Month: April 2025

Music in the Margins

Dickson is an inner-north suburb of Canberra, well known for Asian restaurants and specialty grocers. The shopping precinct is also known for people sleeping rough, alcohol and drug problems as well as boarded up shop fronts. Coles and Woolworths are two retail giants competing against each other, but small shops struggle to make ends meet. It is a mixed bag.

In the centre of the shopping precinct is a plaza with a public library servicing the surrounding areas. At night, the covered entrance way provides shelter for the homeless. Vinnies does a night patrol in the area, providing food, jackets, sleeping bags, and offering non-judgmental social interaction. There are many who would like to clear out the poor and ‘improve’ the suburb. They speak of a clean-up as if it were a matter of getting some mops and brooms, sweeping away unwanted people.

Yes, I can attest to the problems in the area, but I also see a richness and community spirit. While waiting for a prescription to be filled, I sat on a bench opposite a muralled wall where an upright piano stands under the eaves of a building. It is old and weather-beaten, but its keys are intact. Playable, even if most likely out of tune.

A man in his 40s, wearing a black backpack, sat down, rolled a cigarette and began to play. The music that flowed from his hands was enchanting. As it was a public holiday, there were very few people about. Yet those who were about to walk past, stopped, took videos or simply listened before continuing on their way. I stood up and commented on the soaring melodies to a woman with a pram. Her toddler was transfixed. Soon, someone else joined us and we were strangers no more. The pianist had brought us together to enjoy the moment, doing what he loved best, awakening within us the power of music.

At the end of a song, I approached to say thank you. He was rather bashful, telling me he was self-taught and had only been playing for two years. He could only play by ear, and as he hadn’t worked out how to use the black keys, he could only play in C major or A minor, the two scales that can be played solely on the white keys. He probably wasn’t aware of that. Nevertheless, he sounded accomplished, and his repertoire was extensive.

This man, rich in spirit but poor, had transformed my trip to the chemist into deep appreciation for the gifts that people can offer each other. He touched the hearts of everyone who walked past and allowed people to connect who would otherwise not strike up a conversation. All because someone had leaned an old piano against a wall in the mall.

I have seen the architect’s impression of a precinct, a master plan of hundreds of new apartments and clean, green public spaces. The language of conservation (zero waste) and Connecting with Country (green corridors) are present, appealing to our middle-class conscience.  No doubt the suburb will enjoy a process of gentrification and it will be prices rather than the broom that will eventually sweep the suburb clean of people like the piano man.

Smitten and Smote: Biblical Ponderings with Shampoo

Does anyone else think too much in the shower? I lather my hair and my mind wanders down odd side tracks and into cul-de-sacs. A quick rinse is never enough. Even on busy mornings, I stretch time to follow my thoughts.

This morning, my mind began to wonder about the American pronunciation of the word ‘herb’, which is ‘erb. Was this an older form of the way we say it, fossilised from when America was colonised? Most likely, I thought. Does this mean that they would say an herb rather than a herb? Again, I answered in the affirmative. If we say an hour, it makes sense that they would say an herb. After all, we sometimes see a history and an history in printed form.

How did I come to mull over this word? I have been hearing it a lot while listening to both podcasts and lately, when listening to the Old Testament as an audiobook. I don’t know how I came to buy an American version rather than the one narrated by David Suchet of Poirot fame. However, I am used to the American woman’s voice by now and will have the pleasure of listening to her for the next 65 hours.

I decided to listen to the Old Testament because I have only ever known fragments of it. The classic stories like Adam and Eve, Noah’s Ark, Moses and the Exodus, the Ten Commandments and Lot’s wife turning to salt were about the extent of my knowledge. And some Psalms of course. I wanted to go deeper to understand more of the foundation of the three Abrahamic religions, namely Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Of these three, Islam split off quite early, following the lineage of Ishmael, son of Abraham, while Judaism from whence Christianity originated, followed the lineage of Isaac, Abraham’s other son. However, in Islam, Isaac, Moses and Jesus are still acknowledged as prophets.

I was thinking about these things and the language used in the translation of the Old Testament from Hebrew. There’s much begetting, smiting and going in under women. Smite, smitten, smote. I have only been smitten in the positive sense. But I guess that too has the implication of being inflicted a heavy blow, like being hit with Cupid’s arrow.

There are a multitude of abominations and even more circumcisions. King Saul demanded that David bring 100 foreskins of Philistines as a price for Michal, his daughter. How did he carry them back, I wondered. In a bag or perhaps pierced on a stick? I did squirm a little at that thought.  I’m only part way through and I’m already desensitised to the brutal killings, wiping out of whole towns including women, children and ‘sucklings’.

Words have always fascinated me. To tarry for example. In the bible it means to wait or to linger for longer than intended. It has a sense of being delayed by someone or something. Nowadays when we tarry, we are slow in action or in departure, but it is rarely used in everyday speech. I can only imagine it used satirically as in, ‘tarry not, young wench!’

I have tarried too long under the shower. Time to rinse off the ‘erbal conditioner and seize the day, lest I be smote for the abomination of wasting precious resources of this dry country.

Missing the Date, Catching the Moment

My mind is scattered. The other day, I drove to Sydney for an appointment on the wrong day. That’s a six hour round trip I could have avoided. I have a bad habit of skimming emails and assuming details. It has got me into trouble before. But I decided against self-flagellation and make the most of a day in the city.

Although there were many options to get into town, I chose to take the light rail from Dulwich Hill. Not the quickest way but I wanted to see what it was like. Having grown up with trams in Melbourne, I have always had a soft spot for them. I much prefer them to trains and buses. I like that I can see the driver, that they are smaller and more intimate than trains, and travel at a slower speed. There’s a human scale to them, almost a little quaint now, yet efficient at moving people from one suburb to the next.

The track goes along a narrow goods train corridor which hasn’t been used for years. For most of the journey, there’s vegetation on both sides of the track, making it a pleasant ride through a green corridor. On this particular day, the leaves of the trees we were dappled in sunlight, giving the effect of passing through an arbour. I was captivated by the changing light and shadow on the various shades of green. Yet when I looked at my fellow passengers, hardly anyone noticed. Familiarity breeds contempt.

As I began to observe the commuters, I noticed two women reading a book, maybe three people sitting quietly and the rest were either scrolling on their phones or wearing earbuds. In the past, commuters may have been reading a newspaper or book, knitting or striking up a conversation with someone nearby. People would have made eye contact with each other or even given a slight nod. I remembered a TV show aired on SBS called ‘Going Home’. We used to watch it regularly after the news. Filmed in 2000-2001, it followed the lives of a fictional group of commuters on their homeward train journey. The characters shared aspects of their lives with one another, noticed if someone was missing and discussed current affairs. This series could not be made now. Who would watch a group of commuters staring at their phones for 20 minutes a day?

Once more, I focused my gaze outwards as we passed Jubilee Park, Wentworth Park and then made our way into the city. It had been a pleasant trip, musing about the nature of change and the joys of travelling along a green corridor. Did it matter that I arrived on the wrong day? Not really. I spent the day doing a bit of shopping and surprised a dear friend, turning up unannounced. A perfect, unscripted day.

A School Life, A Full Life

We are approaching the end of the term. I can tell. My floors aren’t vacuumed, and the bed is overdue for clean sheets. Lots of little jobs are falling by the wayside. I tell myself that I will get to them next week when I finally have some time.

Today, I arrived home after 7pm and my number one priority was feeding the animals and then cooking my own meal. My poor dog didn’t even get out for her customary walk tonight. I’ve snuggled into my dressing gown and I have no desire to brave the elements.

To be fair, not all of it has to do with working at a busy school. Last week, I had several engagements that left me with little time at home. The first was a delightful dinner on Friday night where good company, a bottle of bubbly and the funniest conversations made me laugh so hard that I had to hold my sides. Both food, and company were outstanding.

Saturday, I drove back to Millthorpe where I used to live to catch up with dear friends and get a haircut. It is a three hour drive one way. That’s quite some distance to travel for a hairdresser. While I like the Salon and the quality of the cut, my main reason for not swapping over to someone else is that I enjoy catching up with friends. As we move away, it is harder and harder to keep in contact. ‘We must keep in touch,’ is a common refrain but life gets busy and after a short time the connections are weakened until they are completely severed. I didn’t want that to happen.

The downside of being away for a weekend is that the washing, cleaning and weekly preparation doesn’t get done. I went headlong into this week without much of a plan. I’m feeling the effects of it now. My Monday has been taken up with reactive tasks and the important items on my to-do list never got a look in. When I packed up in the afternoon, I discarded a full cup of tea I had made myself at midday. I hadn’t been near my desk since then.

Am I frustrated? Maybe just a little. But life is more than just the tasks we feel we have to complete. I’m glad that I went to the dinner with good friends on Friday, and then off to see more lovely friends on the weekend. The washing can wait. I still have plenty to wear. While I may be tired, I am also incredibly grateful for my full life in loving company.

I’m grateful for friends – old and new, grateful for shared laughter, and for the chance to be of service, even on the messiest of Mondays. The to-do list can wait. For now, my dressing gown, a warm meal, and a quiet moment are exactly what I need.