Going 'Home'

Feeling a bit random tonite...

This evening I got into my wife's car to park it for her. Carmen is Afrikaans and when I started her car there was a Christmas CD playing and it happened to be Theuns Jordaan, an Afrikaans singer. I was instantly transported back to SA and the times when a whole group of us would go out to Tygervalley or wherever in the MPV for a movie or family gatherings and the comfortable familiarity that was home for us. Though I am not Afrikaans, I missed the nearness of the culture, much as you may miss a neighbour who you live next door to for years and don't know too well, but greet sometimes and then one day see that they have moved out. Do we feel the loss because they have gone, or because we never got to know them and now that they are gone, never will?

In about a week, we head back to SA for our first visit since we moved to Aus 16 months ago. We have settled into our new lives over here, but cannot and probably will never quite leave our 'old' lives behind because our 'old' lives contained and contain so many that we love. There is an ongoing, sometimes heated discussion between expats about the wisdom of immersing yourself in your new life and country on the one side but not forgetting where you came from; and on the other, those that say it is best to cut all ties. Some flock to expat gatherings and buy stuff at the South African shops. Others never look back. There is no easy answer here - some people find that when they give up smoking, cold turkey works; others need to wean themselves off it with patches and the like.

When we moved here, we made a decision that returning to SA (apart from Holidays) was not an option and that has enabled us to be committed through the stresses and difficulties that anyone who has emigrated will know. But the irrevocability of our decision has also meant that as much as all the negatives about South Africa are behind us now and we enjoy levels of freedom and security one could never dream of in SA, the losses are just as real - and in many senses, permanent. Friendships change and it is nobody's fault: experiences shape who and what we are and when you don't share that with somebody, the overlapping circles that bind you to another and strengthen your community, grow smaller. Does it weaken the connection? I can't answer that, but it certainly narrows it. It is an odd phenomenon that those expats who choose to honour the traditions of their mother countries tend to be very true to the historical traditions of those countries - more traditional than the people who live in those countries because in real life, cultures change and morph over time. The celebrations,I guess it could be argued, are fossilised versions of a culture from a particular time. It is why though I do miss the familiarity of home, I tend to avoid expat gatherings - I have fond memories from South Africa, but I want to see it as it really is, not as I remember it.

The Eastern worldview, if I can generalise for a second, appears to me to have far more in keeping with the individualistic view of the world that Western Capitalism espouses as against the traditional Catholic Christian worldview that views community as intrinsic to our nature. When Jiddu Krishnamurti held that 'Truth is a pathless land' he revealed how individualistic, narrow-minded - and ultimately lonely a world of one is. And so now 'communities' are often little more than groups of individuals who happen to share an interest - much akin to Facebook 'friends', shallow and inauthentic.

Our experience of moving here is still an ongoing journey in the sense that until we have moved into our house which we will shortly begin building, we probably won't make any real investments or commitment to the people we meet and engage with, and it leaves one feeling a little lost even 16 months into this journey. We are born in and for community. It is one of the reasons we baptise children who cannot express yet a personal faith. The faith of the community is the soil which both births and into which a child is born and fed - or not. I do not miss South Africa as such. But I do miss the community we left behind and in a way the timing of our visit now is significant for us as when we return, we hope to start our family and build our home. This holiday will be a final farewell. You can - and with Thoreau - I would argue you should look back, often, but know that you cannot go back. It is a comfort and a call at the same time.

Safety first

I know you guys think we exaggerate about the rules here. Well here is an actual sign on a walkway - this is along the scenic walk - i.e. a wooden boardwalk in amongst the trees in the Blue Mountains. Apologies for the quality - I took it on my cellphone and it was an overcast day and in the forest so the light made it difficult. OH&S is a huge industry here:

Woronora Cemetery

I have always wanted to be cremated when I die, but I had to spec some equipment as part of my job the other day and had chance to visit Woronora Cemetery (pictures above). It was so peaceful and beautiful there, that I wondered if I shouldn't change my mind. I know that many Sydneysiders would disagree with me and say that the historical Waverley cemetery (below) which sits on the edge of a cliff is more scenic and perhaps they would technically be correct. All I can say is that Woronora is truly a place of rest. Their motto is apt: Where beauty softens grief.Whilst my colleague and I were waiting at reception for our appointment to arrive, a middle-aged woman who had just lost her mother was in front of us making arrangements for her burial. She told the receptionist that she was an atheist and as she left, she cut a tragic figure. I wanted to tell my colleague to go ahead with the meeting without me and follow the woman out into the parking lot. I wanted to just touch her arm and say... well what would I say to an atheist? I guess, I wanted to say to her:
'I'm not an atheist and I have never doubted the existence of God, but I often struggle with the concept of heaven. And it is irrelevant in some senses because I would still strive to live as a Christian even if there was no heaven because I believe it is the most authentic way to and of Love. You may not believe in God, but you must believe in love because you loved your mom. If you think of the concept of 'God' as even just that and nothing more, we share, however small, a faith in the unseen and unmeasurable. Know that I will be praying for you - to the One I believe to be the Source of that love and through the witness of my Christian vocation that drives me to embrace you in this very painful moment in your life, may you come to know in the first instance that you are loved. And ultimately, loved by Him.'

But I didn't move. She may have, in any case, just dismissed me or rejected my approach out of hand. Even taken offence. But what if all she needed was somebody to reach out to her with a kind word? I am haunted by the vision of her back, as she walked out of the office, into the sunlight, alone and hunched in grief.

2 years / 24 months / 730 days

I think it was about 18 months after Kirstin died that it began to happen that there were some days when I never thought of her at all. Then out of the blue, I would be taken back to the 5th July 2008 in an instant, not as a memory, but the past made present:

I had just arrived home from gym when my mom called and asked me to come as there had been an accident. Carmen and I headed along the West Coast Road. On the way, we phoned my brother, Richard and then phoned my mom back and she and Carmen had a conversation and I realized something was wrong that she didn’t want to tell me. I asked her if my sister, Karen was ok and she said ,' yes, Karen and Joel are alright 'and I said: ‘and Kirstin?’ And she said: ‘Just drive’, and I repeated, shouting at her: ‘Tell me? Is she badly hurt?’ (In that moment it was simply unthinkable to imagine or contemplate that Kirstin was gone. It simply couldn’t be. Just couldn’t. Defied plausibility or comprehension. She simply said, her voice flat: ‘Rodney, Kirstin’s dead.’ The shock hit me in the whole of my being – I would use the cliché, 'gut', but it seemed more like an energy pulse that resonated through to my soul. I had to focus as I was still driving, but my insides turned to slush. I rode carefully, as quickly as I could, obeying the speed limit. When we arrived, there were some police vans and a fire truck, I seem to remember in the confusion, and I crossed the busy road carefully and then saw a light blue blanket covering a body in the grass, damp from recent rain, down a low embankment and I knew it was true. I stared at her body thinking that at any second she would cough / splutter, wake up and battle to breathe, be very hurt, but somehow, would fight through it and be ok. I even prayed that as Christ raised Lazarus from the dead, that He would raise her right then. I know now He did, but not in the way I asked Him to.

Carmen and I have been married for more than a decade, often tell each other that we love the other, are aware of that love, and take it for granted in day to day life - which is itself a gift. But even so, sometimes I need her to stop me and really make me hear her tell me that she loves me and I need to do the same for her. It is similarly important to honour anniversaries and birthdays - in gratitude sure, so that we don't forget the graces that we receive/d from those whose lives have brushed our own, but also that in stopping to think, remember and reflect on or with those close to us, we stop our lives to say: You are a part of my life. I know I take you or your memory for granted sometimes. But you hold a place in my heart that surpasses in meaning all the other distractions, deadlines and demands that clutter my life; And I would let go of all of them in a heartbeat for you. Wherever you are. And I love you.

God keep you close Kirst. Until we meet again.

Boet and Melissa’s wonderful adventures downunder. Part 1. Day-1: If it exists he’ll find it.

I was going to start blogging when Boet and Melissa actually arrived, but as often happens when Boet is involved, not everything went according to plan. Their flight to Sydney was booked for Saturday, but at around 10am on Friday they received a phone call to say that that flight was cancelled and could they catch a flight later that evening. After rearranging their local flights to Jhb, and much stressing and low flying in motor cars, they made it.

On the way on the Qantas flight, Boet had kicked off his shoes and was dozing off when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. In the poor light of the cabin, he could just make out that the movement was in fact a cockroach! At 30 000ft! The insect scurried down the side of the cabin past the window and disappeared into the darkness under the seat in front of him. O gross! - but ‘o well, somebody else’s problem’, he thought. A little while later, he realised that he had removed his shoes, as is his wont, on long flights. They were slipped safely under the seat in front of him. Now in economy class it is not that easy to double up his 6 foot plus frame to get hold of them and check that the cockroach had not taken up residence there, so he decided to go to the bathroom in his socks. As he stepped into the bathroom, a cool sensation, like a fresh mountain stream washed over his feet – actually seeped through his sock onto his toes. Somebody had partially missed the toilet bowl and he had stepped into the resultant yellow pool. He proceeded to remove 300 metres of toilet tissue and place it on the floor to dry the area and then gingerly laid down a new layer of basically wall to wall carpet of toilet tissue on the floor, upon which he proceeded to jump so that it would dry his socks. But he did not want to walk back on his bare feet. So he thought he would try and call out to Melissa quietly across the sleeping cabin to bring him his shoes and he could remove his socks and place his cleaned feet directly into the shoes. Standing on his mat of tissue, he opened the door a crack and hissed: ‘Melissa!’
No answer. Sleeping tablets working.
‘Melissa!’
A presence made him glance left. A woman waiting to use the bathroom stared at him, then at his feet, then at the mat of toilet paper which now plastered the tiny bathroom and finally back at his face. Her expression was that mixture of puzzlement and pity reserved for those unsure of whether she was dealing with a mentally challenged person with OCD or just a garden variety nut. She said nothing, just stared at him. He stared back blankly, opened his mouth to say something and wisely, for once in his life, decided not to try and explain everything, backed up gingerly, closed his mouth and the door. He cleaned up as best he could and tried not to cringe the rest of the way to Sydney. I would love to know what she thought he was doing. I really, really, dearly would love to know.

Tour of Sydney and NSW

From the 25th April to the 14th May, my brother-in-law Boet, and his wife will be visiting us here from South Africa. We will be taking them around Sydney and NSW. Since this will be our first time playing tour guides, we will try and run a daily blog (especially between the 30 April and the 9th May, when I will be with them fulltime, recounting their experiences and views of Aus with pictures of course. So join us then as we travel through our new home. Look forward to your company then.

Better response

This link sent to me by Norman S. I wish I had the patience to write like this guy:

http://www.fallibleblogma.com/index.php/a-catholic-response-to-the-sex-abuse-scandal

The Catholic Church abuse scandal

Before anybody thinks I have any delusions of grandeur, I am well aware that neither the Vicar of Christ, Benedict XVI, nor the Catholic Church needs my 2c defence, but as somebody who has always been quite outspoken about my Church, I would like to go on record with regards to the latest revelations of paedophilia that have been reported so shrilly in blanket coverage by the media lately.

Firstly, the hypocrisy of a media portraying itself as an outraged neutral reporter of the latest scandals is quite ironic: they are the self same media who have virtually canonised the deviant and arguably the most famous paedophile in history, Alfred Kinsey.
Secondly, the figures have been grossly overstated by typical media-speak: 'it has been reported', 'studies show', 'it is expected that revelations will reveal', all evidence of hyperbole and / or exaggeration so typical of sensationalist gossip tabloids uninhibited by evidence that allows mere accusations to be portrayed as gospel. The problem is also that the media itself has no moral ground from which to preach on this as they do not hold the inviolability of the human person as sacrosanct anyway and are all (bar a very few) almost universally in favour of abortion and infanticide (partial birth). So those in glass houses...

Should the Church have reacted differently in a number of cases? Absolutely. Any alleged criminal act should be investigated by the criminal justice system. Period. Those who have committed these evil acts, should suffer the harshest judicial penalties and we should not be squeamish with regards to castration, chemical or otherwise - much as gaol removes from a person the right to their freedom because it has been abused, so I would hold that an argument could be made that those that abuse or violate another persons right to bodily inviolability, have forfeited the freedom or right to the gift of their sexuality. This applies equally to common rapists.

The fact is that less than 1 percent of all priests have been accused - let alone convicted of child abuse. Does it make any single case less objectionable and evil? No, but it helps us maintain some sort of reasonable perspective on the whole thing.

The frenzied media is hysterical that the Vatican or Benedict won't respond to them? My view is that the Vatican's position is correct. Why should they? The Church is neither answerable to the media and - given their history for their distorted portrayal on so many of the Church's teachings and aversion to facts - could hardly be trusted to accurately convey any message. So the Church has rightly chosen to respond to the people directly affected by means of pastoral letters to be read out in all parishes. I expect that we will therefore see one soon for the German Church following on the Irish example.

Priests should be held to a higher standard than rest of the faithful and humanity, as their vocation as leaders and the trust that is placed in them is immense and so at the Judgement the Bible reflects that they, as elders, will be judged more harshly than the rest of us.

This whole tragedy again reveals though the misplaced - understandable perhaps - but nevertheless misplaced and unrealistic view of clergy and pastors in general. They say people will leave the church in droves because of this? Maybe the immature. On one level this is no different from those that left the Christian faith when Bakker and Swaggart were found wanting and all of us know of many other local examples of scandal etc. by those entrusted to lead us. Somebody once remarked to me that the 'problem' was that we have had too many holy popes and I now know what he meant. It is a blessing to be sure to have been led by the likes of JPII, but our model is ultimately Christ. I am loathe to quote him, but just this once, to paraphrase the theologian Hans Kung: ‘I believe. Not in the Bible, but in the one to whom the Bible bears witness; not in the Tradition, but in the one whom the Tradition hands down; not in the Church, but in the one whom the Church proclaims.’

Or even, since I am being all ecumenical and inclusive, the Zen proverb:

Do not confuse the finger pointing at the moon for the moon itself.

When a picture is worth a thousand words... hmmm.

Wallaroo

I recently had to go to Canberra for business and left it a little late to book accommodation, forgetting that with Parliament in session and the Golf Masters accommodation was really at a premium and I battled to find a place to stay for under $600 which would probably not have looked good on my business Amex expenses I reckon. Even the B&B's were full. Eventually I found one that had a spot. After I indicated that I wanted to book, the owner manager paused and said: 'You do know that these rooms are in railway carriages...?'
It was my turn to pause. Memories came flooding back of Knysna on the Garden Route of the Western Cape in South Africa where there is a place called The Caboose and where the whole motel / hotel is setup like railway compartments - impossibly small and where you stand on the toilet to shower.. I had little choice here and he assured me that you had a whole carriage to yourself so I accepted.

The actual place is called Last Stop Ambledown Brook which is in keeping with the railway theme and is set among wine farms overlooking a truly spectacular view of the surrounding vineyards: http://www.laststop.com.au
The restored carriages were moved there, the owner told me using 60 ton cranes and then restored by him and his wife. My carriage was decorated in the theme of old movies and there are pictures and posters from old movies all over the carriage. It was immaculately clean and neat but a little unnerving. The first picture below is of the entrance to the carriage - a mannequin fully dressed like a fifties movies star welcomes you and then the bedroom is to the right and the rest of the lounge, dining room and kitchen to the left.
The bedroom really freaked me out. It was decorated like a star's dressing room with a fully set dressing table and everything was pink and frilly. Not pastel pink, you understand, but screaming pink. The bed reached almost to my chest and I climbed up and into it with a little difficulty, the sheets a darker brighter pink than the walls of that was possible.

The next morning, when I got up and walked through to the kitchen, the mannequin's high heeled shoe had fallen off - and I couldn't remember if had been on or off when I arrived. I bent down to pick it up and then thought better of it, thinking that I would rather ask the owners if the shoe was off or on. I ultimately decided against that as the whole thing was just too weird for me: what if they though I was kinky and had interfered with their mannequin? So I just left it off. When I looked at the photos I took when I first arrived the shoe had been on! O well whatever, I would never return to this place.

That morning as I packed up, about 20 to 30 Kangaroos with their joeys (baby kangaroos) on the hill nearby overlooking me, watched intently, their heads moving back and forth as though they were watching a tennis match, as I and walked back and forth from the carriage to the car, a few of the joeys running around in between them like kids bored at a show.

If you are looking for a different experience and a relaxing spot, a great place to stay and the couple who owns it is really lovely and very welcoming.