Freo Fantasies

Hello Possums, I am currently sitting at the balcony of my apartment overlooking the Swan River eating sushimi and relaxing. I wanted to talk to you about my first impressions of the locals here in Perth and Freo (that’s local lingo for the city of Fremantle).

I’m feeling a little wasted and its only day one of the conference! On the first night when I arrived here I met up with a young colleague of mine and two of his friends for a night on the town in Perth. We ate a sumptuous meal at Must Winebar and kicked on to a night club. I didn’t get home until 3am, which is actually 5am in Melbourne time. The next night I met a wonderful colleague of mine at the opening drinks and another woman also from Melbourne who I hadn’t met before and had a dynamic discussion with them as the waiters replenished our champagne and brought us canapes. The trouble with that is its too easy to lose track of how much alcohol is consumed. We kicked on to the Little Creatures Brewery for some pale ale and pizza… I have come back to my apartment early tonight to finalise my presentation and get a decent nights sleep.

I met a local on the plane on the way over. We found out we had much in common. She was returning home from a conference in Melbourne – an academic into environmental sustainability and eco tourism. The flight went quickly because there was so much to talk about. We exchanged contact details on parting. Leaving Perth airport there was the longest queue for a taxi I have ever seen. A very attractive man began talking to me to pass the time, and by coincidence he had been to the same conference as my new friend. He ran an eco tourism business, was heavily involved at the policy level and had a lot to say about the reality of climate change. I shared a cab with another local who was also heading to Freo and we had an animated discussion in the cab with the taxi driver about all sorts of things from the shortage of manual labourers in Perth and in particular taxi drivers, to the federal election to good things to do in Perth and Freo. I arrived at my apartment complex only to get disorientated looking for my apartment, during which time another attractive man struck up a conversation with me while helping me find my way. Before parting he invited me to join him and his friends in the barbeque and pool area for dinner. Needless to say my first impressions of the locals were that they were extrordinarily friendly.

Dan, my young colleague had a different experience. ‘Have you noticed how rude people are here?’, he asked me. He told me stories about being pushed and shoved. ‘In Melbourne that would never happen’, he emphasized, ‘you would always say excuse me and wait, there is none of this elbowing and nudging!’. I disagreed initially but I must admit at the nightclub bar later that night I saw what he meant. People pushed in front of you to place their order or knocked past you if you were in their way as they walked past.

Dan said he had noticed the bar and restaurant staff treating our group differently to the way they responded to rest of the crowd. Bar staff smiled apologetically to us as if to say, ‘yeah sorry you have to put up with these rude morons’. Waiters spent more time with our table, such as pouring wine for pre tasting and checking the meal was to our satisfaction. When we were queueing for entry into the night club, patrons who were granted access were charged ten dollars entry. The group immediately before us were denied entry. Not only were we granted immediate entry but the “door whore” only charged us five dollars. Dan thought this was because she found us hard to place, definitely not from around here, but a little bit interesting and desirable.

Today we reminisced about that night. He still believed we were treated reverently. I thought his perceptions had been clouded by multiple Manhattens and teased him about pretending to live out a celebrity fantasy.

A little bit excited

Oh Possums, I’m feeling excited. I’m at the airport in the Quantas Club lounge waiting for my flight to Perth. I’m actually a day early for the conference through luck rather than good management. I hadn’t realised registration was from 1-6pm tomorrow, with the official opening on Monday. I was expecting it to actually start tomorrow with registration early in the morning.

I’m sure I’ll find things to do in Perth (not that I’ve been there before). But I did bring my bikinis and and novel to read, and I do enjoy a spot of body surfing. So, if I could find a nice beach…

… I probably should be disciplined and write my presentation notes before any rest and relaxation. (And I’m not one hundred percent sure I’d be comfortable surfing at a Perth beach given the number of shark attacks that have happened over there…).

This is the first time I’ve been in the Quantas club. It has been nice to have internet access and some lunch while waiting to board.

Bye for now. I shall be writing next from Perth!

I turned down a cocktail party invitation

There was a cocktail party on at our sailing club last weekend. When the social committee gals asked if I’d like to go I said, definitely will you be making cosmopolitans? They promised they would and I put my name down for the event. I had even started thinking about what to wear when I realised that the Primary School Twilight Fair was on that same day and evening. And I was down for Fairy Floss. Yes, Possums, I had to ring and decline the invitation in the end. Instead, I spent last Saturday twirling sticks around in a fairy floss machine.

I’d been to pump the day before and the triceps were still a little sore, but once they warmed up I was twirling like a wizard, producing fairy floss on demand for three hours straight! A quick interlude, leaving Kathleen in my place at the fairy floss stall was needed to take Emma to basketball and watch her play. I also popped quickly across to the market for our weekly supply of fresh fruit and veg before heading back to the fair.

I found Sally happily roaming with a pack of little friends soaking wet because she’d been dunked in the dunking machine. Kathleen had been relieved by some parents on the stall and had found some Beany Kids at bargain prices in the trash and treasure stall. Emma’s grade was packing up their photo booth stall and she and her friends were wet too (dunked also). Rosie and the hub weren’t there because Rosie had a kayaking event out of Melbourne.

When Fairy Floss was packed up, I found a group of friends at a table in the giant marquee and sat down to share wine and curry. An outdoor stage had been set up especially for the event. As the sun set more and more people got up to dance. The atmosphere was great – a friendly community, excellent music, good food and wine on a balmy evening. What more could I want? In the end, I was glad to have been part of the fair.

For those of you from Australia, that’s Wilbur Wilde in the front there with his sax, Freddy from Skyhooks on drums and a guy from Mondo Rock on guitar.

The appreciative crowd.

You get what you pay for

Hello Possums. I want to tell you about Martin. I don’t know how old he is, but I think he’s probably older than me. He has just become a grandfather, but he still looks very young, and is very young in the way he relates to people. He is enthusiastic and kind. He is also excellent at what he does. He is a musician and he plays violin, classical guitar and mandolin. He is also a music teacher.

Martin has inspired my children. My two youngest are learning to play the violin with him and my oldest is learning to play the guitar with him. Emma was the first to ask if she could take up an instrument. Martin runs group lessons at my children’s primary school and for the first year, Emma hired a violin from the school and went to a group lesson for twenty minutes once a week. She enjoyed it and took it seriously.

That was three years ago. She now has a private lesson with Martin in his own studio. Sally took up violin at the start of this year and also has a private lesson with Martin. When Kathleen expressed an interest to learn the guitar, Martin made a time to fit her in as well on the same day as the others. On Tuesdays the three of them have their lessons in half hour stints all in a row. So on Tuesdays, I pop in and out of Martin’s studio four times. We always chat while the children are setting up their instruments. He is always happy and has something interesting on the go. The children feel energised and encouraged by him too. He is a wonderful, gifted musician and individual.

Once I was leaving his studio and another parent arrived with her daughter, who is Emma’s age. I stopped to greet her. On this particular occasion it wasn’t long after Emma changed to individual lessons. She had been thriving and had expressed her appreciation for the opportunity to change from group to individual and to be learning in the serenity of his home rather than at school. I made a remark to the other parent, something like, Oh Emma is loving the individual lessons. Martin is wonderful isn’t he? Her reply to this was:

You get what you pay for.

I did not voice my opinion at the time. However, I certainly did not give any indication that I agreed with her. This particular statement I found insulting, to Martin and to my general philosophy on life. Who Martin is and what he gives to others is priceless.

Later, I wondered if she had passed her philosophy on to her children. I wondered how many people subscribed to it. I wondered if they also unthinkingly applied it to people. I wondered what it meant for society the way I thought I knew it.

Stretching the friendship

Hello Possums, have you ever done something inadvertantly to a friend that has stretched the friendship? This morning I was thinking with a grimace about something I did years ago. In the process of writing, I also thought of something done to me.

Many years ago I was a stay at home mum and I used to sew. I always had a project on the go. It was perhaps the thing that kept me sane for all those years. When the children were babies I found a lovely baby suit pattern with a fold down buttoned flap at the back for nappie access. It was very cute and could be made in fleecy fabric. The feet were not covered in so it was perfect for crawling babies to explore around the house in during cooler months.

Often I would make gifts of home sewn clothes for my friends’ children. I made one of these little suits for a girlfriend’s second baby boy. Months later she told me that the first time he had worn the suit, he kept crying. As a good mother would do, she went through her mental checklist of baby’s needs. He was freshly changed and fed and had been sleeping well, but he continued to cry. She reasoned that he must have been sick and in pain. She administered baby panadol. Yet her child continued to cry. Eventually she found the cause. There was a dress making pin left in the shoulder seem of the suit and it had been digging into his arm pit all that time. I felt so bad about it when she called and told me the story. She said she had deliberated on whether to tell me or not.

Years later when she had three strapping sons, and we were at the home of a mutual friend she bought up the pin in the suit incident. She recounted how she had administered panadol to her crying child only to find later that the cause was the pin. I actually laughed upon this retelling. However, she looked at me with a serious face. She still did not see humour in the situation. I quickly checked my reaction, but felt dreadful. She was still remembering the anguish I had caused her all those years ago.

The thing that was done to me was very small. But it did spoil our friendship because I was hurt at the time. I had a bargain with a friend. I would make the curtains for their home and she would supply bottles of wine from her father’s vinyard in return. After I’d made the curtains, I hung them in her home while she was out with help from her husband. When I saw her next I asked her if she liked them. Oh I don’t know, she said, I never notice that sort of thing.

Eighteen months later she sold her home and got a good price for it. We were discussing the auction result and I jokingly said, Oh I think it sold well because of the fabulous sheer curtains in the front window. She looked at me then and it suddenly dawned on her that she had never paid me for my work. Although she promptly bought over the half a dozen bottles of wine and they were a very nice drop, I never forgot the way she dismissed my hard work. Making her curtains was a labour of love. I would not have done it for a lesser friend, and in the end she became a lesser friend.

Freestyle

Hello Possums, its been a very hot day here in Melbourne. After lunchtime at the school were I’m currently working as a visiting science teacher there were a lot of red faced children. Some who hadn’t slept well last night were starting to wilt. Quite a few of the teachers were struggling too because they said they hadn’t slept well. Neither did I actually. It was very warm. My own children are having trouble getting to sleep tonight. I felt like I needed something to relax and tire me properly tonight. I’ve just been up to the local pool to swim some laps.

I do enjoy swimming. I went in the fast lane tonight. There were only two other people, one young man who could really turn on the speed and another man about my age who I could easily lap. When you’re sharing a lane you need to get used to the habits of the other swimmers. For example, if the young guy was doing freestyle, I’d let him pass, but if he was into the breaststroke, I wouldn’t. The other guy tended to give way to me. I’m quite consistent, I only do freestyle. The good thing about these swimmers was that they were neat. Sometimes I get stuck sharing lanes with blokes who thrash their arms around so much that you always end up getting knocked. The bone on bone collision of two forearms hurts quite a bit. It takes the freedom out of the swimming when you have to be conscious about avoiding people.

Sometimes when I swim my mind wanders, but tonight it completely cleared my mind. This is a good state to be in. Hopefully I’ll get a good nights sleep and be bright tomorrow to finish writing my conference presentation. I’m very much looking forward to this. The conference is in Perth for five days and I’ll be flying out on Saturday. After the conference its on to Sydney for some quality girl time with Libby and D.

He arrived for lunch wearing this

Hello Possums. I had a lovely lunch with my dear friend Ed on Wednesday. We have been friends for twenty-eight years and he knows me well. He can say anything to me. And he always knows what to say.

Late last year when I was looking back on my marriage and feeling resentful that perhaps I had just wasted ten years of my life in a marriage that wasn’t working so well, I expressed my fears to Ed. I told him I was worried that I had left it too late and that if I kept on keeping on and it fails in the end that I would be past the point where any one else would be interested in me.

Bindi, he said, that will never happen to you. He paused here and smiled reassuringly. I almost cried. Gently he told me this story: My grandmother remarried at the age of seventy-three. After my granddad passed away a man their family had know for a long time who had lost his wife years earlier said to her, Lottie I have always loved you. They have been married happily for twenty years.

Its always good to see an old friend, particularly Ed. He is so familiar to me that I can hardly describe him to you. Nothing I have tried captures him correctly. On Wednesday, I thought he had been in a meeting and expected him to arrive in formal work gear. He turned up wearing a Tshirt looking very casual and very relaxed. When I looked closely at his Tshirt I laughed. I took a photo of it. What do you think?

Not excellent

Hello Possums. ‘Not excellent’ is how daughter number three, who is ten, replies if you ask her how she is feeling and she is either unhappy or sick.

How are you feeling Emma?

Not excellent.

She says it with a glint of humour in her eyes but you can tell she is really suffering.

Emma has a social maturity that every one who spends time with us comments on. More than a maturity measured as a seriousness in attitude, her gift lies in an intuitive ability to guage social meaning and to add the most perfect comment or line that the situation calls for.

For example, when Micka was coming over for dinner one time last year I jokingly told him that we expected him make a special effort in his appearance. He replied that he would but that he expected a compliment upon arrival. I set Emma the task of inventing a compliment for him. At the time he had shaved his head for charity. Very little had grown back. He came to the front door looking not completely bald but very close. You could also tell that there was a patch where unfortunately little would grow back (a little balding on the crown, shall we say). Emma smiled at him, did a little hand gesture for emphasis and said,

Nice comb-over!

At our yacht club 50th anniversary over cup weekend we attended a black tie formal dinner up in the club rooms. The social committee put the children who were attending all on the same table (instead of seating families together as has usually been the case). I looked over at the children early in the night and they were all sitting there wondering what to do. None were talking. We shared a joke with the other parents who were on our table because ten kids all sitting on a round table trying not to make eye contact was quite a funny sight. We decided to let them go and see if things improved naturally. My girls did warm up as the evening wore on. After main course, I noticed a lot of laughter and a lot of talking coming from the kids’ table. I went over to investigate. They were playing a game where anyone on the table would shout out a random topic and Emma would talk on that topic non-stop for a minute. She had them in stitches. There was no topic that she had nothing to say on!

Last night Emma tried to make a mixed track from snippets of three songs from different CDs. She was hoping to burn a CD of her song mix to take to school the following day for a dance piece she and her friends developed in Physical Education. I told her she needed a special software package. Rosie said Garage Band would do, so I tried to download it but our version of Mac OS X is one earier than the one required. Without the correct software she went ahead. She reasoned that she could play the songs on her little portable CD player and record them through a mic onto the computer. After a few failed attempts she was obviously frustrated. I told her I knew how she felt.

Its ok mum. I know that if it doesn’t work I can try something else. Its ok to fail sometimes.

Her bigger sister Rosie spend the next hour or so helping her try another method, again with failure. At nine o’clock we made them pull the pin. Its too late, off to bed now. When I came in to Emma’s room to kiss her goodnight, she expressed her disappointment that she had not succeeded, but said,

I really appreciate Rosie’s help. She spent a lot of time with me and she was really patient.

After I closed her bedroom door, I reflected on the maturity she showed in the way she handled herself though frustration and failure. I was impressed because I know how frustrating it feels. Earlier that day (while they were at school fortunately) I did my nana when my scanner kept malfunctioning. How is it possible that a child can show greater maturity than most adults?

I started this post talking about being not excellent because I was feeling not excellent. I was feeling emotionally a bit fragile when I began writing this post, but stopped to attend my pump class.

At the class I loaded up the weights on the thigh track and got the heart rate right up there, and really strained on the shoulder track. I’m now at work feeling fantastic. Pump was just what I needed!

I also think I’m just about due, and that could explain this morning’s lack of excellence.

Heather’s Brass

Before my mother died of bowl cancer at the age if forty-seven, she had a solo exhibition. It was to be the first of many. She was frail with cancer then, but our hope was too strong to ever face the possibility that it would be her first and last.

A lot of her work sold at the exhibition. This was a moment of great pride for my mother and all of us. It was not unexpected. She had established a solid reputation amongst the tonal painting community, she had exhibited her work often and had taught her art for many years, passing on the techniques of the Max Meldrum tonal painting school.

Most of her work was in oils. Her pastels and charcoals, although fewer, were popular amongst buyers and generally sold in exhibitions. At her solo exhibition the parents of my brother’s girlfriend at the time bought a beautiful pastel which mum had entitled Heather’s Brass.

Heather’s Brass, by Dawn Martin.

My sister Heather, who was a teenager at the time, spent some of the money she earnt at her part time job to buy the brass piece for mum. Heather said she was drawn to it when she passed it in Myers department store. She bought it thinking it would be perfect for our mother to use in a still life composition. The pastel above was the only piece mum ever did with the brass in it. This wasn’t the way it was meant to be. She ran out of time. She died less than six months after her solo exhibition.

In that time my brother had broken up with his girlfriend. It was an unhappy break for the girl. Even her parents rang John at one stage to try to mediate reconciliation. They adored him too. (He’s that sort of likable guy).

In the grief surrounding the death of my mother each of us struggled in our own different ways. At some point Heather expressed her grief that Heather’s Brass had sold at the exhibition. As you can imagine the sentimental value of the piece was very high for her. My dear brother took it upon himself to ring his ex girlfriend’s mother. He explained its sentimental value and tried to arrange a swap or to buy it back. However, the mother refused.

That was twenty-three years ago.

On Sunday it was my sister’s birthday. My sister was turning forty-two. The family gathered at our place. My father arrived with a large frame covered up in a table cloth. This is something for Heather from John. We all assumed that he had sent down some of his own art work. He is a photographer and often gives his work as gifts for birthday presents. He lives in Queensland so he wasn’t there on Sunday.

My father presented the item to Heather when she was seated at our dining room table by unwrapping it before her eyes. It was none other than Heather’s Brass. My sister was overwhelmed. Tears sprung to her eyes and she was speechless for at least five minutes. My four children looked on quietly admiring the art work and waiting to find out why their aunty was reacting like this. They waited. They could sense the import of the moment.

They have never known their grandmother, but they have grown up in a house with her artwork on every wall. Stories from the past are like gold to them.

My brother received a phone call from his ex girlfriend recently. Her mother had passed away and Heather’s Brass had come to her. She told John that she believed Heather should really have the painting. John and my father arranged to swap it for another of mum’s paintings and have secretly been holding it in order to present it to Heather on her birthday.

My sister is beautiful. She always planned to have children of her own but she was diagnosed with MS seven years ago. She has learnt to live with the disease, but her life would be much easier without it. To see her crying with happiness on Sunday was a very special moment in our family.

Fictional Outlet

Hello Possums. I have recently joined a group of online writers. Together we have created a communal writing blog. Here I intend to publish my fictional writing, leaving epossums as my everyday journal. I have been working on a short story and have just published Chapter One over there. Its called The Dreadlocks. If you are interested in checking it out, the link is here: The Created Wor(l)d. This blog is in its infancy so you might like to visit it every now and then to read what the other writers contribute over time.