Got a Minute to Lose?

pondering

As I left my mechanic’s workshop at 8.15am having dropped off my car for a service, I walked calmly across the driveway of the adjacent service station, wondering what I’d do next – sit at the local coffee shop and wait, or hike back up the hill to my house nearby.   Suddenly, I felt a swish of air behind me.

Turning  to see the source, a small silver hatchback whizzed impatiently by.  When I asked him, “what’s up with you?”, the grey-bearded middle-aged looked highly agitated and flipped me the bird out the window.

Clearly, the driver was offended at me for not walking faster and for impeding his hurried exit from the petrol station.  Very clearly, he had no respect for women and was yet another in a long line of male bullies encountered by me in the past few years, both in business and personal life.

I listened yesterday to Madonna’s acceptance speech as she was voted Billboard’s Woman of the Year for 2016.  It really was an emotional but extremely well-written and rehearsed outpouring of the hard yards so many women in the music industry have had to plough in order to reach and stay at the top of their game.   Bullying is rife in society – towards children, women and those perceived to have a lesser worth.

So, Mr Silver Hatchback felt it necessary to bully and insult me with his driving and his gesturing.  Off he raced to his job, leaving behind a person left wondering why his aggression levels were so high at 8.15am.  Mondayitis at its worst.

I crossed the road and sat at a café and read Sunday’s paper for an hour or so, made a telephone call to a lonely friend, and then made a business call as I walked up my hilly street.  I was determined to make today a day where I made time to ponder.  Not anything in particular.  Just ponder.

It seems pondering is not allowed or encouraged in this society.  I was sort of pondering as I walked across the petrol station driveway and look where that got me?   I guess I should have been marching purposefully towards my next goal.

But what do we miss in our non-ponderous march to the finish line?

I guess the Christmas season adds to people’s already chronic state of agitation in our modern, busy and overworked lives.  A trip to your local shopping centre will more than confirm that something bad happens to people’s brains around this time.  Add to this, the stultifying heat and humidity in our sub-tropical home of Brisbane, and you do find some fine examples of “going troppo”.

Last night I watched again the very funny 2004 movie Christmas with the Kranks  and my all-time favourite scene is when Jamie-Lee Curtis’ character, Mrs Krank, dives desperately for the very last tin of ham in the supermarket, competing for this ‘prize’ with another desperate shopper.  She fails spectacularly in her attempt, but eventually manages to secure another ham by begging another shopper to sell her their’s at an inflated price.  Sadly, in the car park she drops the ham and it rolls away onto the road where it is hideously splattered under the wheels of a lorry.  This is sometimes how we feel when we have spent a long time chasing something, all to see it come to nothing, or worse, end up in disaster or woe.

So, is the chase worth it?   Should we walk and ponder, rather than march and lurch and dive towards the object or outcome of our desire?

My resolution for 2017 is more pondering, less agitation.  I shall try each morning to read the newspaper, or catch up on weekend newspapers, rather than diving headlong into a full schedule of chores and “must-dos” in the life of a freelancer. For, as Kathleen Noonan points out in yesterday’s Sunday Mail, “reading offers you a space that is utterly yours”.

I am going to claim some  “utterly mine” space in 2017.  Heck, I might even play my grand piano for a half hour each day and brush up on those scales and favourite bits of Mozart and Beethoven.

How many of your favourite things have fallen by the wayside as you march towards your life goals?   Do you have any “utterly yours” space in your days?

Too many of us go through our days as if we have “no time to lose” whereas we have in fact lost the ability to use our precious time to nurture ourselves, which in turn makes us a better nurturer of others – our spouses, our children, our ageing parents, our colleagues, our gardens, our pets, and even strangers.

Make a point in 2016 to “amble” instead of walking briskly, stare out the bus window and “ponder” instead of reading your emails or picking the next tune on your ipod.  In fact, how about taking out the earbuds and actually talking to someone on the bus?  Talk about the weather, give someone a compliment about their shoes or dress or hair – a bit like the good old days.

The first step to detaching from your digital devices is to re-learn how to do “nothing”.  It’s harder than you’d imagine, but well worth the effort.

The good old days may have meant a lot of elbow grease washing clothes and scrubbing floors – but it did also allow for a bit of a yarn across the back fence, or down at the shop……  There was a bit more time to lose.

And that’s the time we need to find back.

 

Go Fearlessly Forward

As I sit here one hour early  In the school hall of my only child, my son of 17 years, for his year 12 graduation ceremony, I have ample time to reflect on the years that have flown by, have swallowed up a little boy and churned out a young man.

Th first six  years of Philip’s formal schooling offered wonderful opportunities to be greatly involved in so many ways – tuckshop, school fetes, fundraising, newsletters, parent helpers, special presentations etc.  But after that initial flurry of volunteering, I felt I’d earned my parenting stripes and proceeded to step back and allow some fresh blood to step up.

 

So, for the past six years I have barely set foot in school grounds, in part because I know my son preferred it that way, in part because school P&C committees are not for the faint-hearted or creatively inclined.

It’s been a strange time watching him progress through the stages each child must navigate in order to matriculate. There were issues with minor bullying, low self-esteem, anxiety and despair from time to time but largely the past four years have been smooth sailing.

I was even spared the usual parent pain of having to stand over their child to ensure homework and assignments were done on time.  I was one of those lucky parents whose child chose to be organised and measured in all they did.  Free time was of great value to Philip so he determined early that homework was best done in class rather than dragged home to eat into precious  leisure time.  Similarly, assignments were deftly planned and executed without any fuss – i sometimes feel guilty that I didn’t have to go through the angst that so many parents go through in their child’s final two years of schooling.  The most challenging aspect was waking up to the smell of hamburgers frying as Philip made his own elaborate school lunches in the morning.

As I stare up at the WELCOME TO YEAR 12 Graduation slide projected onto the huge screen on the podium, I say goodbye to my little boy, firmly and sadly.

All the baby photos of Philip have been staring out at me extra hard from the walls where they have hung for 8 years…… those  little eyes smiling out from that big round baby face, that podgy young  boy face smiling up as he cuddles his pet cat, the handsome lean 16 year old sitting staring into the distance, on the cusp of manhood.

So the time has come, the walrus said….. to imagine a new era where my 17 year old is free-wheeling around the house, enjoying a gap year before heading off to uni overseas.

Never again will I see him in those grey flannel trousers, that grey and green shirt and tie ensemble, opening the garage door at 745am to walk to the bus stop, barely stopping to kiss his mother goodbye.

His father is bound to be uncontrollably emotional at this event, and My eyes will no doubt well up with tears at some point. And now my mind turns briefly to contemplate the utter desolation a bereaved parent would experience,  knowing their child died without reaching this milestone.  How blessed we are that we sit here tonight with the luxury of crying for a different reason.

As the oppressive Queensland humidity bears down prematurely upon the 1000 or more people in the hall tonight, we have a distraction from our sad thoughts.  The occasional sea breeze that sneaks through the louvred gives us all a brief reprieve before we embark on this emotional night of farewell to childhood.

The hall is buzzing with the chatter of young men and women, excitedly waiting for the evening to commence so they too may commence their new journey into adulthood.  I barely recall my own graduation more than 35 years ago, suffice to remember that I won the French Dux prize.  The layout of the state school hall is the same, only the time and uniform is different.

I’ve been sitting here now for 40 minutes, having been the very first person here to keep seats for family members.  The noise is louder, the air thicker with anticipation.

I see boys that I knew as freckly five year olds, wearing man-buns, possessing bodies lean with muscle and sweaty hormones.  Young women whose pigtails have given way to flowing, fragrant hair atop lithe young bodies ripe for adventure and sometimes trouble.  All that collagen….. I think enviously!

My son didn’t even want to attend this night, being of the rather more introverted variety who prefers things low-key unless on his terms.  I of course chided him for even considering evading this wonderful occasion.  He had a haircut yesterday, so that’s a good thing.

Philip is one of those rare birds for whom schooling and school buddies have come secondary to the rest of his life experiences.  He has enjoyed 10 overseas trips since birth and discovered an amazing world outside suburban Brisbane.   Consequently, he sometimes struggles with his relatively small-town existence, when compared with cities such as London, LA or Amsterdam.  This is a boy who discovered wings early in life.

So, there he goes up to the stage in the first part of the alphabet.  A shake of a hand, certificate clasped tight, he strides back down the other side of the stage, like the other 500 or so kids in his graduating class.

After all the speeches and the singing of the school song ( which did make me cry just a little), the gathered peel off in different directions, eager to escape the oppressive heat of the hall.  Young hearts run just a little freer after tonight..

We celebrated with dinner at the local Thai restaurant over a colourful conversation about family and the perils therein, and all agreed that at least we as a family could talk to each other, thanks to the lack of TV in our household.  There was always something to do besides passive consumption of  offerings on the flat screen.  Like, for instance, having a really funky jam in the living room…..

Here we are, back at the house, stage lights set up, a groove backing  track off YouTube pumps out of the PA system permanently set up for rehearsal ( oh did I mention we are part-time professional musicians?) and Philip on guitar and his step father on bass are getting it on down.

And so marks the start if his new life outside school.  Lots of music, advice, love and a new learning curve about how to stand on a stage and entertain.  No more schoolbooks for a while.  Just the warm, hot and cool tunes as a backdrop to his young manhood.

The  world awaits you and I, as your mother, will watch with love as you take your steps into my world.  For when everything in life lets you down, you will always have your instrument to keep you company, long into the night, when times are hard, when people let you down and hurt you, when life deals you a hard lesson – have faith in the beauty that is music.  He gift that came from me, my mother before me, my aunts and cousins who also play and sing  – a long line of which you are now a part.  The gift that chose you and will always be with you.

Rock on Philip.