Month: May 2024

Early winter

Frosty mornings have arrived, covering the grass in icy, white droplets. The dog’s breath turns to vapour as we make our way across the road to the park. I too can see my breath ahead of me and plunge my hands deep into my pockets. The cold nibbles at my ears and nose, but a down coat keeps the rest of my body warm.

 The dog doesn’t seem to feel the cold. She happily lies on this carpet of frost, frolicking and licking the icy dew. There’s a wild look in her eye and I know she is about to run in ever-widening circles, stretching her body fully with each stride. I watch as she performs her exercise routine with unashamed, abundant joy, and I can’t help but feel a vicarious sense of being fully alive. I admire her ability to be so present that nothing else matters to her at all.

These morning walks before work are now as important to me as they are to the dog. Some mornings, the park is shrouded in fog, and we venture into unfamiliar terrain, uncertain of what we may come across along the way. The trees become mysterious creatures with outstretched arms, ready to catch me should I stumble too close. These mornings I am transported into a fairy tale where inanimate objects take on human form in the distance, only to turn back into posts or small bushes when I come near. It never feels menacing, but laden with the promise of some adventure.

The black swan that had appeared one day on the billabong has continued its journey.  I wonder where they fly for winter. Only the ducks are left and a cormorant or two. Even the magpies seem quieter in the morning now, or am I imagining this? In any case, the park has taken on a different feel; it is quieter, and the colours are muted. The park is now in calm repose.

My day continues with work hours, obligations, and errands. By late afternoon, I feel the urge to visit again before the light fades completely. I take the dog for her second walk of the day, this time with greater urgency and less time to reflect. Despite my desire to be there, the walk becomes perfunctory. I’m thinking about cooking dinner and jobs that still need to be done before the day is out. Other people in the park seem harried too. Everyone wants a bit more time outside before the light fades completely.

Back home, I can just make out the outline of the canopies. Soon, the inky black sky will blanket the city. The day, with all its cares, is over. A brand-new walk awaits us in the morning.

The German Film Festival

https://germanfilmfestival.com.au/

It has been a long time since I had the chance to attend film festivals. In my early 30s, I used to have a share in a ticket for the Sydney Film Festival and I saw many fabulous films from around the world. After my daughter was born, this became much more difficult to organise, but I still managed to get to a few films at the French and German Festivals. Once we moved out of Sydney, these events became rare treats and at best, we would see a film or two at the events.

Moving to Canberra has allowed me to indulge in some of my favourite old pastimes. Attending the German Film Festival is one of them. I have selected 17 films over a three-week period, and, on some days, I have been watching two movies back-to-back. I have forgotten how demanding that can be!

As always, there are films that shake me to my core and others that leave me wondering how the film ever got off the ground. Regardless, I am enjoying the breadth of films, ranging from historical drama set in WWII to funny yet profound films about dysfunction, relationships, and alcohol abuse. So far, I have seen six films, of which three have been excellent. They were From Hilde, with Love (In Liebe, Eure Hilde), Lubo and One for the Road. Of these, From Hilde, with Love is the standout. From Hilde, with Love, tells a compelling true story of a young Nazi resistance activist in Berlin who gets detained and eventually tried for treason. The story builds slowly towards its inevitable climax, which jolts the audience. While there are many moving films about WWII, this one offers fresh insight through the personal experience of a young woman who becomes politically engaged, falls in love, and pays the ultimate price for her convictions.

Lubo, the only Swiss offering at the festival, is a remarkable film. It fictionalises events that occurred in Switzerland after the war, when authorities forcibly removed children from ‘gypsy’ parents, placed them into foster homes, separated them from their siblings, subjected them to sexual abuse, and disconnected them from their culture. This will sound horribly familiar to Australian viewers. In 1972, the Swiss government apologised and paid some reparations to families that were affected and, while this was a very late reckoning, it took the Aboriginal Stolen Generations until 2008 to receive a formal apology. Lubo belongs to a minority nomadic community called Yenish. During the war, his wife lost her life while trying to prevent authorities from taking their children. Lubo spends his life documenting the disappearance of his own children and those of his community. This film echoes the pain and suffering of First Nations peoples and minority groups.

These films are thought provoking yet enjoyable. I am making up for the years that I haven’t been able to see European films. I like the meandering story lines, the stunning settings and the slow pace that many of these films have in common. I may be a tad tired over the next three weeks, but I won’t regret it.

A trip to New Zealand

Or the long-lost friend, a tech savvy daughter and a generous birthday gift.

Wellington foreshore guerilla knitters

Annie and I met in 1989 while working for a private college teaching English in Sydney. Our clients were Chinese, and the massacre at Tiananmen square in June of that year affected them all deeply. They came from cities and villages, desperate to earn money so they could repay the enormous debt they had back home which funded their airfares and tuition fees. None of them knew about life in Australia or the cost of living in Sydney.

Annie and I gravitated towards each other and soon became friends. We spent many a weekend going to the Glebe markets, meeting up for coffee and going for walks along the cliffs at Bondi. I left the college disillusioned with the management and teaching. She stayed for a while longer before travelling to Canada and Nepal. We kept in touch throughout this time.

In my memory, Annie was footloose and fancy free, always looking for the next adventure and travel destination. I was three years older and in a steady relationship. I admired her ability to save money and her courage to travel to far-flung places on her own. I admired her freedom and her trust in finding work wherever she went.

I was one of many friends she had, but she was my best friend. When I was about to give birth to my daughter, Annie was the obvious choice to be my support person. At 8 moths pregnant, I remember driving over some speed humps in my ancient Beetle. We shrieked with laughter as I landed heavily back in my seat. I could always rely on Annie to boost my mood and have a good laugh. No need for nitrous oxide with her by my side!

As our lives became more complicated with partners, jobs and eventually children, it was more difficult to catch up regularly. By then we lived in different parts of the city and eventually my small family moved out of the city altogether. Not long after that, Annie and her family moved back to New Zealand, which she had always called home. We lost touch.

Years passed. I always had a framed photo of Annie on my bookshelf and often wondered where life had taken her. My daughter heard stories about this special friend who was there at her birth and knew how much she meant to me. So she found her on the internet and booked me an airfare to Wellington.

Little did she know I would arrive on the eve of Annie’s birthday. What a treat to celebrate this special day with her loved ones. I finally met her adult children, was reacquainted with her husband and was welcomed into their home.

For a week, we walked the rugged beaches of Wellington with Dexter, their wonderful and quirky dog, catching up on 25 plus years of our lives. So much had changed for us both, but that initial spark from all those years ago still ignited our friendship. We share the same values, care about the same things and, interestingly, experienced similar challenges. We both stayed in teaching; she became an early childhood educator while I became a primary teacher. After teaching adults for many years, we gravitated towards teaching young children.

I loved being taken to her favourite haunts, the supermarket down the road and the café she frequents on weekends. I can now imagine her daily life; the route she takes to work, the walks she takes to clear her head, and I have met the people who are dearest to her. 

We spent some time sight-seeing, but those aren’t the memories I shall hold dear. While I loved walking through the botanical gardens, the museums along the waterfront, and the quirky shops on Cuba Street, what I loved most were the connections I was making. Talking politics with Annie’s 93-year-old mother was definitely a highlight. I loved her joie de vivre and her passion for social justice. May we all be as erudite and passionate no matter our age!

I’ve now been back home for three weeks. Neither of us have contacted each other since the first couple of days. We both have busy jobs and parenting responsibilities. There’s not much time left at the end of the day, especially when there is a two-hour time difference to navigate. It is all too easy to fall into habits of neglect. But this time I’m determined not to lose our precious connection again.