The morning of the aftermath presentation arrives and my friends ask if I’d like to go to the West End Markets before my talk. It seems like a good idea to quell the nerves.
It is something to behold though, we arrive to a mellow saxophonist sitting by the entrance. The car park is almost to capacity but we are directed to a spot near an oval and park a short walk from the stalls.
The market itself is a sea of people. We are moved on a wave of humanity and have almost no individual identity. Stopping to look at stalls is a mild relief but hard when you want to hop back on the wave and move. It’s crowd surfing on the edge for someone who now has the soul of a country girl.
My hosts are apologetic saying they usually come later and it’s not quite this fast moving sea. They are tired out by the moving wave. I stop to find some material made flowers, and the seller of these is a very arty looking young lady who also has an array of colourful scarves. I will place one in my hair as goodluck for the looming presentation.
I keep my wits about me, to make sure my son is not swept away by the wave. Karen orders some pumpkin and curry puffs for a small snack.
We head off to where there is usually music, but instead there is a loud performance and a couple of people are in what appears to be a television studio on the go. It could be pantomime, I am not sure. We don’t stop long. It’s not our cup of tea.
Soon we escape though and sit under a large avenue of trees and Daryl dives back into the sea to grab coffees and a hot chocolate for us.
Karen tells me that she grew up in the country too, and isn’t that keen on the state of the market today; they like to come when it is less crowded. She tells me about other markets in the area and their character.
Daryl tells us about the trees and how they had been roped off for a long while to recover from all the trampling on the ground near their roots andthe disease they had. Many trees have been lost. The hope is that the break from people and treatment will assist them to survive. I share a little of our lost trees in Tully and the cyclone hit areas. So many humans love trees – and associate them with memories. I wonder what happened to the lost Kauri Pine out the back of our old place in Feluga. It was so tall and so attractive to birds that nested there. Now it’s just a photograph. I wonder if the wood was put to good use.
My son chatters as well, about all the things dear to him and what he’d like to do for the rest of the trip. He is keen to go to the movies that evening or afternoon if we can.
Soon we are away again, back to Daryl and Karen’s for a brief break before heading off to a café near the Queensland Museum.
They drop me and my son off as we are there early to prepare before the talk – and they will return later. We are at The Café waiting for Miranda, Scott and Solua to arrive. We seem to be first on the scene. Whilst we are waiting we notice people hiring picnic baskets and going and sitting on the lawn to be served as if they are high class society people with butlers.
Miranda arrives with her brother Roly – and we take a table ready to have a last minute discussion before we head off to the Museum to present. Scott and Solua are not far behind and discussions begin.
I ask my son to photo document, and he takes to his task with relish. I realise how much he has been watching me take photographs. He is not at all scared to take on this role.
Break from the Wave – June Perkins
To read the account of the Aftermath Presentation at the Museum click here. I’ve posted it at ABC Open. But our Brisbane Adventure doesn’t end there …
Tiny moments strung together in journeys are markers on the way to experiences of epiphany. Like multi-coloured pearls strung on a string my last weekend in Brisbane can now be crafted together and worn in the memory.
Thursday 8th March 2012
It begins when like Goldilocks entering the house of bears I enter the seemingly empty house of the friend in Cairns I have organised to stay with before going to the airport next day. Not a sign is stirring, yet the lights are on, and she has left the door ajar, knowing I am arriving.
I go in, make myself comfortable on a chair, and ring her on her phone so she’ll come out and answer it and not be scared that I have suddenly appeared in her house. Like a pixi I turn off the light in her car, we later discover it was switched on by one of her sons.
Our sleepy looking host appears and apologises for she hasn’t sleep for several nights due to her youngest son waking up, and she did kind of know we were there. She is warm and welcoming offering us food and beverages and conversation.
We have a chat and leave the world of goldilocks behind to speak of upcoming university reunions and being at the cross roads of life making all sorts of decisions for the future.
Friday 9th March 2012
Next morning we have yoghurt and fruit for breakfast and my son plays trains with one of her boys. He has the magical name of a book character Tashi and I am transported back to when my children were smaller and lived in the land of make believe. Even not that long ago my daughter said she would one day like to grow up to meet a dragon.
We head off to the airport – and her children love the airport- it’s like a treasure trove full of bright lights, mechanical aeroplanes just for kids (if you slot the money in they fly) and lolly shops with too much just in reach of small hands. I marvel at the strength of single Mums as she gently steers them past temptations again and again as they enter the bear cave of the airport sales shops. Open Sesame and we are away with boarding passes pre-printed from the internet and a small amount of carryon baggage for what will be our quest.
Right now I wish dragons were real and they had chased away a nasty cyclone called Yasi, which is part of the reason I make this journey now. My youngest son is happy to have the window seat, but there are so many clouds he doesn’t get to see too much of the world below. Pity, but he loves the plane trip. He has reached his first decade and his birthday present is this trip, to come away to Brisbane where I am about to be on a panel with ABC Open producers.
The journey in the air is full of tiny moments, like playing Mr Squiggle and noughts and crosses with my son, and eating the fruit my friend has given us for the journey. Every now and then we see the snaking rivers winding below. My son keeps an eye on the statistics of what we are flying over, our altitude and so on. He informs me, entertains me and I can see already he is soaking every moment of this trip up like a sponge.
When we arrive we catch a taxi across the city to my friends, Karen and Daryl both of them into arts, Daryl is a storyteller and Karen sometimes works with him. She is also an esl teacher. I know them from working with Karen as a volunteer for QCAN when it still existed. We’ve stayed in touch via facebook ever since I left Brisbane.
Karen is still at work when we arrive, but Daryl is home and fixes us a sandwich. We then head off to South Bank, me with camera in hand, my son chirping by my side. Although very quiet from the airport into Brisbane, now he begins to speak and continues to chatter for our whole trip from this point on.
We follow Daryl’s instructions, and I do have my phone as back up, but it is good to have verbal instructions as well. We head down to South Bank and I am happy we navigate ourselves there without too much trouble, although my son is initially not so sure on his Mum’s finding away around skills in the big smoke.
We’ve been living country for 6 years now and this is my first trip since to Brisbane. Still I am determined to show him Mum does know what she is doing. So we wander South Bank, in search of the museum and science centre, and other wonders.
We walk under the trellis’s covered in purple flowers and stop at statues for photographs as well as me photographing ibises scattered around.
We decide to go up in a Ferris Wheel, considering neither of us is a big fan of heights this is a courage step. I just want to break out of such fears and it’s not like its bungee jumping. So we book our tickets and up we go.
In front of us is a Monk in saffron robes, it seems like he is on a tour with a trusted translator. We are to run into him a few more times as he is exploring South Bank. He goes up in the wheel alone, his translator, tour guide watching as he goes around and around.
We see a green bicycle taxi man, who is happy for us to take a photograph of him, and he even offers for my son to sit on the bike if he wishes for no charge, but my youngest son is not having any of it.
Sophie Formica’s voice can be heard telling us what we can see from the wheel, and every now and then it stops – we look out to the Gabba and several other buildings below. I am busy taking photographs, of me, my son, and all below us. Later I will photograph the ferris wheel from the ferry on our last day in Brisbane.
My son has only a tiny glimmer of slight anxiety when the wheel stops but for the most part he loves the trip. His anxious frowns turn to wonder and he has faced them off and come out victorious.
We head off still in search of the museum – and on the way through the labyrinth of South Bank we find the enormous state library and the art gallery. At the Queensland Arts Gallery my son and I spot the monk again.
His translator/guide talks to us at a sculpture made out of old typewriters and other recycled goods and asks my son if he knows what it has been made of. It is as if in seeing him twice we know have become part of his journey.
My son is impatient with the art gallery and still hankering for the museum, so our view of it is rushed and punctuated by a ten year old boy’s frustration with walls and walls of painting. He’d much rather be somewhere interactive and less static. He points out a few photographs he’d like me to take and then is begging for us to continue onward in our journey. At this point perhaps we should have followed the monk’s translator but instead I patiently take him where he wishes, after all he is the birthday boy.
We make it to the museum. We walk past a dinosaur display for small kids mostly, and my son has some photographs with the dinosaurs. We go up to the second floor and discover a display of animals, sharks and microscopes. My son enjoys the displays and takes off with my camera to photograph what he wishes. At one point he plays with the microscope to check out the patterns of his hand and even trying to have it look at his hair follicles. We don’t make it to the science centre in the bottom floor of the museum and have to leave that for another day.
I wonder what the monk in saffron robes would have made of this museum.
I have been thinking a lot about this lately. After completing a PhD at the University of Sydney six years ago I was tired. I had done this with three kids, several house moves, a year off studies to work full time, and my hubby being a student for much of it also. I had been trying to be superwoman and it had been tough. I have to say my house was rather messy during this time and we lived nowhere near extended family either. The kids went to childcare sparingly as I wanted to see as much of them as I could whilst they were growing up.
I needed a rest ! When I say a rest, I mean some time to be with family and in a way myself. Luckily my dear partner got a regular job as a teacher, and I was able to take a break from studies and paid employment. It was like taking a deep breath to think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
We moved to the country in the midst of all this – and my time of reinvention was punctuated by being in a town with few paid opportunities for a tertiary trained teacher, and limited choices in employment. I was probably ready to do paid work around three years ago but it’s taken a while to realise what sort.
I have come to know that the paths open to me in the country lie in business, retraining to be a highschool teacher or even arts counsellor, making it as a writer/freelancer. There is one other option and that is to leave for a university town and return to the tertiary sector.
I stand at a cross roads, with the experience of having been through a cyclone, coordinating community writing projects and on the verge of doing my first solo book and photography projects.
I am pretty certain I don’t want to teach highschool or primary, although I don’t mind guest spots to come and work with youth mentoring particularly in creative things.
Sometimes people don’t understand I can’t volunteer anymore, but need to build a future for my family – and move into regular paid work and business. I may even do both. When I am older and more established or if I make it big time I can give back more. This is the prime of life to be earning and building something to retire from paid employment later. As I move away from the voluntary sphere I hope people understand that does not lessen my love for community.
How long have women struggled to have access to the freedom and independance of paid work?
Yet, the work, homelife, spiritual balance has been crucial to my well being. I don’t regret my time out to know my family and myself. In that crucial time I have not stopped contributing to my community and my family. I have been the writing stay at home mum who loves to take photographs everywhere. Whilst some laugh at me, even ask what on earth are you doing, I know privately that my command of my camera has improved and that I love it and will always take pictures now. I can’t imagine not working at the art of photography.
I have also – done three community writing projects, mentored kids at camps, given workshops, tutored, been involved in my kids schools and lives and learnt heaps about myself and others. I say this because I know many other so called stay at home mums, like myself who don’t stay at home at all. We are based at home but we actively contribute to the community and our families.
I have been both supermum and stay at home Mum and somewhere at the end of all of the being wife and mother I am June who loves to write, take photographs and make digital arts. I recognise that I am so privileged to have a chance to get to know myself and others in my six years of so called slowing down (:
I hope the world will accept me for who I am and what I can offer and I am glad to be finding my way with the help of other bloggers and through the opportuntiies writing has offered me.
The time of reinvention is here! It is both exhilirating and scary, as my children move out into the world, so does their Mum. How many other Mums and people out there are going through this journey?
So it’s raining – and our wet season, which is deciding whether to arrive keeps threatening. Just a moment ago we couldn’t see the canefields across the road.
I’ve spent the morning trying to fend off a cold. As well as having all my kids at home sick with coughs that would drive their teachers mad and are consequently instead leading to Mum needing ear muffs. Poor little mites. Time to whip out that hot lemon.
They are settled in watching the Oscars, after eating some tinned spaghetti.
Wonder what they will be eating at the Oscars, Billy Crystal says there is a smorgasboard on offer.
So far we have been treated to some documentary and special effects awards. The beauty of it is that all the results are live, no more waiting until the actual night when it’s all a repeat and you just know the results. What’s the fun in an award night with no suspense, an awards day where results are unknown is much better if you can have it, which we can. With all the internet coverage they are now screening it twice, and those of us at home for any reason can watch it live on tv. I think they realise if they don’t we can and will watch it somewhere on the internet.
Billy is a relaxed and genial host, who is funny but never upsets the establishment. Yet Oscar humour always has a mixed history, sometimes the jokes only work on the audience, well if you are to believe their laughter; around the world Oscar humour can fall embarrasingly flat, but does anyone tell the academy – only the savaging after the event critics. Perhaps though it is because the jokes can be ‘in jokes’ that mainly the actors, directors and writers get.
How cool Christopher Plummer from Sound of Music fame, a movie he reportedly did not like, as well as a few other films just got an Oscar. Now that’s brilliant. He’s only two years older than the actual Ocars themselves and after a life time of acting he finally makes it. The audience so appreciate his win it takes a while for them to let him speak. I am enjoying his speech. What a romantic ending, to thank his wife and give her the nobel peace prize for her patience and long suffering. A little cliched of course. Yet it’s so hearfelt and he seems to have been with her so long it’s not quite like the average celebrity marriage. They probably deserve an oscar for that one too – although it is his third marriage so who knows.
The romance continues with another awardee thanking his wife, and begging for extra time to share the love and give the love! I am remembering emotions more than names here but then if you want names just go to the Oscar Blog.
Now as well as the Oscars I am considering my blog and what it’s goal is. I am officially abandoning this month’s challenge, which was 8 interconnected story posts (I got to three) and considering my writing identity. Must be the rainy weather sending me on this writing identity quest. Or maybe I am just sick of that pesky bird – who is gurgling and singing and inspired my writing quest and then left me high and dry, but today is wet so I am paddling out with my writing again! But where it the bird. The bird is a footnote!
I love to read and write in so many genres. Where is my focus? This question keeps cropping up the last few months and I am finally getting around to answer it.
I blog anything that moves me to write, especially our country life, art, creativity, photographty and events that I feel inspired by local and global (hence my lack of discussing at any great length the antics of our country’s leaders and the fact we still have a certain red head as our Prime Minister. I’ll leave that to all the facebook forums. My comment was to post a picture of Ghandi! On my facebook page and say we needed some more spiritual ethical leaders to run the place). Key word ‘inspired;’ so what inspires me today – Billy Crystal
Billy Crystal is now making me giggle with impersonations. He is brilliant! Just so natural, I don’t think anyone can host the Oscars like he does. No wonder they keep asking him back.
Now there’s another thankyou speech of someone indebted to his wife, but who also grew up to work with the legendary ‘Muppets.’ Maybe my daughter’s dream of growing up to meet a dragon might just come true, all she has to do is meet a puppet or a blue screen with dragon on a screen.
Now Angelina Jolie takes to the stage. It’s the Scriptwriters turn to be acknowledged. Anticlimax, no speech as Woody Allen is not there to accept his.
Now actors share their favourite movies – and they are talking about the power of stories
What makes you laugh? What makes you cry? What are the moments of dignity?
Sounds like the pathway of writers, not just in film but in so many genres. The scriptwriters have actors to help them on their way, the writer of the story flat on the page, must transport the reader beyond the page into their imagination. The writer’s friends are words, their collaborators are editors. Writing about the art of writing, can lead to a maze.
Are you writing entrapped in the art itself? How are you going to climb out of that writing box?
Australia Day Award – Cultural Medal June Perkins – Taken by David Perkins
At the Academy Awards they are now speaking about high speed digital cameras and I am thinking about the power of my Nikon to collect footage for family films. I have entered a small film competition for the first time, with my movie about Pam and Joe. I’d love to win some extra money to make some more short films. Maybe I should aim for Tropfest, who knows?
What subject can I find in this rain, cane and spagetti afternoon with sick children who are looking for something to make them not feel blue?
So now the rain begins again, making the world outside invisible in shades of grey and the Perkins’s (minus one member) continue watching the Oscars punctuated by ads about consildating debt and so on.
Our town does not have a cinema, but only projection screens and businesses or the highschool who put on films. You have to journey more than an hour either direction to find a cinema. People do that and make a night of it.
One cinema at Babinda, I’ve heard from friend, is like travelling back through time. The old style has been retained and the town prides itself on this. I think I better make a trip there one day as that sounds fun, although too far back and I would be dealing with colour bars depending on where I lived. Not all of us want to live in the past where there was a lot of prejudice against migrants and those of ‘colour.’ I don’t like that term, the ‘coloured’ – aren’t we all full of some colour – and does that make others the ‘uncoloured.’
The challenges of country life – no cinema, no access to a gp for 6 weeks if you are sick (unless you head off to the hospital ringing it at 8.30am). I wonder if any kids out there- at home sick, watching the academy awards will grow up and make movies. Or become doctors, head on home and stop these 6 week waits.
Will they talk about the country environments that inspired them? Will they look back at history and critique it? Will they find novels about country life to inspire scripts? Maybe they will not look back at country life, but look forward – into the future? Will there be any country life left when all the farmers sell up because their kids don’t want to come home and run the farms? Larger farms, fewer owners, what does it all mean for the future?
Oprah Winfrey’s honorary Oscar for Humanitarian purposes brings a tear to my eye. What an inspiring lady! And it’s a trip down memory lane through all the parts of James Earl Jones. And now for the in memoriam section of the Oscars, farewells to all the buried actors, writers and producers…
Meryl Streep is slightly embarrased to be up on stage for the third time, best actress, for an invokation of Margaret Thatcher – but a deep breath and she’s away – beginning with thanking her partner, not ending with thanking him. She is celebrating friendship, new and old and with those present and those now gone from this life.
Do they make movies in heaven?
What is the best movie of the year? — The Artist, A silent and black and white movie takes it out, and it seems that movies travel back in time to achieve a dream for some film-makers.
So that’s the Oscars at home with the Perkins’s. A space to watch the rain on cane, dream, think about the wonders of writing and care for the beloved treasure of this world children. For a full list of winners if you are interested — read here. Now I end with a few questions.
Why do you go to the movies?What is your favourite movie? How far do you have to travel to the movies at a cinema?
It’s true pets have a major restorative power. Just looking at this photograph of our guinea pig Misty makes any stress I am feeling go down.
This last week I have been doing tonnes of administration – and am learning about insurance as a solo writer/artist. My local artist friends have given me heaps of tips and I am almost there with a solution to my insurance dilemmas.
I am also in the midst of working out the cheapest and most attractive way to hang documentary photographs. The local photoshop are giving me a big hand with this one and I’ll be off to the hardware store soon to get some more help, quotes and get this underway.
The other day I went into see a friend in town and they gave me a beautiful book The Honey Thief to read. I enjoyed it so much I have already finished it and I think it’s inspiring me for ways to approach some of my own writing.
I love books rich in culture and history, yet accessible and this book is truly like that.
Really itching to do some creative writing – and will start doing some daily even amidst all the busyness. Writing is just something that calls to me and says – time to write that story down. So dear blog if you suffer a bit it’s because I’m working on a story saying ‘it’s my turn to be written.’
Look out I have some paid commissioned online writing coming up, and I will post the links in the usual places, including here.
Today I am enjoying the cooling powers of the rain. Yesterday I was browsing ABC Open and considering it was time to do another review as there are some amazing things happening over there, and some new projects about to be launched.
June Paisa Perkins 