Gough wouldn’t sit for his traditional portrait following the dismissal. This is the Archibald portrait by Pugh that he insisted be used

I was one year old, when, to the catchy tune of, “It’s time” Gough Whitlam came to rule over Australia. And rule he did. In a flurry of chaotic activity he did so many things to change the landscape and the philosophy of the suburbs I would grow up in.

By the time I was three years old, University education was free, divorce was ‘no fault’ and women were finally being heard.

Heady things for a girl-child growing up in the Western suburbs of Melbourne.

Macabre as I am, I like to reflect on my life from time to time, and consider what my eulogy will be like. Who will speak for me? What will they say? What will be my legacy?

Yesterday, on hearing the news of Gough’s passing, I sat still for a time, wondering at the legacy of that silver-haired silver-tail. In his short time in power he achieved so many things that have enriched my life, in ways I never even really stop to consider. As I sat in my minutes of silence yesterday, I shed a tear for a man I never met, who quite frankly, has allowed me to have the life I am so lucky and grateful to have.

Most importantly, I grew up with family harmony and cohesion due to his divorce reforms and the provision of legal aid. Then, by extension I was able to see my Mum find her soul mate and true love, instead of being bound by archaic laws that would have trapped her in a stale, repressive relationship with my biological father. Such important imprinting for a pre-school girl.

I also grew up not wondering if I would go to university, but what would I do when I got there. I am at the first of my family to go to uni, grabbing those florid, precious pieces of paper that allow me to work and play in a career that makes my heart sing, and (hopefully) enhances the lives, and expands the potential of the beautiful people in my community. I would never be a chiropractor without Gough’s impact.

The year I started Uni HECs was being introduced and we campaigned and rallied against it, sitting in, and shouting out. For many of my uni mates from private schools and prosperous families, the demonstrations were a bit of a lark I suppose, a chance to shout a little and have a grown up tantrum, but I was shouting from my core.

Growing up in the West, university education was still seen as privilege and a gift, and I was terrified that Bob Hawke was more concerned with The Australia Card and Expo and crying on telly over being caught womanising, than taking care of tertiary education. For the first time in my life I realised that studying within the sandstone walls of Melbourne University was not a right, like I had grown up thinking.

Rather, it was a present to the future, from a politician who swept in like a tornado and shifted the soil and planted the seeds of a new Australia. The suburban Australia of my happy, healthy, golden childhood.

He really did change my world, and define us as The Lucky Country.

Vale Gough.

Thank you for the life I have been able to live.

…From The Ashers

There’s a reason why I don’t watch the news, or any stuff on television other than the footy or fluff. It’s just too hard. It makes me have too many feelings, and I might not be in control of what those feelings are. The show might go in some direction that I’m not prepared for, and I might end up with things in my head that I can’t shake.

The only things I like in my head are stories of happiness and pictures of rainbows.

Or something.

Tonight I watched Four Corners, knowing that it would be flint-hard. Because sometimes I guess you have to look at the burning and blinding harshness of life. Sometimes you have to knowingly step out of the bubble. And sometimes it just gets burst for you.

That happened to my friend Penny. She has always been tough and edgy and quirky. She has an attitude that lets you know she is sharp and witty, but also that she feels all of the things. I guess it’s because she is an artist. And you know how artists are, they often seem to feel too much, but when we watch them, it’s what we adore. We love them for showing us their hearts.

Tonight I didn’t want to see Penny’s heart on the outside.

I wanted her heart to stay inside, calm and warm and peaceful, ticking along like a fluid clock, not missing any beats, not being smashed into pieces because her son had fallen prey to demons, becoming like so many young men in rural Victoria, addicted to ice. Penny and her son’s story is one of success, and it shows us that thing that we all intuitively know; unconditional love is what we need to embrace these boys, bring them back into our community, and help them to heal.

Ethan has been one of the lucky ones. he has somehow, with the love of a strong family and consistent support, come through the horror of the demon possession, and stepped into the light. His eyes are bright, and they shine with potential and sparkling, cheeky intelligence.

Unfortunately at this stage in our understanding of this drug, he is one of the few.

Just thinking of it all makes my throat tighten. I don’t know the answers. I don’t know what ‘should’ be done. I don’t even know where to begin, but I know that somehow Penny’s fierce lioness heart has helped her boy to find a path.

I hope there is enough love for the others.

Did you watch Four Corners? 

What do you think we, as a community need to do?

…From The Ashers

Golden

Sometimes kids can be annoying. They can be silly, they can make annoying noises, laugh at inappropriate things, get ALL of the toys out, not eat their dinner, have to be reminded to do basic, basic stuff, and, you know, just be kids. So annoying.

And other times they aren’t like that at all. They are amazing, and you get a little sideways glimpse of the adults they may become.

We had a weekend like that here.

On Saturday Liam went to a coding workshop at the library. It’s something that he has wanted to do all year, but the course fills up quickly and he has been on a waiting list. It finally began this week. I can’t tell you how excited he was to go, and how bubbly and light he was when he came home. At ten years of age he was one of the younger kids there, yet still he put his hand up to present his coding results at the end of the course, in front of everyone. Who does that willingly? I suspect he is not of our making. He has somehow, in the ten years he has been under our care, made himself.

At times I forget to parent the kids that I have, and try to parent the kids that I think I should have. I try to stop them from reading and writing stories and playing make-believe games with sound effects and mess. I tell them to “get outside”, to kick the footy, ride a bike, run around. And of course they do do those things at times, but that is not what comes naturally to them, or at least, not always. Today is a day off and I asked them what they would like to do, open slather, anything you want. Answer: a resounding chorus of “Pajama day”. So, in trying to parent some other mythical children, I said, “How about a bike ride instead?” They both just looked at me blankly, and Coco said, “Why did you ask us what we wanted, if you were just going to make us do something else?” Fair question. And why would I want my little dudes to be anything other than who they truly are?

For those little dudes did something pretty cool on Sunday.

They planned out an event called ‘The Golden Garage Sale’. They culled their cupboards and collected bits from other people to sell. The made signs, they dressed in gold, and they sorted things into themes. (Coco is still gutted that the goods in her “Pinkatorium” didn’t sell out.). When customers were scarce, they went out onto the main road and danced around with their signs, to drum up business. Liam did some busking, and Coco jumped up and down.

Ready for business

And they did all this for charity.

For gold coin donations.

This was all without direction from us- Liam chose to do it and how it would go. He explained what was going on to all of the customers, and managed to get quite a few donations, as well as sales. Several times during the planning I tried to add things, change the charity, or just generally make it how I thought it should be, and he would quietly say, “It’s my garage sale, Mum.”

And he was right.

This life is theirs for the taking.

They should be allowed to play this game however they like. It’s their game. Their days are just how they should be, the most perfect way for them. Not me, not Nath, not some other kid up the road. Them. And these days are just fine.

In fact, they are golden.

…From The Ashers

Here are the hits of the week from ’round these parts:

1. My new YouTube channel. You may have heard that Edenland has started a lip sync competition in honour of her little brother, so I did one, then another, and now I think I’m getting a bit addicted. Lookout internet world, I know* the words to lots of songs….

2. Liam, for organising a “Golden Garage Sale”. The kids have cleaned out their cupboards and collected some other bits and pieces to have a garage sale this weekend. The money is going to World Vision, and the items won’t be priced, we will just hope people are generous with their gold. I’m proud of them for giving up their stuff and their time to raise some money for other kids.

3. Coco for performing a solo violin piece this week. It was reputedly “Mary had a little lamb”. Regardless of how much my ears were bleeding, I was proud of her for being able to get up in front of an audience to play. No chance I could have done that at seven. Or now.

4. Nurse Jackie. As usual, I’m probably late to the party regarding this tv stuff, but I saw my first episode this week. I’m not sure what it’s all about, but it wasn’t reality television, and it wasn’t a crime show. It was gritty and grotty and I hope I can find it again to see what it’s all about.

5. Painting the house. How good is it? My office was looking a bit tired, so we painted it last weekend, and then I accidentally kept on going, to some other walls, then some balustrades and some skirtings. It’s bloody marvellous- much better than cleaning.

How was your week? Any hits?

Have you done a song for Eden yet?

*Possibly not the correct words.

…From The Ashers

Today I had a feeling of overwhelm. You know those days, when the whelm just threatens to go over you all day? I had no idea of the source, so I just went about my business.

I had a First Aid course to attend, and it was okay. The young presenter was a nice young fella, and he kept the information relevant and as interesting as these kinds of refresher things can be. The content was moving along smoothly, we talked about all things cardiovascular and defebrilley until it was time to get out the mannequins. The demonstrator got out the adult torso and showed us how to compress the chest to a one third depth, to the tune of Stayin’ Alive (One hundred compressions a minute) followed by a breath. No sweat.

Then he got out the kid torso.

I’m not sure if it was the way he picked it up, cradling it carefully like it was an unconscious child, or if it was because, as he lifted it up I flashed back to the time when Coco had a general anaesthetic, and I held her, as she went off to sleep. But that was like no sleep I have ever seen. Her head lolled back and her eyes rolled back in her head, and she was literally a dead weight. Not a good thing to be thinking when you are handing your child over for surgery. I fought back the tears in case there was something in the theory of energy transfer and she would absorb my fears. I kept on thinking, “dead weight dead weight”, then, “don’t think dead, don’t think dead”, and then of course my brain couldn’t think of any other word.

So as our instructor lifted that tiny little torso onto the table to show us how we might bring it (her?) back from the dead, I nearly lost it. My eyes started that burning that means I’m close to crying and I all I could think was, “don’t cry he will think you’re nuts, don’t cry he will think you’re nuts” and then of course my brain just heard crycrycrycry.

The child mannequin that did not look like a child at all. Except to me.

So maybe I am a bit nuts. Or have a wild imagination. Or both.

Then tonight I read Eden’s blog, and I cried for real, so I decided if I was already crying I might as well be nuts as well, so I made a video of me trying to lip-sync to The Black Widow.

I don’t know if if will help Eden at all, but it helped me. Turns out that maybe Eden is right, and music is up there with food as one of our basic needs.

Maybe you could give it a try today too.

Sing out people.

Let the world hear your song.

Have you entered yet? What is “your” song?

…From The Ashers

Have you ever watched Sex in the City? I have never seen a complete episode, until just now. Of course I knew who the characters were- I’ve seen enough for that, so it wasn’t difficult to follow, but my goodness that show is tripe. (And no, I do not like tripe, or, in fact any visceral products.) So why did I watch it? It was the ep where Carrie went to live in Paris, and on her last night in New York she had dinner with her four friends and she said this simple thing:

Today I had a thought, what if I had never met you?

That distilled me, right there.

What if?

What if all of the people that we have loved and then lost in our lives, had never even begun?

What if we never had the opportunity to have our hearts touched, our minds known? What if we never had the privilege of having people in our lives who know who we truly are, understand what our secrets mean to us, and love us for the things we value most about ourselves?

So even though the loss burns and burns, like holding your fingertips on ice until the cold becomes numbness and then inflames, and the pain somehow gets worse with time, not better, what if, what if, we had never met them?

That would be worse.

…From The Ashers