retrofitting my life

I think I am going to break up with my iPhone.

I’ve been thinking about this on and off for a while; mindful that when I have my iPhone in my hand, I don’t have my mind and heart on my kids, my husband, my life. It is an escape, a time out of reality, but the time it is taking has slowly come to outweigh the time I spend in reality.

The time out has become the norm, and that’s not cool, and it’s not okay.

This article I came across in the course of preparing the eBulletin for work this week hit a bit too close to home http://www.themercury.com.au/news/national/parents-step-away-from-the-device-before-it-blows-up-in-your-face/story-fnj3ty2c-1226970075456

I want to be that mum who sits and plays with her kids, reads with them, talks to them, teaches them. Instead I’m brushing away their affection and pushing their heads away from blocking my view of various screens. Enough is enough.

I want to have real conversations about things that matter, I want to read books and watch movies. I want to live life.

And I am increasingly aware that my phone is getting the way of these things.

It doesn’t have to be forever, but at least for a time, I need to put the screen away, and remember phones are for talking to people not for avoiding life, they are supposed to be about contact not disconnection. 

ETA: You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find a not-smart phone these days. There aren’t many options, and they remind me of the handsets that were on the market circa 2000.

Thoughts on fear and regret

I have a recurring dream. Well, it’s more a recurring theme than the same dream over and over.

In it, I am back at high school or uni, and it’s nearly exam time, and I realize I haven’t been going to class. I don’t know my timetable. I haven’t done any study, been to any lectures, I’m going to fail.

I was brought up to believe I could do anything I put my mind to. My parents were very vigilant in their praise, ensuring I was able to dream big. I wonder, did their absolute belief in my abilities, my potential, help or hinder me? I have succeeded in many aspects of my life, but I’ve also had some big failures. I coasted through school and most of university, only putting in the bare minimum of effort.

But I chose attainable goals instead of chasing dreams. I opted out of studying law for fear of going from top of the class to middling or, God forbid, bottom. I did my PhD at the same uni where I gained my undergrad for fear of not getting in where I really wanted to go.

Am I afraid of failure? I don’t know. But I know that I am now a victim of my own fear, and I do live with regret. The what ifs are innumerable; could I have been anyone other than me?

A dance with disappointment

Spoiler alert: I am not kidding. If you are watching or reading Game of Thrones and do not want to know what happens, do not proceed.

A dance with disappointment or, why I think I might be done with the seven kingdoms

I started reading George R R Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire in 2006, on the recommendation of a fellow fantasy-loving friend who said Game of Thrones was the best book he’d ever read. I must confess to having had a bit of a crush on said friend and, hoping for conversation fodder for future bonding, secured myself a copy and ventured across the Narrow Sea, beyond the Wall and to the Capital with the Starks, Targaryens, Baratheons and Lannisters, along with a rapidly expanding cast of supporting characters I couldn’t ever quite get my head around. I was a bit taken aback by the language and the incest, the sexual violence and the brutality, and I found Martin’s prose dense and dull, but I was willing to go along for the ride because the basic story grabbed me, and, you know, flirting fodder. Powerful families of varying wisdom and virtue wrestling in a seemingly endless struggle for domination of a kingdom threatened by forces beyond its comprehension, a dizzying intersection of spirituality and magic, and at least a handful of characters among the fray who seemed worthy of my affection and support; a decent basis for a sweeping fantasy saga.

As I read on, disappointments started to creep in. Why did every character have to lose their innocence? Why did the best of them have to confront and sometimes even embrace the worst of existence? Would anything of consequence ever actually happen? Was this going anywhere other than a frozen, starving, wight-infested hell?

I’ve read all of the books in the series so far and, sadly, the answers haven’t yet come. The way things are left, I can’t see a way forward that isn’t just bleak and painful and depressing. And I don’t even care about most of he characters anymore, except perhaps Arya, Sansa and Jaime. Are we on a path to redemption or triumph? Or just a slow desent into an obscure freezing abyss. Tyrion, the Greyjoys, the Tyrells, Cersei, I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. Boo hoo Tyrion, you think you’re short and ugly, but clever and misunderstood? No, you’re a self absorbed and egotistical twat with a whole load of rage and daddy issues. I always enjoyed the chapters with Brienne or Gendry, but it feels like these long MIA characters were just red herrings, fillers GRRM has thrown on the evergrowing scrap heap of undeveloped ideas behind his study door. Direwolves, anyone? Can he possibly bring this ponderous tale to a conclusion that ties up even a fraction of his loose ends without dragging it on forever?

So, although a fan of the books at first, and although I will read until the end just to see how he wraps it all up, watching the show has become an exercise in dread for me.

The latest episode, The Bear and the Maiden Fair, made me depressed and disappointed. I know where it’s going, and how long it will take to get there. It takes a seeming age for anything to happen in this series, and there is nothing to hope for; for the next 4 seasons at least. No one is going to be redeemed. No one is going to triumph. There is just pain, cold, and death, perversion and betrayal, and I don’t know if I’m up for it.

Much has been made of the fact the GRRM himself wrote this episode, and perhaps that is why it was such a disappointment. It really reminded me of all the feminist objections that emerged when Season One first aired, about a seedy creep who gets off on torture porn and rape as plot point, who opts out of tying up storylines and character arcs with convenient unexpected deaths. What did the scene with Theon and the naked ladies add? Other than absolutely freaking nothing?

That aside, it’s simply becoming hard work to watch so many snapshots of story lines I know end in death or disaster. Rob and Talia are having a baby? Bad luck, it’s a nice day for a red wedding. Catelyn is sad and guilty? Don’t worry, you’re invited too. Theon hopes to escape his torturer? Get used to it, Reek Reek it rhymes with endless pain and stench. Jaime heroically jumps in to a pit to rescue Brienne from a bear, thus proving his transformation from monster to man of valour? Say goodbye to each other, I seriously can’t remember anything either of you do after this point other than wandering aimlessly around an increasing cold seven kingdoms looking for a fight. Jon and Ygritte are in twoo ruv? Don’t count on too long together, or becoming heroes, or us ever finding out who your mother (and father?) were. Shae is pouting because she’s a whore? Tyrion is pouting because his whore is grumpy with him and he has to marry a lovely girl? Spare me. Joffrey will die eventually, we all know that, and while his character is hideous, there is no satisfaction in his eventual demise because really, the worst of his actions are behind him, he never grows in sense or soul, and keeping him around is a waste of screen time. Bran and his merry band of bickering oddities? Don’t even start me on Bran and his destiny of weirdness.

And the great white hope, literally, Dany? My eyes were perpetually rolled as I watched her begin her bwana’s way across Slaver’s Bay, reforming the savages of the east to her wiser, holier, better way of life. Of course the pretty little blonde girl knows what’s best for them. Would you like an orientalist chaser with that heavy dose of cultural imperialism? Ew. Those viewers hoping to see her riding dragons across the Narrow Sea had best take a lesson in patience since she only gets around to deciding to leave freaking Essos at the end of DwD!

Varys lost me with his revolting torture pit, the good of the realm be damned in the face of gruesome vengeance. Littlefinger might be a bit more entertaining if he’d stop trying to sound so ominous every time he speaks. I’m at the point where the only parts I’m enjoying are the clever clever bits when Tywin and Olenna put the squabbling kiddies in their places.

Everything, everything about this episode just made me remember what is coming and realize I am not looking forward to any of it.

So, apologies for the rant. Disagree with me if you want, and please, convince me to stick it out if you think you can. At this point, I'm not sure I've got the stamina to watch much more. 

Katie Noonan at The Abbey, 12 April 2013

Warning: this post contains pure unadulterated gushing 

Katie Noonan has a rare and priceless gift – a vocal talent which transports the listener to a higher realm, a piercing of spirit and caressing of woes. Many singers can bring on the goosebumps, but Noonan is one of only a few who can reach through air and space to minister to your very soul.

I have seen Noonan live five times, 3 at Tilley’s – 2 george and 1 elixir – once at The Street Theatre on her Songs of the Southern Skies tour with Karin Schaupp, and this Friday past at The Abbey, just her with a keyboard sharing the last 2 decades of melody and tale written in a marvelous Songbook.

My first experience of the magic that is her voice was a rainy Canberra evening in 2000, having lined up outside Tilley’s for their famed standing room tickets – the way those of us too late or too lazy to book on time snuck our way in to gigs we last-minute-realised we needed to see. I was trying not to lazily lean on the cake-cabinet when the first strains of Holiday floated over the tightly packed crowd, and something somewhere between spiritual and physical happened inside my chest. This miracle of tone and emotion washed over me like a gift. I was converted, sold, ready to inhale the beauty of her song.

Walking home that night, to my share house a few blocks away, I was inspired to sing, to make music, to use voice and instrument and words to commune with others and with the otherworldly. In short, it was the most transcendent musical encounter of my life.

Fast-forward to 2013, a Friday night out at Gold Creek in a sometimes wedding chapel, sometimes bar and restaurant, and newly incarnated live music venue, and this sweet and beguiling woman once more stole a piece of my spirit.

We arrived shortly after the doors opened to snag a well-positioned table. Perching on stools to get pre-show dinner and drinks out of the way, we laughed, cringed, and smiled at the comedic and musical stylings of the accomplished yet awkward support act, Brian Campeau whose musings on his trail of broken relationships verged occasionally in to overshare. Unlike the dimly lit Tilley’s gigs of old, the latecomers to The Abbey smatter themselves somewhat awkwardly along the sides of the room, and gather around the bar. Finally Ms Noonan came on stage.

What followed was an hour and a half of graceful vocals, effortless keys, humble and humorous crowd interaction, and selfless sharing from one of the finest vocalists and songwriters this country has had the honour to know. The show opened with a new song, Quiet Day, a call for time out from decision-making and stress, a plea for a small precious break to watch the world go by, and accept the gift of stillness.

The night flew by, with highlights from the songlist including: Sweet One, an ode to female friendship, co-penned with the marvelous Sia Fuller; Emperor’s Box, a tribute to her father’s brave ongoing battle with Parkinson’s Disease; and, stunning renditions of crowd favourites from the George days Special Ones, Spawn and Breathe In Now, that final with choral accompaniment from the audience. Brian Campeau joined Katie onstage for two numbers which reminded us all of her incredible skills in harmony and blending, their River Man was resplendent. Another cover closed the show: the much overdone Hallelujah, was given the Noonan treatment. With soaring ripples of vocal acrobatics which cannot have been as effortless as they sounded, a sweet quietness descended as the crowd accompanied her final bars with hushed repetition of the song’s last refrain.

For me, the absolute high-point of the evening was a song from Noonan’s project with Circa, Love-Song-Circus. This collection of works emerged from a research project undertaken by Noonan on the histories of Australia’s first convict women. Janet’s song is sung to her baby-child, born and removed during her incarceration and years of hard labour. This woman, whose “crime in the eyes of the law/ was to lie in the bed of the man I adored”, caresses us with her love for this baby, who must spend five years separated from mother’s side, but who is swaddled in boundless love, and has given the gift of purpose and hope to one condemned to long hopeless years. Snatched Sunday moments are the threads of joy, and the steps counted each week until brief embraces are a rhythm of long-time given a destination. A stunning combination of lyric, melody and instrument, this piece captured this mother’s heart and drew barely stifled sobs from my throat.

“With each breath we breathe/We survive a little more/ Please stay strong without your mother’s touch/ If I could I’d break every wall between you and I/ But I can’t let them drive me mad/Cause now I have you to live for.”

Stepping out into the early autumn evening chill, I was once more grateful for receiving the gift of Katie Noonan’s music, her generosity in song and spirit. Air clearer, stars shining brighter, the wonder of emerging into the world having experienced the fine and rare gift of art.