An ordinary life

Sore throat memory

/ Robert / 10 Comments

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I had managed to dodge the coughs and colds during this unusually warm Antipodean Winter until this week. My throat feels like I’ve been gargling with broken glass. The last time my throat felt like this I was 10 years old. I remember waking up lying on my back, unable to move anything but my head as I was pinned down in bed by well tucked in stiff, crunchy sheets and blankets.

I opened my eyes a fraction, the ceiling seemed so far away, the highest I’d ever seen. When I turned my head to the right a marble fireplace against brown and cream walls came into view. I could hear the sound of hard soled shoes slapping and squeaking on a highly polished brown Lino floor. To my left and opposite there were other beds in the room and the murmur of people talking in hushed tones. My throat was so sore that it hurt to speak, relief came in the form of a nurse telling me that I needed to eat ice cream and jelly for tea and cornflakes for breakfast.

Having tonsils removed is now a day procedure, for me back in 1973 it involved three days stay in the Birmingham and Midland Ear, Nose and Throat Hospital. A grand Victorian red brick and terracotta tile building in Edmund Street. The Grade II listed building built 1890-91, by Jethro Cossins & Peacock in a classical “Queen Anne” style opened as a hospital in 1891 and closed in 1989.

The image is the front of a card from my family during my stay in hospital.

References:

Birmingham Roundabout
The Victorian Society – Brimingham
Go Historic

Harsh reality

/ Robert / 8 Comments

Trees
Even though we lived in a south western suburb of Birmingham I felt a strong connection to nature. A chain-link fence ‘protected’ us from the wilds of neighbouring Welsh House Farm, it was a thrill to climb through a gap in the fence, to enter a secret world and to explore the overgrown fields and tumbledown buildings. Life in the grove was pretty uneventful, until one day I was woken up by the sound of unearthly screams. In one swift movement I threw back the bri-nylon sheet, blanket and candlewick bedspread and jumped out of bed.

Cool early morning light shone down the wall from beneath grey cotton curtains emblazoned with red, green, blue and yellow steam trains. Cautiously I peeped out between the curtains, by now the screaming had turned to an unpleasant chugging noise like an impatient lawn mower. I opened the curtains to find a scene of peace and quiet in the back garden. “Eeeeooow zzzzzow” I ran into my brother’s bedroom, the noise was louder, I still couldn’t see anything. I retrieved my slippers and ran to the front door, it was wide open. Gingerly I went out into the hallway of the building. The sounds were deafening, rebounding from wall to floor to ceiling, up and down the stairs making the painted metal balusters sing.

One of the neighbours was standing in the doorway to the front of the flats, I squeezed past her to join my mother and younger brother standing among a disorderly group of onlookers with silent faces gawping at the source of the noise. Just beyond an army of battered, yellow, monster JCB diggers, that weren’t there yesterday, a man wielding a smoke breathing chainsaw was slicing into the bark of my beloved horse chestnut tree. With wide movements he was making cuts into the side of the defenceless tree that had provided tons of conkers for us to collect, pickle, skewer and thread onto strings. In what seemed like a few moments a gruff voice told us to keep back. Obediently we shuffled back a couple of inches. There was a creaking and groaning followed by “snap, whoosh, thunk, rustle” as my friendly giant lay gracefully down.

By tea time the tree’s tangled branches and strong protective trunk lay lifeless on the ground, ready to be loaded onto trucks and taken away. On the following day the diggers removed the stump, churning up the surrounding grass in the process. By the end of the week calm had returned to the grove, however the diggers stood ominously in the spot where I used to evade capture in games of hide-and-seek. A foreboding washed through me as I wept for the loss of my friend.

Five images of Welsh House Farm by Nicklin, Phyllis (1961) (Unpublished images) University of Birmingham: Welsh House Farm

Dichotomy of being creative

/ Robert / 5 Comments

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Order – disorder
I’m a contradiction! My mind works in a seemingly disorganised way; thoughts come and go, they may or not connect with each other. In contrast when writing my electronic journal I know that it’s unnecessary to order tags yet I conscientiously do so.

Similarly I read the same notices and signs over and over again, day after day – a behaviour that seems to border on being obsessive-compulsive. Perhaps it’s a hangover from my school days when my name, class and date had to be written in a certain way, in a particular place on a page.

Creative constraint
I find creating things a challenge because I have difficulty letting myself go. I work according to many self imposed rules – colouring within the lines! Having said this I don’t possess the accuracy or patience needed for technical drawing or graphic design.

I exist in a state of limbo where nothing I create is quite good enough. As you can imagine self doubt and not being able to live up to my self imposed standards knocks my self confidence.
As I don’t have the benefit of self approval, I seek feedback from others. I know from experience that I don’t react well to negative criticism, what a predicament!

The Grove

/ Robert / 7 Comments

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I am going to try something new; in addition to posting photos, re-blogs and poems I will include bits about my past. I’m inspired by The Temenos Journal to write about my childhood and my family. I am relying on my memory as I am not organised enough to have kept journals. Here is the first instalment:

My delusions of grandeur started early in life; we lived in what my mother described as a “masionette”. It was the left hand of two ground floor, three bedroom, council flats, in a 1950’s block of six. There was a central entrance leading to a common hallway and stairs to the upper floors. My bedroom looked out over our back garden, while my brother’s had a small loggia which faced a common lawned area with a horse chestnut tree. As I stood with my back to the trunk looking up through the branches the tree appeared to go up into the clouds.

Out the back of the block of flats there was a narrow corridor formed by sheds to the left and the right, this led to dustbin area, a chain-link fence and a hedgerow beyond. Former tenants had been thoughtful enough to loosen the fence from it’s posts so that we could crawl underneath. This was fine in the Winter months, however during Summer our escape to the “countryside” was blocked by the evilest stinging nettles known to man.

Our home in Birmingham, UK was located in a “grove”; as a child I associated this with the fancy sounding, cul-de-sac, end of the road and no through traffic. Our grove was by no means quiet, there was a constant stream of vehicles delivering everything from milk, bread, pop, fish and meat to dry cleaning and coal. Luckily we were still on the map as far as Mr Whippy and the rag and bone man were concerned.

The delft houses above were gifts from KLM Royal Dutch Airlines when we emigrated to Australia in 1998.

Life Through Time

/ Robert / 4 Comments

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When considering time in terms of months of the year I visualize an ellipse. Like a racetrack with January and December marking the beginning and end of the cycle. For me January to June tends to be a gentler gradient and a slower pace than July to December. By mid December I’m in need of a break.

The years in my life appear as a stack of ellipses joined together in an upward spiral. When I was a child a year seemed to last forever, so using this perception of time the first ellipse located at the bottom would be the widest. The ellipses reduce in size as they coil up forming an elliptical cone.

This is the path of my life through time, I can see where I’ve been and where I am now. I can make a guess at what will be happening in the next few months, beyond this the path is unclear. I wonder if my journey will continue to a peak or will the years appear to pass more slowly as I move into old age. In this scenario the path of my life could end up looking like a lopsided hourglass.

What does the shape of your life through time look like?

Creating space to connect

/ Robert / 1 Comment

Space to Reconnect

Being an introvert I am not good at investing time and energy into maintaining friendships. My partner performs the role of social secretary to perfection. A chance encounter in a pub provided the catalyst for us to organise a space where five people could come together and reconnect.

Preparation for such an event is usually marred by sore feet from spending hours in the kitchen. On this occasion, a simple menu of Caprese salad, Lasagne al forno, Tiramisu and a few bottles of Italian wine made this the smoothest running and easiest of dinner parties.

The resulting conversations around life, health issues, death, politics, religion and discrimination carried us into the wee hours of the morning.

In reminiscing we worked out that two of us had known each other for almost 30 years. I have carefully looked after the gift I received from them on my 21st birthday.

We have led separate lives with our paths crossing at various points in time. We agreed that our the perception of each other is a memory of them, it does not take into account people, places, illness and events that have impacted on them.

The outcome of the evening can be summed up in one of my partner’s favourite expressions “a quality moment”.

Seeds of enjoyment

/ Robert / 5 Comments

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At the Portuguese festival in Petersham, NSW, the local council had a stall, advertising events and giving out packets of seeds. At the time we were living in a house with a sun baked courtyard, scant shade and ducted air conditioning. The house was not well insulated, this combined with floor to ceiling glass, resulted in sweltering temperatures inside during the Summer months. The temptation of switching on the aircon and not venturing outside was too great.

Thankfully, we moved to a house with shaded windows on four sides which provide cross ventilation and a garden that catches the eastern sun at the front and the hot western heat at the back overlooked by a large shaded deck. Since moving into the house just over a year ago we have spent more time outside than in any of our previous homes.

I enjoy cooking with ingredients grown in the garden, however, herbs are the limit of my foray into horticulture for the time being. I was pleasantly surprised when I came across the seeds and realised that they were not all chili peppers, as I first thought. My partner in his usual encouraging way bought me seed raising mix and trays. I set about planting basil; the first time I have grown plants from seed since primary school. I have experienced such good feelings about sewing the seeds, watching their progress, imagining how sweet the basil taste with tomatoes, salt and olive oil and working out how to maximise the number of people who will receive a basil plant gift.

Taking flight

/ Robert / 3 Comments

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It is a while since I have flown in my dreams. I would often soar and hover at will; I wonder if this is common for those born of a cardinal air sign?

When I exercise, I listen to podcasts compiled by DJ Kam Shafaati http://liquidlogic.podomatic.com/, a waking alternative to my night flights.

A ball of energy forms deep within my being. As the beat and richness of the music rises and falls the power within me expands and contracts. When the track reaches a crescendo a feeling of exhilaration moves up through my body until there is an outward surge of power. The faster the tempo, the harder I work out. This set me up for the day ahead.

Anxiety and Despair

/ Robert / 6 Comments
Blue Mountains sun light

dappled sunlight on the forest floor

I’m not sure how to write about anxiety without feeling the need to offer a glimmer of hope to the reader. This state of mind is all consuming at the time, however, as droplets of sunlight somehow find their way through the densest of branches to reach the forest floor, it is possible to gradually cast off the weights of worry that have brought you to a place of woe.

It makes sense to me that anxiety is part of an instinctual response towards danger. For me assumptions feed the mounting panic to a point when it is difficult to assess the scale of the threat or to use logic and reason to formulate a plan, to flee or fight. The result is a bunny rabbit dazzled by the headlights, unable to move one way or the other.

In the todays’ World, physical dangers are present, yet my period of anxiety was mostly internal. The unseen canker grew within, it fed on self doubt and self loathing. Conversations and events were replayed over and over in my mind. The facts and significance of incidents became warped and out of step with reality. I would go through the motions of day to day life. This was counterproductive at a time when my occupation demanded total engagement and a need to excel.

You would think that a break from it all and time to relax would help to redress the balance.  Unfortunately for me the thought of a holiday involving travel would fill me with dread. The act of preparation, the fear of forgetting something, the panic of waiting for a taxi to the airport that may not arrive or cause us to miss the flight led me to build in unreasonably long lead times. The constant internal tension impacted on my potential to enjoy the trip. This was uncharacteristic of a person who had moved from England to Australia. I would go out for a meal and become stressed because there appeared to be people waiting for our table, shouldn’t we hurry our meal? It is time for us to leave!

Just when I thought that I had hit rock bottom and begun the slow climb out of the abyss, the sudden death of my mother resulted in a total loss of my grip on reality. I tumbled to a new depth of despair supplementing anxiety with depression.

Despondency is physically, mentally and emotionally draining. I quickly filled the resulting void with negative thoughts of paranoia, fear, anger and apathy. I spent hour upon hour of mindless meanderings of thought processes, the outcome of which was a downward spiral of my mood. All successes and achievements were forgotten. There was precious little left of confidence in my abilities. I feared failure, how I appeared to others, I avoided social situations and  enjoyment of life seemed reserved only to those who were happy.

For me the only way out of this situation was to make changes to my life that reduced the self imposed pressures of money, status and unnecessary demands on my time. With the love and support of my partner who believed in me I was able to seek a new path. Together, we found the way through my ordeal.

Hindsight has miraculous properties; I am attempting to make sense of what happened and to put things into perspective. I look upon the years of descent and eventual re-ascent as a side trip on life’s journey. This opportunity to look within allowed me space to reevaluate what is important to me. The physical plane appears to be brighter than it did before. The path to enlightenment seems clearer.  I attempt to navigate life’s foggy path with my destiny as my goal while keeping one eye on the weather and the the condition of my craft. The other is trained on the light that illuminates my way.

Convergence

/ Robert / 3 Comments
orange poppy

convergence to a single point

Do apparently random, unconnected events, incidents and encounters lead to a particular moment in time? I find myself questioning feelings of deja vu and subconsciously connecting the dots of experiences. There appears to be something guiding me along an invisible meandering path.

As long as I can remember I have be drawn to the idea that there is more to existence than what we are told to believe or what we see around us. The dichotomy of needing to perform in the perceived real world and allowing myself the space and freedom to be open to the otherworldly and non-physical is a skill I am developing.

There have been times when I have sought to work out a plan of where I want to go in life. Like many projects, I start with a great deal of all consuming enthusiasm, this peters out to become unresolved and unfinished. Yet when I persevere and achieve an outcome this surprises me.

It has taken many years for me to understand the significance of 9th card in the major arcana of the Tarot, The Hermit http://www.acumind.com/Joe/tarot/hermit.html. I like stillness; time and space to be introspective; to seek a greater understanding of what it all means. I enjoy giving and receiving guidance – being and turning to a trusted teacher. I find myself creating an inner space, a temporary escape from the pressures I place on myself at work, at home and participating in society.

The act of creating something, be it writing, painting, sketching or baking bread, provides me with a vehicle on the physical plain to free my mind, to look within and explore the possibilities of a higher consciousness.

As with all points in time that hold significance for me, I can’t prevent myself from linking the events of today with a trail of incidents in the past. An example of this is the family friend who as a teenager I knew as auntie. She would use an ordinary deck of playing cards to provide an insight into the possibilities for the future. She gave me a pack of tarot cards which I have carried with me between hemispheres. The cards and the memory of that event have helped to shape where I am now, my beliefs and approach to life.

I see myself as a piece of weathered driftwood, bobbing along on the sea. The tide and the wind guide me through life. It must be frustrating for those few people close enough to me to experience my lack of direction, indecisive and un-opinionated outlook on life.