Epossums change of address

Hello Possums. This is my last post as bindi nestor. Epossums is nolonger my everyday blog. I will now be writing at this new address under the new name of ejenne ( translated as ‘electronic jenny’, in sync with epossums or ‘electronic possums’). Thank you for reading these pages. I hope we can continue our efriendship xx

The Hot Pink Coat

Last night I went to a theme party. You had to go dressed up as your favorite character from TV. My daughters went as: Ash Ketchum (from Pokemon), Sponge Bob, Mulan and Robin the Boy Wonder. The hub went as Leonardo (from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles).  This is the story of how I chose my character.

I’ve had a busy week. I’ve been teaching, had a couple of seminars to attend in town, had heaps of errands to run (like getting the operating system on my laptop upgraded) and out in the evening twice during the week: once to dinner with girlfriends and once to a primary school disco decoration-making working bee. The theme for the disco this year is Outer Space. At the working bee I drank too much champagne and covered trillions of donated CDs with sparkly contact (these will hang from a large net on the ceiling and reflect the disco lights). And on top of that, the Real Estate Agent wanted to bring people through our house to begin the process of selling. 

On the night before the house inspection we had a massive tidy-up. I even finally decided to tackle the tiles on the kitchen walls that had been ‘burnt’ a few weeks ago. I had been heating up a pan of olive oil, forgot about it, the result being greasy, black stains on the tiles above the stove. When I tried to clean the tiles I could get one layer of black off, but the remaining layer was impossible to shift. I tried detergent, Ajax surface spray, Jiff, bathroom tile cleaner and I would have tried suger soap but we were out of it. Every cleaning agent I tried just seemed to shift the greasy black from one spot to another. It looked dreadful on the cream tiles. Out of sheer desperation I decided to give the Windex a whirl. I couldn’t believe the result! The grease dissolved before my eyes. It wiped completely clean with no effort at all. I am not a sharer-of-house-cleaning-tips by any stretch of the imagination, but I was so impressed with the Windex that I felt like ringing all of my friends to pass this one on. I called my family in to witness the miracle. “Look: this is what happens if I use the Ajax. Now look at the Windex”. Squirt! “Wow!!!”.

I’m not the only one who knows about the special powers of Windex either. The young man at the Apple Computer Shop used it to clean the keys on my laptop for me when I went to pick it up. He extolled the virtues of Windex (ammonia-free) to me as he cleaned. He said it was possible to purchase expensive cleaning agents for the keyboards. “But they probably are made of this stuff”, he beamed as he held up his Windex bottle. I told him my Windex cleaning story. He nodded and anticipated parts of the story, finishing my last sentence for me, “and it dissolved completely?”. “Yes!”. We smiled at eachother, bonded for a moment by shared awe for Windex. (I have never felt so connected to a computer sales person before!).

When Kathleen asked me to decide on my costume for the fancy dress I said I wanted to go as Kaptain Windex! “No you can’t! You just made that up. It has to be a character from TV”. “Damn, I’ll have to save that one for a super hero party“.  

I was stumped, tired, uninspired and considering piking on the whole dress-up thing. “Come on mum”, said my kids, already costumed-up themselves, “get off Facebook and think of a costume”. Then it hit me! I could wear my hot pink Donna Koran coat, recently purchased in New York on a whim and not yet worn (due to the fact that it is incredibly loud), and go as Agent 99 from Get Smart, my all-time favorite TV show from the seventies. 

I promised Kate I would tell the story of the first time I wore the coat. My promise has now been fulfilled and here is a pic to cap it all off:

 

Haunting Sounds

Hello Possums. As I write I am listening to a recently acquired CD produced by a long term acquaintance. The CD is called ‘Cloudhands’ by Bruce Rogers. He did engineering with one of my best friends and, through this connection, I have known Bruce for over twenty years. He makes digeridoos, has a successful business and reputation for his craftmanship and artistry world wide. But two weeks ago was the first time I heard him play. 

When you listen to the digeridoo every fibre of your body resonates with the sound. You become transported out of yourself. You imagine damp earth, clean air. You could be a patch of soil, a piece of bark, a bird. Your soul becomes reduced and expanded at once. Reduced in your own significance. Expanded, connected. 

Beautiful V from India, tall and exotic, said after we listened to Bruce’s digeridoo concert “I thought I would have to go back to India to experience spirituality. But I have found it in Australia”. She and her son went with the digeridoo players the following day to protest China in Tibet. The plan was to gather didge players and blow together in protest, using the didge as a horn. Her son played. She was very proud. 

My father came over this moring to take Sally for a bike ride. He has a long standing arrangement with my girls (his grandchildren). Every Saturday he takes at least one of them out on their push bikes. It was his idea. This is how he stays connected with his grand daughters. He shares his love of cycling with them. They talk along the way. 

He reports family news, the latest being: my brother is suffering from stress-related health problems. Situations at work and with is ex take their toll on this easy-going man who wants to avoid confrontation and tries to please everyone. He surfs. He has a great sense of humour. He lives in a tranquil location. He has an adoring wife. Its not enough. 

The didge concert was part of a series. Its African Drums next month. One of the new people I have met recently asked me if I’d heard African Drums played before. I told him that I own a djembe and have practiced on it with a teach yourself CD. He laughed. “You are open to the world”, he said. “What do you mean?”. He explained that, like him, I appear to stay open to learning from what the world has to offer. I took him to mean ‘other cultures’ by ‘the world’, but on second thoughts he could have also been referring to technlology. I do tend to dabble in things. I hold learning in high importantance. I don’t believe modern society has answered the question of how to live well.  

Lust and Friendship Through the Written Word (highlights from NYC continued).

2. I could easily have been a groupie.

I can fall in love (lust) with someone based purely upon their mind. A person’s writing is often taken to be a reflection of their mind. As a creature of modern culture I tend to hold this assumption intuitively. There are two people in particular who have had this effect upon me. One is a fiction author, considerably older than me and not always a popular character. But I loved his writing so much that my bookclub friends roll their eyes and look at me every time his name is mentioned. For my part I can imagine myself lining up just to be with him.

The other person is an educational researcher who presented at the conference in New York. I used one of his papers in defence of my research proposal. I love his work, the way he thinks and the way he writes. Of course I went to see his presentations. His current work was equally as impressive as the work that I had already read about. But the thing that impressed me the most was the way he handled the questions from the audience. He uses a theoretical framework that I think is brilliant. It is cutting-edge. This often makes it difficult to respond to questions from people not familiar with this approach. Sometimes a common language is lacking. The theory he (and I) use resists the separation of mind and body. It takes the person holistically. When his responses to the questions stayed true to an holistic approach I could have kissed him. I went up to him afterwards, admitted one of his papers was important in my study, asked him to send me his current paper and whether or not he would read a draft paper of mine. He said he would. He said, keep in touch. I was stary-eyed. 

3. I met a blogging friend for the first time ever!

Lia from Lubeck was in New York City with her family at the same time that I was there. We had been communicating via facebook and set a time to catch up on my last morning for breakfast. 

We had never seen each other face to face. I waited in the lobby of the Sheridan New York carefully studying the faces of all the people. I wondered if I would recognise Lia and whether she would recognise me. I was looking for hints of recognition in people’s eyes, expectant looks, familiar features when suddenly she appeared right in front of me. There was no doubt. I recongised her instantly. It was a happy moment. 

Over breakfast we talked about our adventures in New York, her new job waiting for her to return home, our shared interest in education, our separate research interests, our families, language, life…

She and her family were staying in an apartment. She had been in NYC longer than I had and I could tell she was in holiday mode. She and her two children had been taking in New York. She told a funny story about her desire to witness sun rise over Brooklyn Bridge. The reality of setting off with her children in the dark, cold, deserted New York pre-dawn to do it was not what she’d been imagining. 

Although it was the first time we had met face to face, her company was easy. When we parted she gave me some marzipan from Lubeck coated in dark chocolate. I was touched by her generosity. I have learnt that sharing stories across the ether in the land of Blog can result in friendships rich and warm. And new addictions (where to find that marzipan here…?).

 

Some highlights from my week in NYC

Hello Possums. I have come home from New York City with too many stories. Life goes on and as it does more stories develop. Let me capture some of the highlights from New York before they are completely forgotten (at Charlotte’s request). Here is a collection of highlights from my week in NYC:

1. The Empire State (and other adventures) with Karl.

With a gentle, affable young colleague of mine, I climbed to the top of the Empire State Building at 11 o’clock at night. We took in the retro magnifience of its interior. At the top, despite the freezing temperature and strong cold wind, we went onto the exterior deck. We walked around stopping frequently to stare out onto the sprawling brightness of New York to the horizon in every direction. We pointed out familiar landmarks to each other, including the brightly lit bridges. 

Back on the streets we walked slowly in the direction of our hotel. We were enjoying each other’s company and kept our eyes open for a nice bar to go to. In Broadway we met a police road block. They let us through when we were able to produce our hotel keys. No sooner than we had passed the barricade, a mass of rowdy black youth (girls and guys) rushed towards us yelling and screaming. A large group of police followed them running also. I grabbed Karl’s arm and pulled him out of their way into 47th street and we took slight refuge next to a nut vendor and his cart. After they rushed by, we continued tentatively on our way. We had not been threatened and had whitnessed no violence. The young people looked very well dressed and not incredibly angry. The reason for the stampede was unclear. I half expected to come across a brawl or some sort of ruckus at one of the venues, but nothing could be gleaned from the quiet street after we had left the immediate scene. Karl and I were perplexed.

The following night, Karl and I went to the 65th floor above Radio City. There we enjoyed cocktails overlooking New York City through floor to ceiling windows. We wandered the streets afterwards looking for a place to go, but we hadn’t planned anything. We were both content to walk and talk. 

“If I lived in New York City”, I said, “I would take up smoking”.

Karl laughed and then confessed. “I gave up smoking. But just today I went out and bought a pack of tobacco”.

“You have rollies? Lets have one”.

“But you don’t smoke”.

“No, I’ve never had the habit, but I like the occasional rollie, especially after a drink”.

He laughed again. We walked and talked and smoked for I don’t know how long. 

In the end we found ourselves in the bar at the Sheridon. The bar man made a fuss over pouring me a tequila. It was almost two in the morning when I got back to my room. 

Later in the week I heard that there was a movie being shot in Broadway around the time Karl and I witnessed the “riot”. I texted him the news. He shot back a quick reply about keeping an eye out to see if we make it into the movie as extras.

Yesterday, I thought of Karl, his easy company and the adventures we had together in New York (three weeks ago now). I punched a message into my phone and pressed send, “Hi. How’s things. Are you still smoking?”. “No, I managed to leave the dirty habit in New York. Are you well?”, he replied. 

Its funny how conferences throw people together. Karl is much younger than me. Whilst we will work together in the future and possibly catch up socially with the larger group, it is highly unlikely that we will ever just “hang out” in Melbourne like we did so easily in New York. 

 

 

Too many stories

I am welling up with stories and more stories. I still have stories to tell from New York. But my head has been flooded with new themes. Lets take my weekend for example:

Theme 1 from the weekend, Good Vibrations: a digeridoo concert that spurred my friend into protest action the following day, that may lead to African drumming classes and new friendships.

Theme 2 from the weekend, More Paddling Adventures with Rosie: a slalom kayaking event where items of clothing were stolen, personal best times were recorded (after being spurred on by friends), my neck was licked while I was lying in the sun (by a puppy), and my lack of competative nature was exposed. This lack of competativeness seems to have flowed on to my daughter, who missed her first single kayak run so she could paddle canoe doubles with her friend, and didn’t care because “it was fun”. Incidentally the clothing items were found, but Rosie and I felt very lucky because she almost put her ipod in the clothing bag and I almost put my car keys in there.

I am also rather excited about my teaching at the moment (the marshmellow catapults were a huge success and I found walnuts yesterday morning at 8.30am at the local fruit shop. They were in his front display. I counted out seventy five, enough for every child I was teaching. In the lesson, after they used the nut crackers, I gave the children the option of eating the nuts or donating them back to me to be baked into muffins. I didn’t get many back, but enough for one batch. I promised the children I would share them).

Tomorrow I am going to a matinee musical in the city with my friend, who teaches music at the secondary school where I taught maths and science many years ago. I used to choreograph the school musicals. She was music director, and our friend Brian was director. We made a great team. I loved working with them and our students and continued to choreograph on a volunteer basis after I became a new mother. Such was our cameraderie that almost fifteen years later I am still invited to join their excursions to the big musicals, and to attend college productions as a VIP! 

…and these stories only scratch the surface! What do you do when you have too many stories?

Shopping with Girlfriends

Hello Possums. I have been collecting information from friends and strangers about what to do in New York. I have had some super suggestions! Some of them have been detailed and specific. There are the obvious ones like visiting well known land marks but I have also been told to “experience Times Square by entering it from below ground”, go and see a particular stage show and where to obtain half price tickets for it and go for a drive around Manhatten. However, the most frequently suggested must do in New York is “shopping”. Why does everyone else seem to already know that you can buy anything and everything in New York cheaply? Is it really true? Should I set aside half a day and shop ’till I drop? Is it really that good?

One thing I would love to do is to find the place where the Great Gatsby was set. I want to see the east and west banks that Fitzgerald conjures in his classic novel. Unfortunately I probably won’t have time. I am in New York City for only a week. My main purpose there is to attend a five day conference.

Last year Libby and I flew up to Sydney from Melbourne to spend the weekend with our dear friend D. She lives near the Harbour. In Melbourne, I rarely shop with friends. I often shop with my daughters and that’s lots of fun, but I hadn’t shopped with friends since I was a teenager. We spent Saturday browsing around the shops and lunching in one of the many quaint bayside presincts. After lunch we went into a clothing shop that had a very comfortable back section where you could try on clothes. There were three curtained-off changing cubicles and a wall mirror in a cosy shared space where you could sit on comfy round cushiony chairs. We had a lot of fun choosing clothes for ourselves and for eachother, trying them on and modelling them.

I chose a skirt for Libby that I thought would look great on her, but with her runners she looked like a bag lady in it. Libby came out of her cubicle laughing so much she couldn’t speak. Her laughter was contageous and she did look a scream!

I tried on a red top. D liked the look of it. She asked me to pass it into her cubicle after I’d taken it off.  She looked great in it too, but unfortunately there was only one left in the shop! After I bought it I asked the woman in the shop to cut the tag off so I could wear it straight away. For the rest of the afternoon D eyed it off saying, “I want that top”.

Libby chose a beige wrap for me to try on. “Oh no, I regret beige”, I told her. “What do you mean, you regret beige”. I can’t wear it. I like the idea of it. I think beige things look okay on a coat hanger. But as soon as I try anything beige on I know it was a mistake. Beige is not my colour. It makes me look like a corpse. Libby and D laughed when they understood. Libby said she regrets lacy knitted cardigans. She said she always liked the look of them but not on her busty frame. What do you always regret trying on Possums?

D couldn’t decide whether to buy a low cut wrap top. “Does it fill a gap in your wardrobe?”, I asked with the intention of being helpful in her decision making process. She laughed. I don’t know why she found that question so funny, but she used it for the rest of the day.

Yesterday I was speaking to D on the phone. She was excited for me about going to New York City. “Let me know when your next conference is”, she said, “I might come along!”. What a fun shopping spree I could have if Libby and D came with me!

The Penny Drops (rather late, but isn’t it great that life is full of surprises).

Remember this song, Possums? When it came out I was twenty-eight and I didn’t get it. On Tuesday I turned forty-four! I quite like the number for its symmetry. I told my children that I wanted to be asked questions on my birthday for which I could answer: four. For example: How old are you? Forty-four. How many children do you have? Four. What’s your favorite number? Four. When were you born? Sixty-four. How many lovers have you had? One hundred and four (just kidding).

I often look back and wonder where my thirties went. But being in my forties isn’t that bad. The best thing about it is: I get it! Now I do understand that song. Je comprend pas. Ich verstehe. Capiche? Confessing this to a friend recently she simply stated, “better late than never”. She was dead right.

Free ticks

Hello Possums. Have you seen ‘Talk to Me’ yet? Its the best movie I have seen for ages. The dialogue is wonderful and the cinematography is really clever. On top of this, its a great story (and its true!). I laughed (a lot) and cried (in two places). The main actor is to die for and all of the other characters are played to perfection. The sound track is magnificent. Need I say more?

I had free tickets through my MTC subscription and took V along. She adored it too. Afterwards we went to her favorite Vietnamese restaurant on Victoria Street, were she knows the proprieters. There we drank three pots of Chinese tea and talked about her current love interest whilst we feasted upon rice paper rolls with peking duck, crispy chicken ribs and stir fried spinach.

V is a polo fan. I have never seen polo played live before. Her current love interest is one of the players who has been flirting with her from afar for at least six months. She has been in a state of excited suspense. Last week she received an invitation to a polo club luncheon out at one of the vinyards. She had invited me to accompany her but was yet to book the tickets.

Last night she deliberated as to whether she had the guts to go. “There are only twelve places for the dinner”, she exclaimed, “and I’m not even a member of the club!”. She was intrigued as to why she had received the invitation. “What if he’s there! I won’t be able to hide if there are only twelve of us!”. She was really nervous. “Don’t worry”, I said, “I’ll be there to support you. You won’t need to hide”. This afternoon I received a text from her: “We are on for the wine trip. Now I am really in trouble huh?” I texted back, “yeah”. I’ll let you know how it goes, Possums. Its in March.

‘Adrenalin City’ or ‘What Some Parents Go Through Whilst Supporting Their Children In Sports Of Their Choice’.

Hello Possums. I hope you had a good weekend.

I took my daughter Rosie up to a river in country Victoria for a slalom kayaking race. We both entered it. I had not paddled this river or anything like it for about twelve years. I have been training in slalom technique for a year now but I have never attempted to approach slalom gates on rapids before.

In a past life (before kids) I was a white water touring paddler. Slalom is very different to touring. In slalom much more precision and forward planning is required. The course was a difficult one because the Australian Institute of Sport were using it for national junior team selection. Competitors lined up from Victoria and interstate. The selectors sat on the banks filming contenders’ runs. There was quite an audience.

I wondered what on earth I was doing there. Had I been given a number greater than one hundred and thirty-one I would have chickened out for sure. As it was my number was one hundred and twenty-four. I was up before Rosie! I couldn’t chicken out. I did it for her. On my first run I missed a third of the gates (there were eighteen). But I got down the course and handled all the rapids okay. My second run was better. I still missed the hardest gate and I capsized on the second last gate and went through the last two upside down. But I rolled up and finished the course. I was thrilled. My time was way longer than any of the junior champs. And the competitors in my age group are all ex-olympians or world champs. But both of my runs were personal bests! (One because I’d never done it before, and one because I cut eighty points off my original time).

My friend Bree had come to watch. She was equally excited for me and super encouraging. She wondered if I would be awarded the gates that I went through upside down. Laughing, we went over to the score cards to check. One of Austrualia’s most famous olympians was there checking the junior contenders’ scores and he overheard our conversation. 

Bree: I think you deserve to get those gates because your boat went through it. Yeah sure it was upside down, but it still went through!

Me: Um, maybe not. Oh look here’s my card. I’ve been penalized for it. I suppose your body has to go between the gates.

Famous ex-olympian: Its your head.

The famous olympian may have had a wry smile. It was hard to tell. He is a bit of a remote character.

On the second day. Rosie and I arrived after a fun night and good night sleep at Bree’s. However, we were shocked to learn that the course had been changed. We ran to check it out. It was very different and equally as difficult, perhaps even more technical in places. I had pre-race heebie jeebies like you wouldn’t believe! The self talk went something like: What the f#*k am I doing here. Inside me I was feeling like the donkey who won’t even advance towards the carrot and has to be bodily pushed forwards with its hooves churning up the ground in protest. In the water, one of the junior girls from Victoria said to me: are you going to do it? Wow, I’m so proud of you! I did a quick warm up and launched myself at it. Had it not been for Rosie I would never have done it. As it was, someting akin to primal fear came to my aid. My concentration sharpened to a point never before during a slalom run. Usually I banter with the judges as I take the gates, but this time I was one hundred percent focussed on the course.  

At the end of the run I was overwhelmed. I took off my helmet and burst into tears. The women who paddled before me was very encouraging: You looked great. You’re paddling well. You can ferry glide, just get your angle right in the big rapid next time, ferry out to the first and back for the second. You’ll get those gates for sure next time.  Bree was ecstatic. I was a proud mess. I had only missed two gates and got through most of the others cleanly. I cut my previous best time in half – three personal bests in one weekend!