The Contingency Plan

Gordon's Dad died yesterday morning.

He passed quietly in a hospital bed. His wife by his side.

He was tired. Had suffered another heart attack on Saturday. He was over it. Wanted to go. Didn't want his family to endure the burden of home care.

He waited until he had spoken with everyone in the family. And then his heart started to beat a little slower. And a little slower again. Until he faded and was without breath.

Gordon was barely lucid when I called. For a while my earpiece could only hear sharp intakes of air that were being released full of grief and cries that seemed to rise from somewhere beyond his flesh.

Gordon. The one who famously dotes on the beautiful. The one you see at the fashion parties making all the pretty people laugh. The one who you think must either be a photographer or just plain charasmatic (both). The one who despite his daunting talent, holds himself back with fear.

We talked for some time about his father. About life and death in general. I told him that I love him. Offered whatever help he wanted. Made sure they were ok with funeral arrangements and the finances associated. He laughed about how crazy he must look sobbing in the hospital gardens and I thought that seeing him being so honest and exposed in his loss would surely be a beautiful thing.

After we spoke, Gordon went back to the hospital room and sat with his Dad for some time. And for the last two days I can't get that picture out of my mind.

The greyness of the hospital room. The lifeless body of such a loved man. And his oldest son, sitting next to him, still wanting to be near him.

I am, so often, overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed with the beauty, happiness and opportunity surrounding me and by the injustice, hurt and violation.

To me, this seems like real and authentic living. It's holding the joy and pain in both my hands and sitting, walking and dancing with it, with me.

Life lately seems less about extreme seasons of goodness/badness; it's less of a rollercoaster of highs and lows and of more a consistent acknowledgement and appreciation of both. So often I don't understand life but I can't deny its beauty, its chaos.

This week I'm helping Gordon plan the funeral of his father. His loving, giving and funny father. He has terminal cancer and is expected to live another 6-8 weeks. They're taking him home this week to drink champagne and celebrate his wonderful life. I've surrended my own emotions of loss and grief to support my friend.

But hurts me that such a good man is dying so young.

And in the surrealness of his dying, I have my son saying the most wonderful sentences and sharing such simple and heart warming affection. I have a loving and supportive partner that offers me no sexual intimacy, I have him securing a contract that will provide us with amazing financial opportunities and then waking to find our lovely vintage car (which has been kept in mint condition for over 30 years) suffering from a hit and run accident that occured during the night. Red paint scratched into its side, hub caps lost, side mirrors broken off. Dents. And not even a note.

Good, bad, wonderful, terrible. Like little mosaic tiles that make up this big picture of 'life'.

What a difference a week makes....

* We're meeting with the owners of the house we're renting tonight as they want to sell and make a proposal to us. Although I bitch, the house is beautiful and we'd only have to make a few changes (air conditioning, storage space and a security screen door at the front) so we're hoping the price will be right

* Luc was head hunted for an amazing role that will pay almost double his current wage (gasp), he'll start in two week's time

* I found out about a ten year high school reunion late November and have been playing catch up with a few old friends. Fun!

* I finally had my eyes re-tested and bought myself a pair of gorgeous glasses and disposable contact lenses after loosing my specs in Tokyo well over a year ago. And after using old and broken technology, I also sorted out a spanking new laptop and mobile phone

* Chloe and I took the boys to see their first concert, Hi-5, which was absolutely cray-zee

* But the day after, Chloe's house was robbed and the bastards stole her laptop, which had all of their photos of Louis, and no, nothing was backed up

* About a month ago, Gordon's Dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer and was placed in final care at the hospital yesterday. They don't think he'll come out alive so Gordon is finalising his will and funeral plans today. I'm helping him with the details he doesn't want to deal with

* My Dad, newly married and wanting to move out of the house he recently bought with Natasha, has asked my mother for a loan of $50,000 so he can buy a place, in cash, for him and his new wife. There are so many things wrong with this picture.

Of course she denied him the loan.

It's hot today and rage towards the owners of this house has escalated. This house has no fly screens, lots of big, trendy windows and no air conditioning, so if you calculate the heat is outside (today, 37 degrees) and add another 4-5 degrees then you'll have the environment in our house.

One of the main features of the place is its big open plan area that opens above to a mezzanine level. You can add as many fans and noisy portable air conditioners as you like and it still doesn't make a difference to the intolerable heat. Hugo is frustrated and none of us can sleep properly.

I absolutely LOATHE the concept of moving house, AGAIN, but cannot handle this heat. I'd rather relocate.

We had a mandatory house inspection last Thursday and the real estate agent said she'd look into the heat issue again with the owners. They live two doors down and claim they 'aren't air conditioner types'.

We've been permitted to purchase and install an airconditioner but would have to leave it behind or pay for the 'damage' if we take it with us.

This seems like a no-win situation.

I love how well you can get to know someone by living in the same house and observing their actions.

Luc's not one of those people (like me) who becomes really loud and verbal when he's happy. I'll sing, dance and basically make very little effort to mask the emotion.

Luc however does small little things like squeezing his face. When he's overwhelmed with anticipation he'll hide in our room for a few minutes during work to play the guitar. I'll hear him play a favourite song (usually Stone Temple Pilots), softly singing along and then he'll silently return to his desk, as if nothing happened.

Despite initial plans of a low key picnic for Hugo's birthday, I've been working on an alternate. One that involves a disco ball, dance music and three hours of crazy fun.

I can't claim the idea to myself as I fell in love with this around six months ago and have been scheming a way I can either pull it off here or tailor it for a client.

There's a perfect little hall within stone's throw of our house so I've been stalking the contacts listed online (and the actual hall) to see if I can hire it. It's such a convenient location, I don't think I want to go through with it unless I can have the hall. It will literally take a minute to talk to.

In addition to the dancing, snacks and drinks, I also want a chill out area with bean bags, matts, etc.

We took Wolf to a wedding a few months ago and he experienced his first dance floor. Oh how he loved it! The lights, the music, the people, he honestly tired Luc and I out. I can't wait!!

nearly two months ago the little wolf was weaned. my breasts, once plump and full now sit lower
and almost look exhausted. poor things. and even though they're a big saggier, a bit stretched and a bit tired,
i love having them to myself again and regaining the sensitivity i lost. i'm surprised at how happy it's made me feel,
to have my body all to myself again, not having to think about anyone one but myself for the first time in two and a half years.

My ultimate weekend involves sitting outside in the sunny garden, reading the entire weekend paper, drinking good coffee, smelling clean clothes drying on the line and occassionally looking up to see the little wolf contently playing with trucks and a clean house in the background.

My reality is that there is no paper, no coffee, the house is a mess, Wolf is watching tv and Luc's making me breakfast.

Not perfect but not bad either.

Hide and Seek
A colleague of mine today mentioned his 'secret' blog. I was in a playful mood so I mentioned mine too. Neither of us would reveal anything more.

I wonder how long it will take for one of us to find the other...

Clicking with the past
Ali contacted me on instant messenger today as she wanted to recommend Chloe and I for a fashion job. Strange. It's been well over a year. She asked what clients we have and when I told her she said, 'wow you've really made it'.

I don't think so, but like how 'making it' means I can still have bed hair and the little wolf sleeping next to me while I work.

And lastly...
I had an appointment with my specialist/surgeon yesterday.

As he needs to check my bits, he usually waits in a separate room while I undress, having provided a sheet to use once I'm on the examination table.

Yesterday was different though and my God it was hard to make small talk while trying to wrestle my underwear out from underneath a very fitted skirt. He was standing directly opposite me, facing me in that small and confided space. We spoke about his children, my child, how business is going, how the weather is getting warmer - all with my hands up my skirt tugging underwear down and then on with the sheet once I was already on the bed... Oh it was an uncomfortable situation!!

Nevertheless, I am thrilled to report that I have 'healed perfectly'. What good news!

Oh you're a good bunch. I know I've said it before, but you're so lovely and supportive and encouraging and sensitive and it's made me feel a lot brighter.

So after the comments on my last post, I've decided to write about some of the things that have been on my mind. I spent two hours on this earlier, only to have my computer suddenly crash, so I now write warily and only because I feel an urgent need to.

Stop and save.

The past two weeks have been overwhelming. I've been overwhelmed with bitterness towards my father, with depression about my body and utter sadness and frustration towards horrendous local injustices.

I know my feelings for my father will settle in time as my dedication towards grudges is faint. And for the past week I've turned around my eating habits and have been determined to act less on my emotional attachment to food. I've actually been dealing with the feelings instead of eating through them so lots of unfortunate, barely cohesive, diary writing has ensued! Luc's naturally been supportive by tempting me with all of my favourite treats (no joke).

So, I shall write of the injustices.

Working in PR, I need to stay relatively informed on general news and current affairs and picked up a recent story that made me literally feel ill.

His name is Mulrunji and he was a 36 year old Aboriginal man who lived on Palm Island. Far from the luxury of Dubai, Palm Island Queenlsand bears a shameful history and in 1999, the Guinness Book of Records deemed it the most violent place to live on earth outside of a combat zone.

In 2004, Mulrunji was arrested for public drunkeness and died less than an hour later in police custody. The officers concerned claimed his death resulted from injuries suffered from falling down stairs. The locals of Palm Island cried foul play and rioted, burning down the police station, barracks and court house. No one was injured during the riots but the Queensland Government reacted by sending in paramilitary troops who arrested 28 Palm Island residents, including a 14 year old boy and a 65 year old grandmother. Children were held up by gun point, stun guns used on those with their hands already in the air. Many of those arrested were held without bail for a week and others sentenced earlier this year. No support or councelling was offered to the families or children who endured these events. The Queensland Government did very little to investigate the incident, the focus negatively placed on punishing the rioters.

Last Wednesday, two years after Mulrunji died, the Queensland State coroner released her findings that place the responsibility for Mulrunji's death on the officer, Chris Hurley, who literally bashed him to death. Mulrunji suffered four broken ribs and a ruptured liver. He died, choking on his own blood after being unnecessarily arrested. Reports revealed he had never been formerly arrested, was a happy, peaceful man and that his family had asked about him at the station shortly after he had died and were told to simply come back later.

The Queensland Police Union reacted by labelling the inquest as a 'witch hunt' and despite public outcry, the Queensland Premier, Peter Beattie, supported the Union, claiming he is ok with the officer keeping his job. It's been a week and no charges have been made against Chris Hurley by the Director of Public Prosecutions. To this day Hurley lives in a protected, luxury apartment on the Gold Coast. Mulrunji's family are still seeking justice and it's the rioting Palm Islanders who have served time.

No police officer has ever faced criminal charges over an Aboriginal death in custody in Australia.

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Aborigines have a pretty bad reputation in Australia. Sure it's a great generalisation, but if you were to ask any number of white Australians, you'd get plenty of people talking of violence, unemployment and drug and alcohol abuse.

I came across a survey of 400 people that had been completed in Townsville where only one in ten people had a positive opinion of Aboriginal people. I know, as with all cultures, there are inexcusable crimes, but wondered what life would be like when you're raised with the notion that it's ok to fail given your surroundings, especially if you're black.

Horrified by Mulrunji's case and my own ignorance, I did some further research into the past and read about stolen wages and how the Government controlled and denied Aborigines of their wages and entitlements for generations, keeping them in poverty, barely able to buy food for their families and how decades later in 2006, people are still unable to retrieve what's owed.

I read of people's very recent sceptism about, and denial of the Stolen Generations. Some saying it never happened, others saying they should just get over it and move on. And other just wanting recognition of what happened so they can move on.

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I coindentally met an old Aboriginal woman last week and through pure luck was able to steal two hours of her time before she had to leave for an eye examination.

She made me call her Aunty and told me of her life. How she grew up in Doomadgee, an Aboriginal settlement near the Gulf of Carpentaria and was treated differently to her peers because she has white blood in her veins. She told me of rape, of slavery, of constant discrimation and how she still doesn't receive her full pension. She spoke to me of spirituality birthed in the land, of her lost and hopeless people and told me of how she dreams to one day hear the sounds of a corroboree again.

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The debate on whether Australia, as a country should say sorry to the Aboriginal people is a raging one. There are many in the community who feel Aborigines already receive too much 'special treatment' and just want more money. I'm sure there are those out there. But I think of Palm Island and the poverty there and wonder how much we're really helping each other.

I've spoken to friends and family a lot about this lately and people seem to be tired of being made to feel blame or guilt over actions they did not personally do. Although I believe responsibility should be taken for injustices done, I'm interested in moving forward together and developing a deeper understanding of each other, which takes initiative as I sadly don't come across many Aboriginal people in my day to day life.

I don't want Aborigines to be treated like victims but as equal citizens yet it seems we haven't at all progressed in the last 200 years. And our system of justice seems defunct.

And all of this saddens me to no end.