuck talking to one person about their arduous birth story…until you start speed mingling.

Yes ‘speed mingling’ is my all-female version of speed meeting/dating and this two minute chat and move on game can actually break the ice for many and open you up to a whole new mix of people and conversations.

In one speed mingle I realized that if you have a female baby that’s overdue, the estrogen in their body can cause them to have a baby period. (I never knew that.) I talked about boys and sport and the popularity battle if you aren’t physically inclined. We discussed emotion from songs and how the tune and the words can turn us into wet blankets. I’m never having twins with reflux and after two minutes of ears only, I have total admiration for all parents of twins. Then there was the whole Catholic thing of not sleeping in the same bed with our partners at our parents’ home and the “mattress on the floor” rule before we were married.  All these came from snippets of speed mingling. It’s amazing when conversation is limited, it can indeed be very enlightening and lighthearted.

Nerves and pretenses had subsided and by the end of the night we had moved from cocktails and double chin photos to joking about hot chocolates out of our “bidets.” There should be more speed mingling conversations!

Pigs Fly

Have you ever stopped to read your food packages? Everything is organic, free-range and has no preservatives or artificial flavours. It’s what we want to read and it’s what most of us are choosing to eat.

When I was making pork burgers, I stumbled upon this creative marketer:

“Born and raised on carefully selected R.S.P.C.A Approved farms, our free range pigs forage, roam and socialise in the Great Australian Outdoors.”

Yes they play Piggyback races, have a farewell BBQ and watch the sunset together before they DIE and end up as pork burgers on our plate. Who are they kidding? What death is humane? Enticing us with free-range pigs is fine but luring us with ones that "socialise" freely is a tad misleading.

As I chomp down on my burgers I’ll keep it in mind that the pigs had a good life – snort snort.