Thursday, May 8, 2014

Relocation, Relocation, Relocation!

THANK YOU to the loyal followers of this blog! 

I would like to announce that this blog (several others I write) have moved to a new location where all my writing can reside together. Please see my website at


At the new location you can find the following blogs:

Sweet Blog Therapy is where I deal with my treatment for cancer.
What the Terrain Gives... is a blog for ideas that come my way in the course of things – they might be topical, fanciful, animal, vegetable or mineral.
The Alphabet in My iPod  My iPod, and in fact my entire iTunes account, is a curious land in which Vanessa Mae resides alongside Van Morrison and Van Halen. I’m working through my iPod music collection. I’m writing about it. 'Nuff said.
My Mindful in May This is where I write about my experiences participating in Mindful in May 2014.
Cooper's Dog Blog I ghost-wrote a blog for my brother’s dog. I wasn’t even drunk.

Feel free to subscribe to one or all of my streams of consciousness (or unconsciousness, or subconsciousness, or self-consciousness...) and I'd love to hear from you via comments or via the contact page.

Cheers!
Ally

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

The Alphabet in My iPod Part 3: F

Day 6: F is for Faure, Requiem: Opus 48

My grandfather was a man of sawdust and sweets, skinny legs and cardigans. Grandpa could fix just about anything.  He worked for the railways as a communications technician and throughout his life developed skills in carpentry, woodturning, electronics, building and lock-smithing just because he could. He had a workshop in his garage, where tools hung in the right place on a painted backboard and where blood blisters were inflicted by old-fashioned vices. Furniture was always being created, assembled and finished off in that workshop, and my siblings and I would play with the sweet smelling curls of the wood-shavings until we shredded them into dust. I can still breathe in that smell and recall that garage. Everything, including grandpa’s dark blue overalls, was spattered with varnish, paint and woodworking glue, the smells of which added their astringent notes to the deeply woody scent.

Behind the door of the garage hung an old canvas bag with a rope threaded through its top. The bag was filled with tennis balls, old and new, and it was where we checked for the tools for whatever game we might need to play in Grandpa’s backyard, as long as we could avoid the apple tree, plum tree, crabapple tree and vegie garden, replete with red and yellow tomatoes which could be filched at any time with his blessing.

Grandpa had his teeth removed when he was young – he loved to take out his dentures and flap his bare gums at us as little kids to provoke shrieks of terror and mirth combined. “Give us a kiss!” he’d flap at us, grinning maniacally. I’m not sure why he had his teeth out: I believe the cost/benefit analysis of being toothless versus paying for fillings over a lifetime appealed to his pragmatism and he was equipped with false teeth therewith. Mind you, he told us kids it was so that he could eat all the lollies he wanted, which he did. He would do a special trip to a wholesale outlet once a week – Dollar Sweets – and would come back to Hazel Street, Camberwell and fill up his lolly jars. He always, ALWAYS had a roll of peppermints in his pocket or about his person, and when other adults weren’t looking would whisper conspiratorially, “Want a pep’mint?”. After his death my mother, grandmother and aunt went through his clothes to pass on to charities, and found peppermints in almost every pocket of his trousers, cardigans and jackets. They laughed and cried in equal measure, but they weren’t surprised.

Grandpa was down to earth, had a strong work ethic and a deep-seated sense of justice. He didn’t like anyone to fuss over him but he was happy to heap praise on us grandkids. He rewarded me with $2 for every A-grade I achieved at school, and joked that I would send him to the poorhouse. He had principles and wouldn’t stand for nonsense. He was a teetotaler who got everyone drunk at mum’s 21st birthday party because he didn’t trust anyone to run the bar but himself. My own father, just starting to court my mother, did the right thing and alerted grandpa to the over-generous measures of alcohol he was dispensing and thereby averted potential disaster.

Grandpa was a passionate Hawthorn supporter. He spent many years with my grandma sitting at Glenferrie Oval watching the Hawks play, and in later years watching them on the telly. Grandpa’s hearing wasn’t what it used to be, so he always had the volume up REALLY loud. Unfortunately, for years he had heart problems including angina, and sometimes the footy would become so exciting he was worried about having a heart attack before he could find out the result. Grandpa set up a system in which Grandma would listen to the footy on the wireless while he worked away in the garage, and he would check in with her at the end of each quarter to get the score. If all went well with the Hawks, he could go ahead and watch the 6:30 replay without palpitations.

It was his heart that gave way in the end. We didn’t realise that for many years he was the one looking after my Grandma, Edna. He loved her dearly, and on their 50th wedding anniversary he presented her with a gold medal that he’d made. A man of few words publicly, he made a speech about how grandma deserved a medal for being married to him. On the day he died, grandma was feeling cold, which with her underactive thyroid was not uncommon. He brought grandma a cup of tea in bed to help her get warm, and when she said she just couldn’t get warm he said “Move over Ed, I’ll get in and warm you up.” And his gruff old heart stopped.

There’s a lot that’s inexpressible about my love for my grandpa, just as it is difficult to describe Faure’s Requiem without it seeming either maudlin or treacly, but it is neither. When the melody of part VII: In Paradisum played at the funeral and grandpa’s casket glided back behind the curtain, there was such a finality about it that broke my heart. But the music still plays, and in it are carried these precious memories of him.


I don’t know if my childhood memories are accurate or not, but they are part of my narrative for what they are worth. What I know for sure is how grandpa made me feel. Faure’s Requiem once made me let him go, but now it brings him back.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

The Alphabet in My iPod Part 2: D & E



Day 4: D is for Dean Martin, The Very Best: The Capitol & Reprise Years

You may have already guessed from the classic middle-of-the-road eclecticism of safe music choices so far that I would be the owner of a large number of ‘best of’ albums. Somewhere in my childhood I must have been bitten on the backside by some pretty shit lesser-known tracks and decided that once the option was available I would only fork out my hard-earned for the good stuff: the BEST stuff. This will come across as heresy to any true devotees of music, particularly anyone raised on concept albums or writers of entire albums of music they know full well their fans will cease listening to in favour of only a select few songs. But I am practising honesty here, so the truth will out.

I have to say that listening to this album helped confirm me in my usual habit of using playlists to mix things up: an entire album of Dean Martin’s rat-pack charm and oozing vocals is like swimming in a pool of melted marshmallows with leg weights on. It needs a blast of cold water every now and then just to balance things out.

However, it can be a good thing returning to tracks that rarely get an airing (and skipping over those that have been done to death. I think we can all thank McDonald’s for putting the final nail in the coffin of That’s Amore). One track placed in mothballs is the insouciant Naughty Lady of Shady Lane, which for all money sounds like Mr Martin is singing about the local prostitute;
You should see how she carries on with her admirers galore
She must be giving them quite a thrill the way they flock to her door
She throws those come-hither glances at every Tom, Dick and Joe
When offered some liquid refreshment the lady never, never says no
It may surprise you to learn in the last line of the song that the she-devil is revealed to be only nine days old. (Laugh, we did!! Though awkwardly.) Grab the naphthalene flakes honey, that one’s going back in the linen press.

The 50s must have been a confusing time for lovers. In one breath Dean Martin comes out with the vaguely insulting You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You before following up in the next with Somewhere There’s A Someone (For Everyone), thus returning a glimmer of hope to all those loser nobodies he first mentioned. Confusing also for the young doo-whoppers was that the very sound of Dean’s voice comes across as the early incarnation of Rohypnol.

But really, all we can hope for from Dean is to mix some of his VERY best – Volare, Sway, Ain’t That A Kick in the Head – with some of his contemporaries’ best in a themed playlist called, I don’t know, maybe “Smoothies”. (I’m just spit-balling. Who’d have a playlist called that?!)

Day 5: E is for Electric Light Orchestra, The Very Best Of

Another Best Of. In all honesty, apart from Xanadu, did ELO even have any other albums? Actually, they didn’t even have Xanadu, as our Livvy got the title song.

Anyway. When I started the silliness of working through my iTunes Library I was quite clear about my taste in music and its potential absence. I’m sure you can draw your own conclusions about ELO, but I never tire of them, for better or worse. I am relying on arguments of subjectivity here, but I think if one person who finds something cool can find just one other person who feels the same way, then that thing CAN be cool. Even if it’s just a community of two. Anyone? Anyone? ELO?

The reasons I love ELO are many. I’m pretty sure my sister got the album for one of her formative teen birthdays, so it connects pretty strongly to my impressionable childhood. Osmosis from older siblings is a powerful thing. Also, whenever a movie wants you to feel happy they bang a bit of Livin’ Thing, Don’t Bring Me Down or Mr Blue Sky on the soundtrack. But what really impresses me is a song that can get me off the couch to get stuff done, and Hold On Tight works for me. I especially like trying to sing the French bit phonetically, as I have no idea what I’m singing (perhaps the verse but in French? Logical):

Accroches-toi a ton reve
Accroches-toi a ton reve
Quand tu vois ton bateau partir
Quand tu sents -- ton coeur se briser
Accroches-toi a ton reve. Accroches-toi a ton reve
Accroches-toi a ton reve
Quand tu vois ton bateau partir
Quand tu sents -- ton coeur se briser
Accroches-toi a ton reve.

I think they just put it in because they’re Brits and they wanted to sell albums in Europe. They probably needn’t have worried, as films are still using their songs – American Hustle is probably the most recent source of royalties from 10538 Overture and Long Black Road. So ELO are still kickin’ it. (Do people say that? Remember, two people makes it cool).


Friday, March 28, 2014

The Alphabet in my iPod

Everyone believes they have great taste in music. Of course, great taste is a subjective thing, the difference in the eye or ear of the beholder being one of the things that makes the world an interesting place. However, I have no pretensions to good taste, I am the first to admit that I am never cool, never in tune with the zeitgeist of the music scene, never in a position to be more knowledgeable than anyone else on the subject of music.

This makes my iPod, and in fact my entire iTunes account, a weird mishmash of stuff you'd find in concert halls, Ibiza nightclubs, on commercial radio in the nineties and on the inflight programming of a flight to Sydney.

I have sorted a lot of my stuff into playlists, which is my attempt to make sense of the strangeness. The playlists have names like 'Diner' (a bunch of songs reminiscent of a 50s diner, for example Be My Baby by The Ronettes), 'Hi Energy' (which was ostensibly put together for exercising/running but is really used when I have to do the vacuuming or clean the bathroom, Canned Heat by Jamiroquai being an example of a song which can motivate me to do those things) and 'Honest to God Disco' (which is fairly self-explanatory and headlined by Chaka Khan).

The problem with playlists is that I get sick of them. Sure, I might be in a 'Lounge' mood for awhile, but life needs to be more surprising. Even the 'My Top Rated' list gets a bit old from time to time. So, this week I've tried a new approach. Instead of just working out what I feel like, I've given myself parameters. I'm working through my entire iTunes Library alphabetically. And the level of weirdness has been kicked up a notch.

I usually like to listen to a mix of songs rather than an album, so I'm changing that for starters. I'm working through the artists sorted by first letter, and taking in an entire album at a time. Here's how it went this week.

Day 1: A is for Augie March, Moo You Bloody Choir
When this came out in 2006-ish I was teaching for the first time and one of the kids in my grade was family friends with the drummer, or something - I can't really remember and maybe the kid wasn't in my grade, but it was primarily for that reason that I purchased the album. Tracks like One Crowded Hour became quite popular but I really liked The Cold Acre when I was listening this week. It was good to listen to after a long time between hearings, moody and chilled and a little bit angst-y in a really unthreatening kind of way. Good for the start of the week.

Day 2: B is for The Bee Gees, The Very Best of the Bee Gees
I won't deny it was tempting to just stop at The Beatles or Bryan Ferry, but as mentioned above, I'm giving you the no-pretensions version of this process. I will also admit that I really dislike the early stuff where the boys sound too earnest and clean cut, with the faux-folksy feel of tracks like World. Respecting that the Bee Gees were an amazingly prolific song writing force in music history I confess I'm more a Jive Talkin' kind of girl. You can take the girl out of the seventies but DON'T EVEN TRY TO TAKE THE SEVENTIES OUT OF THE GIRL. It's my birthright, and Night Fever is the consequence.


Day 3: C is for Carole King, Tapestry
I know, I'm getting all retrospective here, but the choices were limited. Plus I really couldn't stomach Coldplay, and that's all Gwyneth's fault. Carole King is fantastic because her singing register is exactly the same as mine, so when she belts out Natural Woman I'm not competing on an Aretha Franklin scale and the high notes are within my reach. Plus there are so many great songs on this album - I Feel the Earth Move, It's Too Late and the aching Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow? which was co-written by Carole but originally recorded by The Shirelles. Plus it's pretty much her and a piano, so it's raw and really honest. No artifice. Love it.

That's as far as I've got at this stage but I'm at a point where I can't wait to see what comes up next. But there's no cheating - no planning ahead of time. I'm not even thinking about the letter 'D' and what's in my library. Or 'E', or 'F'...

Friday, January 31, 2014

The Time I Agreed with Andrew Bolt

In the same week that Adam Goodes was named Australian of the Year, Andrew Bolt has warned us against becoming a nation divided by apartheid. Four days after another contentious Australia/Invasion/Survival Day has passed - four days we have spent wondering whether the selection of an indigenous AFL player and anti-racism campaigner was just window-dressing or a genuine move towards reconciliation again, and also wondering exactly what powers ‘Australian of the Year’ has and what sway they might have with the public let alone politicians – four days later, rabid right-wing columnist and erstwhile Abbott-fancier Andrew Bolt has foretold the coming of doom that will be apartheid Australia if we should choose to change our constitution to recognise the First Australians.

This will not be a take-down piece on Andrew Bolt as I am a nobody and despite the hysterical fear-mongering hate-pieces he likes to churn out, lots of people read him. (Also, his writing is all over the place, suggesting he is somewhat unhinged and therefore not a fair target. He described himself as indigenous, which isn’t grammatically, semantically or technically incorrect but he knows darn well he’s not an aborigine, he just chose to play funny buggers with his words. In claiming to be indigenous Mr Bolt is simply claiming to have been born here. Actually, I’d like to see him claim to be aboriginal, but he can’t – the key difference being that ab origine from Latin means literally ‘from the beginning’. Also, Mr Bolt is finding it terribly hard to maintain his biases, appearing shocked and outraged that this latest affront to his freedom and dignity – i.e. changing the constitution – should come “most incredibly” from Prime Minister Tony Abbott. “A Liberal”!!! His shock is palpable, but he soldiers on valiantly. It’s very entertaining when not sick-making.)

Anyway. As I said, this is not about Andrew Bolt. It’s about his central point – should we change the constitution to recognise Australia’s first inhabitants – its indigenous peoples? He says no, and as I read his piece I thought he might be right.

Anyone can tell you I am a lefty greenie tree-hugger with social justice on my mind and compassion in my heart. (I don’t have a lot of compassion for Andrew Bolt, but that’s beside the point.) I usually, admittedly often quite unthinkingly, take the leftist view of any given agenda item and give it my support. Climate change, gay marriage, immigration, racism, welfare, homelessness, disability support, you name it I’m a bleeding heart little-‘l’ liberal. So if someone says to me, “we should change the constitution to recognise the First Australians”, I’m in. Done deal. Except.

I have to admit I’m confused. I trust that this is what indigenous people want, because organisations have been formed to campaign for public awareness and education to achieve it, and some very intelligent, passionate and proactive people are fronting the campaign. I’m just trying to work out why they would want it, and what they will gain from it.

As an ordinary Australian who is not a lawyer or a politician, I probably have about as much knowledge of our constitution as you do. I know it’s there, I know it’s different to that of the US in that we have not articulated a Bill of Rights within it (thank God – I’m looking at you, Second Amendment), and it basically lays out how the legislature, the executive and the judiciary are all supposed to get along.

So because this is ALL I knew, I went and read the constitution.

I studied a couple of law subjects once upon a time, so I was ready to be confused and bamboozled by the manner in which it was written (much like you are, reading this). Most of the document describes the powers of the House, the senate, the executive branch and so on, how they are separate but (theoretically) part of a working whole. And there were some definitions and caveats, such as how to make a change to the constitution.

I remember former PM John Howard trying to alter the constitution a few years back. There was a referendum some people thought was about whether we should become a republic, and others thought was about inserting a preamble, which amongst other interesting and not too bad ideas, included the phrase
honouring Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders, the nation's first people, for their deep kinship with their lands and for their ancient and continuing cultures which enrich the life of our country
I think nobody really got the hang of either question, and the Australian people returned a big fat ‘no’ to both. Afterwards, I think most voters were pretty sure the two items should not have been tackled on the one page, but I’m no expert in this area.

Anyway, reading the constitution, I was looking for two things: any place that mentioned indigenous people, and any place that mentioned me.

Like I said, I’m an ordinary person. I ignore the Constitution pretty much every other day of my life. I can’t quote by heart anything it says, or imagine any way in which I would bring it up in conversation (“So, how’s the Constitution treating you?”). My feeble and flawed initial reasoning was that if indigenous people wish to have recognition in the constitution, then I, as a descendant of European settlers, must already have some recognition in there that they haven’t. Yes, it was flawed and feeble, but I went looking anyway.

I imagine most legal documents are like this. It’s not so much what they include, but what they exclude. Not what they mention but how it gets mentioned, so that some bits are clear and others have loopholes.

The closest I got to getting a mention in the Constitution is as follows:
To be an elector (voter) for the Senate, I have to meet the guidelines for being an elector of the House of Representatives. (Scroll to House of Representatives: Qualification of Electors). To be an elector for the House of Representatives I should be “that which is prescribed by the law of the State as the qualification of electors of the more numerous House of Parliament of the State”. In short, state rules apply to voting. Pass the buck to Victoria. If I can vote there, I can vote federally. Ok.

As much as I searched, there was no hard verbiage mentioning me or people like me in any definite way in the Constitution, just the overriding statement that
the people of New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia, Queensland, and Tasmania… have agreed to unite in one indissoluble Federal Commonwealth under the Crown of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and under the Constitution hereby established.

I am a person of Victoria; therefore I’m covered. That’s me done, and my right to have a say is laid out by strict rules in a Constitution that has statutory directives for the governance of my country by the very representatives I can vote for, badmouth and be disappointed in. Check.

Now, to the race of people who were here before me, before my forebears, before any whitefellas, Frenchies, Dutchies or Portuguese: the peoples who have lived here for about 40,000 years. Indigenous people.

Here we have some stuff that was said, but was removed:
In reckoning the numbers of the people of the Commonwealth, or of a State or other part of the Commonwealth, aboriginal natives shall not be counted.

Not being counted means not being represented and not voting. Essentially, not being. But you knew that.

Apart from this abhorrent article that was repealed in 1967, there is no other mention of “natives” in the document that I can find. From this we must determine, and Andrew Bolt would want you to determine, that the constitution applies to all of us living in the federated states of Australia, treated equally under the law. He wishes for us all to be united under the Constitution, and accuses the reconciliation movement of seeking to tear us apart by treating indigenous people differently to “the rest”. In principle, this seems comparatively sane for him, which is why it warrants closer inspection.

Andrew Bolt goes on to list the many ways that reconciliation is just whinging: first there was saying “sorry”, then there was the “act of recognition”, and that none of it is enough if “race industry professionals” (I kid you not, his words exactly) keep campaigning for more, more, more (quite frankly I’m surprised he didn’t bring up 1967 and Mabo).

But back to why I’m confused (apart from looking at myself and wondering why Andrew Bolt is making sense in any tiny part of his ridiculous hyperbolic article). If we change the constitution, are we setting indigenous people apart from us?

In Bolt’s article, Tony Abbott is quoted as vowing that any changes to the Constitution would not have any practical effect in courts, as was feared also with both Mabo and the Apology. I can only imagine that any change would take the form of something like John Howard’s proposed preamble, but then, I don’t really know, and I don’t think anyone does yet, with a draft not due until September. So why would indigenous Australians bother with an amorphous, purely symbolic gesture enshrined in a document that already represents everyone, all of us, under the law?

Here’s what I think:
Indigenous people, Aboriginal people, lived here for a very long time before we did. They may have come from parts of Asia either overland or by canoe, but that was over 40,000 years ago so I think we can safely say they were the original inhabitants of this continent.

They are one of the world’s oldest living cultures.

They are not one people, but many. They have their own nations, their own laws, own customs and societal structure.

They were shot, dispossessed, enslaved, exploited, criminalised, marginalised, relocated, raped and had their children taken away from them.

They were not part of the consultation process for the original constitution. They were not represented by it until the constitution was 67 years old.

Most legal agreements entered into with white people cheated indigenous people of their land, the land of their nation, the land of their ancestors.

In a little over 220 years they have gone from sole occupants to a minority group with a life expectancy gap of 17 years compared to other Australians (a gap comparable to that of developing countries), higher incidence of chronic disease, higher rates of communicable diseases, and amongst many other horrifying statistics, are three times more likely to be hospitalised for self-harm.

They are not (Queen) Victorian. They are not Queenslanders. Nor from New South Wales.

They are Minjambuta (Vic), Yolgnu (NT), Warki (SA), Laia (QLD), Kulin (Vic again) and countless other indigenous nations from all the anglicised states and territories we newcomers have divided this country into willynilly.

They need to be mentioned in the constitution because they are NOT like us – they have their own histories that do not include crowned heads of Europe, the fall of Rome and Captain Cook “discovering” Australia. We are only beginning to understand, respect and appreciate the first Australians, even though they have always lived amongst us. And until we know who they are, until we RECOGNISE them for who they are, how can we reconcile with them in any real sense? We ignore them as we ignore the constitution.

What they should be asking for is not some symbolic piece of writing in a document most Australians don’t look at – they should be asking for sovereignty over the whole damn place. They should be demanding that the Constitution be rewritten to include treaties with all the indigenous nations to truly reconcile white and black Australia.

But they are not. They are asking for recognition, and when you are trying to reconcile with a wronged party, you listen to what they want. This is what they want: ALL that they want. Until we all eventually come to see, in a more distant and enlightened age, that they are entitled to so much more.

Andrew Bolt believes that constitutionally enshrining the fact of indigenous people’s existence in Australia before white settlers is divisive and racist.

I’m so relieved to know that I don’t agree with him, as it is actually only a tiny step in the right direction.


See also www.reconciliation.org.au and www.recognise.org.au