Mind's Eye - Trip To The Pool

Newmarket Pool, on a Sunday morning

I turn the car left at the lights and start down the narrow street toward our destination. A park and trees on one side. Post-war houses at various degrees of renovation on the other.

As soon as the glistening of the water comes into view, my son in the back seat erupts into excitement with urgent noises and furious pointing. I reply, yes indeed it is the pool, and look ahead to the carpark with a thought that maybe it’s early enough not to be too busy.

How wrong I am. As the carpark comes into view, the kaleidoscope of hundreds of shapes and colours burns into my eyes. “We weren’t the only ones with this idea”, I mutter to no-one in particular. Although my son gives me the quizzical look he often does when he’s wondering how I came to be his father.

It’s already approaching 30 degrees this early in the morning so I scan around in the hope of finding a park in the shade. I can hear Darryl from The Castle as if he’s sitting in the backseat as well, “tell him he’s dreamin’”.

I eventually give up and just take the nearest spot. Then collect my things and walk around the back of the car to find my son trying to unbuckle himself from his seat. A smile comes across my face unconsciously as it’s been quite some time since I was that excited. About anything.

I pick my son up and rest him on my hip as I grab the bag that has everything. 'There’s no such thing as packing light anymore' I mutter to myself as my lower back strains and a ripple of sweat develops on my forehead. Just in time for the quick dash over the hot asphalt toward the pool kiosk.

“One adult for a swim” I say as one of the young staff, dressed in the red and yellow of a lifeguard, eventually hurries over in the middle of making a burnt coffee. I then open the heavy door and the noise hits in an instant. From the crescendo of a 1000 screams and laughter, my son joins in and adds his little bit to the rest of it.

I walk carefully over the wet concrete with no real destination in mind. But thank myself for remembering to put our swimming gear on at home. Making the son wait another few minutes would not have been a wise move. Some put his impatience down to his young age. I put it down to his mother.

An empty patch of grass beckons, roughly 30 metres ahead. My son is almost pushing me away as I carry him though, wanting to get down and join in on all the fun. He’s not making the task of getting there any easier. Not to mention running the gauntlet of kids moving about me, being chased or doing the chasing.

We reach the grass after a duck and a weave and the heavy bag quickly drops off my shoulder. My son hangs on tight this time as I lean down to stretch out a towel. His eyes are darting around the place like pinball machine, taking it all in, all the colour and movement.

I’m eventually free of our possessions and stand him up in front of me. “Do you want to go into the water?” I say and his head nods in exaggerated up-and-downs to the point that his hat falls off. The grin is from ear to ear and his feet are almost dancing. The very definition of anticipation and joy.

Putting his hat back on, I say “OK, lets go!” He runs off with his upper body barely keeping up with his feet. I follow a metre or so behind and find myself having to move into a slow jog just to keep up.

In a few moments he has reached the edge of the pool and steps into the shallow end. I’m quickly behind and pick him up from under the arms and throw his body into the air. A quick catch and his giggles are almost machine-gun-like in sound. The tight lower back is almost forgotten. Almost.

I place my son back down and he starts moving toward one of the slides. I let him go ahead for a bit and immerse myself in the freshness of the water. Just what the doctor ordered for this Dad who probably enjoyed one too many red wines the night before.

Once I come out of the moment, I notice my son has gotten a bit too far away. I’m up and running now trying to make sure I get to him before he reaches the steps to the slide.

“Should be both go down?” I say, and again with the exaggerated nodding. I let him take the steps by himself while hanging behind in case of a slip or a fall. He’s up to the challenge though and turns toward me when he reaches the top. In an instant, his arms are raised and outstretched waiting for me to pick me up.

I do just that and crouch down to take a seat at the top of the waterslide as the water starts rushing past my hips. My son sits neatly in my lap as I look below and make sure there’s no-one at the bottom.

The anticipation in my son is evident as he rocks back and forth trying to get us mobile and down the slide. I chuckle inwardly at the absurdity of it. It’ll take a lot more than that to get my frame moving.

Soon after, I do my own rock forward and we take off together. The walls of the slide are rushing past as we enter the tunnel and darkness takes over. A subconscious “yee hah” comes out of my mouth and I can feel my son tense up as he battles the mix of fear and excitement.

We take the first corner at speed and quicken as the slide gets steeper. This time it’s my son who is “yee-hahing” and I have to duck a little to miss the roof. Another corner and another pickup in speed before the light returns and we come out of the tunnel.

Before I know it, we’re both airborne and momentarily between the slide and the upcoming water. I take a deep breath just as we hit and a splash erupts. I quickly bend over to see my son rubbing the water from his eyes. A manic grin takes hold though, like he’s just had the absolute time of his life.

“Do you want another go?” I ask. The furious nodding appears once again and he motions to the side of the pool. I quickly lift him up over the edge before getting myself out as well. He then reaches up with his hand for mine and we run along together back to the steps of the waterslide.

Him with eyes wide open and a permanent smile across his face. Me pondering whose having more fun, me or my son.

EDM.

Immigration Nation

I love my country. I love Australia. I love being an Australian. But sometimes I don't love Australia Day.

The prominence of 26 January has certainly grown over the last decade. It's now a big day for everyone to celebrate and a big day for the likes of beaches, barbeques and beers. Having such a national day should be something to relish. To celebrate from where we've come and to look toward where we're going.

Alas, some in this country use the day for their own narrow interests and prejudices which has resulted in a somewhat nasty edge to it. Cronulla is obviously the most stand-out example but there's been plenty of incidents since at places like Burleigh Heads, Newcastle and Bondi. Where mostly young and drunk idiots prance around draped in Australia flags looking for someone to belittle and abuse. Usually someone of a different colour or ethnicity.

"Love it or leave" they say. "We grew here, you flew here". "Fark off, we're full".

Most of these morons wouldn't even know what Australia Day is actually about. Have no clue about what 26 January represents (we should ask them to "please explain"). Yet they proclaim themselves to be more 'ozzie' than anyone else and therefore are far more superior to anyone who doesn't share their bigotry.

They call themselves patriots because they believe in their country right or wrong. But in my book, it's those of us who actually question and want more from this country that are the true patriots. Because we think it can do better in many ways and want the best for ALL Australians.

I was actually watching a documentary on SBS the other night about the history of immigration in this country with a main focus on the White Australia Policy that was implemented for the majority of this country's history.

That policy was shameful and hypocritical but I always thought it was a relic of our past. Established at a different time when different views were prominent. With no relevance to today's Australia. To my Australia.

However, the actions of a few on this one day of the year goes to show that some of those overt prejudices still exist and some still feel the need to celebrate their own bigotries.

Pretty sad really. Because we are an immigration nation built on the efforts of those who've come here for its opportunities and a chance to make something of themselves. The Australia we live in now would not exist without all those contributions and no one race or ethnic group has a mortgage on that.

Our multiculturalism and history of immigration should be something to be proud of. Something to celebrate on this our national day.

I for one will be raising a glass to it today (to the fridge!). So Happy Australia Day to you all and I hope you enjoy all that it brings.

Especially if it involves a beach, a BBQ or beer.

EDM.

A Tale Of Two Brisbanes

The flood cometh and the flood taketh away. But in many ways it has also given.

Apologies for the amateur philosophising but it’s been quite a surreal time here in Brisbane town of late. Communities devastated. Businesses shattered. Families losing everything. Not to mention millions of dollars in damages to infrastructure and essential services.

Being a capital city that sits on a river and is subject to monsoonal rains and the occasional cyclone, it probably shouldn’t be that surprising I guess. And it does go to show why Queenslanders have built their homes on stilts for the last 100 odd years.

Its just that you see pictures and footage from natural disasters from around the world all the time. Imagery of people suffering and people trying to survive. And whether they’re from the other side of the globe or just in the next State, it’s hard to truly connect with those people and the places that are enduring the disaster. Not because you don’t care. Far from it. But because you can’t relate with the ‘here and now’ that they are going through.

Events like the Victorian bushfires connect with you far more than say earthquakes in Haiti or Pakistan do because of their geographical closeness and shared nationhood. But once again, it’s a feeling of sympathy and compassion rather than complete understanding and insight into what it’s like and what those people are feeling.

The recent floods in Brisbane have been a completely different experience then even though my house and my suburb weren’t affected. It's because it's happened to my city, to my hometown. And it’s happened to close friends and to my family. A place where thousands of memories of my life have been created. Where thousands of landmarks in my life have been shaped.

From the school oval where I kicked a footy as a kid. To the park where we celebrated my wife’s 30th. The path I take for my lunchtime runs. The ferries my son frantically points at when we drive over a bridge. The fruit markets I worked at during university holidays. The restaurant where my sister held her wedding reception. The friend's former house where we used to play backyard cricket all day. The pub where I had my work Xmas party only a few weeks ago. All of them under water and damaged beyond recognition.

It’s still hard to believe it’s happened. And even though I know it has, because I’ve hauled sandbags into people’s cars and shovelled mud from houses and footpaths, it’s still surreal because I wasn’t directly impacted and in many ways life went on as per normal in the suburbs and lives around me. A real Tale of Two Brisbanes it was.

While some agonised over getting furniture to higher ground or out of the their house altogether, others were choosing which movie to see at the local cinema. While some frantically followed every centimetre rise of the river and every new flood warning, others sat enjoying a coffee and a catchup at the local café. And while some went without power or phones for days on end, others watched the unfolding drama on their plasma TVs under the comfort of fans and air conditioners.

Yep, definitely Two Brisbanes it was. A tale that has created a form of survivor guilt for the majority of Brisbane people. A small feeling of shame that you weren’t greatly impacted while so many had their lives turned completely upside down. That you’re able to return to some normality and resume your life so quickly.

Some of which may have contributed to the volunteer effort and sense of community that has come out of the floods. The compelling need for those unaffected to do something and help out where they can.

And in the simplest of terms, it has been amazing. The city’s people have come to the fore at one of its' greatest times of need. It was unbelievable how quickly the cleanup commenced and how much was accomplished in the three days before the majority of the masses had to return to work. A truly humbling sight to see and feeling to be felt. Just being part of something so much bigger than yourself.

Alas, it’s not over yet and the recovery will be measured in months and years rather than days and weeks. Commission of Inquiry’s have been established and Reconstruction Authority’s have been created. There will no doubt be some blame-game in coming months as both try to make sense of the tragedy and how it unfolded. But here’s hoping the volunteer effort and the days of complete strangers mucking in with other complete strangers is the thing that is remembered and celebrated. If only we could bottle that spirit and keep it.

Its funny though, how small-a-world Brisbane remains despite its rush toward a modern and cosmopolitan city this last 10-15 years. While sandbagging at the Stafford SES Depot one day, the guy next to me turned out to be a friend from primary school. An hour later, one of the cars that turned up for us to throw sandbags in was driven by my sister’s brother-in-law.

While lining up to jump on the volunteer buses at Mt Coot-tha another day, it turns out the woman in front of me works in my building, a mere two floors down. Then when shovelling mud out of a garage at Toowong later that same day, the owner is a friend of a guy I once played rugby with.

Once upon a time I couldn’t wait to leave Brisbane for those sorts of reasons. That smallworldiness and provincial attitude that came with questions like ‘What school did you go to?” and “Which suburb are you from?”

But now I’m immensely proud of this city and take pleasure in its friendliness and lack of pretension. A place to create thousands more memories and to shape thousands more landmarks as well.

EDM.

Toxic Sludge Does Not Inspire

Evening Nahhers,

No doubt you’ve seen that things have been a little quiet of late here at Nah Seriously and that normal programming has not resumed following the Xmas/New Year break as promised.

Well, that’s because the entire city of Brisbane, my hometown, has not resumed normal programming following the Xmas/New Year break as promised. Mother Nature has dealt us some cruel blows over the last few weeks and sadly this has meant both the time and inclination to sit down and write another witty and insightful piece has been lacking. Knee deep in toxic sludge for a few days will do that to even the greatest writing inspiration.

However, I do want to assure my loyal readers that regular programming on this blog will recommence soon. Probably in the next week or so. Once work and other volunteering efforts have slowed down a little anyway and given me an opportunity to reflect on it all and jot down some musings.

So stay tuned everyone and rest assured not all is lost here at Nah Seriously and that your loyalty will be rewarded in due course.

Til next time,

EDM.

Some Of Life's Pleasures

(off the top of my head anyway)

Strong flat whites

First sip of beer after mowing the lawn (plenty of practice at this at the moment)

My son’s giggles while we wrestle on our bed

My wife’s wry smiles at another of my inane jokes (must be something about fatherhood)

Ham off the bone (very timely)

Roast potatoes and gravy

Singing It’s A Grand Old Flag after the siren of a Dees win

First Dirk Premium after finishing the Eyeline 1000

Diving under a just-broken wave (especially when hungover from too many Dirk Premiums)

Left-foot snap goal from the boundary (over Colesy’s head especially)

Hitting a crisp cut shot right out of the screws (that special noise)

The Godfather movies (an offer I can't refuse)

The Wire TV series

Radiohead’s music (Where I End And You Begin Live From The Basement current fav)

Long-haul driving by myself with the music turned up extra loud (some off-tune singing may also be involved)

Smell of rain from our front balcony as a storm rolls in

Bowling Phillo with a wicked googly in any backyard in the world

Pint of Guinness in any pub in Ireland

Hot dogs at Fenway Park, Boston

Watching the cricket and thinking “They should put a second slip in” and then seeing the next ball fly straight there

My son’s “aaahhh” after taking a sip of his water (like he’s on a beer ad)

Liam Jurrah taking another screamer

Our winter doona on a cold night

My wife’s mixed metaphors

Discovering your opening track for an upcoming Toggler CD

Tying a Windsor knot first go

Cold shower after a hot lunchtime run

My mum’s meatballs

Nailing a turn of phrase for your blog post that has been bugging you for ages

EDM.