Being seen dead in a coffin!

She died on the road right in front of us;
run down by a bloody big omnibus.
Her very last word:
"Please have me interred,
In a gin-filled quartz crystal sarcophagus."

 Unearth more bodies of work at Magie Tales.

When friends really matter.

We have all experienced the warmth and support friendships bring when we have a setback.
A friend once wrote me a cheque for $50,000 when I needed it most. I did not ask. He just handed me the cheque and said; “Will this help?” That kindness saved me from losing my farm, and he was paid back with interest within a year.

But it is not that sort of help we need when we have suffered the loss of a loved one, particularly if his/her death is sudden and even more so if he/she was murdered.

We get calls of condolence immediately, and many friends come to the funeral so we feel supported then. We have a service of some kind where we express our grief in the presence of friends and family then we all go home, the less connected put it behind them and get on with their lives.

But in these extreme cases, where there are questions left over, some of criminal culpability but more important to us are the questions that arise as we revisit any action of our own that might have contributed, no matter how minor, to the situation that allowed the tragedy to happen.

That is the time we need our friends to come around, prod us into talking and to listen. Questions may need to be asked; “What is worrying you most? Do you think you should have done more/done it differently/done it sooner?” The answer in most cases should be ‘yes’ but is sometimes is denied for now, but if it is yes, the next question must be; “OK so what do you think you could have done?” That should get it started, but what then?

There is no value in saying things like; ‘You are not to blame, it would have happened anyway, he/she brought it on him/herself, it was the lifestyle he/she chose etc’. All those ready excuses will only make the guilt worse. We would like to grab onto them, but we can’t.

Friends and relatives suffer the pain of hindsight; opportunities that were not recognised at the time, words said that can never be withdrawn, appeals ignored through anger or resentment. All the real or imagined shortcomings are paraded past, newly clarified and accusing.

What is needed is an opportunity to confess all those guilty thoughts to a significant adult, someone who has the power to judge but loves us enough to understand, so the anguish and remorse can be expressed fully, with the freedom to cry, wail and blubber as many times as necessary to get it all out. But that takes time.

A good friend will call around every day if necessary, call on the phone if unable to provide a physical presence, and remind others of what is needed and even organise the team. Funerals are over in a day but grieving takes a little longer.

Image by courtesy http://www.stockfreeimages.com/p1/empty-chair.html

Marc my words Chagall!

Roof and roofs
a brace of quail,
a hoof and hooves
a snail and snails.

A gaggle of geese
a herd of deer
always keep
your spell check near.



For more tiles on roofs, go to Magpie Tales.

Strangers: Nice people waiting to be introduced.

Yesterday I was waiting in a queue at a fruit shop check out when I received a call from Julia (daughter and hero) to read me a letter she had received from her brother David. The letter was so full of love that I got a bit teary.
I did notice the young lady watching me, so I signed off as I reached her.
She asked if I was OK, and as she packed the groceries, I replied that I had just been read a letter from a son who died last week.
All packed, l turned to leave, but in my confusion, had not paid. She called after me the amount and I was so embarrassed to have been so absent minded, I must have looked totally lost.!
As I paid, she asked me what was wrong, so I told her I was a bit preoccupied, thinking about the funeral tomorrow (now today).
Then when I was a few metres down the mall, I heard her call to me again.
As I turned, she ran up and handed me a beautiful jam roll cake.
She pressed it into my hands and kissed me on the cheek then whispered; "This is for after the funeral" and she was gone! I had never been to that shop before and had never met her, so the tears started over again.
I just though you would like to know this.

How do you tell the gender of an egg?

Coming out of her shell.

Her shell started falling to bits
And we were all watching like twits,
As more pieces fell,
We were caught in her spell
And everyone looked at her dog.

“But that doesn’t rhyme!” you demand.
“It will in good time,” I say. “And,
For all you voyeurs,
Be patient, good sirs.
‘Cos, after she lands, she will stand!”

Answer: Male eggs are in more of a hurry to get laid.

Similar intellectual contributions can be found at Magpie Tales.

Cops, luck and presumption.

An arrest has been made and I spent last evening making a statement to police detectives, who were not only smart, but were gentle and patient. Considering what they see every day, they manage to remain caring and compassionate, and as Julia, the lead detective said, in this case they got lucky.

The good luck began with CCTV being on the spot and a suspect identified as a person who had already come to 'the attention police' that night. His home was searched and he was taken into custody where he remains, having been refused bail.
A witness called an ambulance for David, but that is where the luck ended. Despite a bleeding head wound and, as later discovered, a brain haemorrhage, he was not examined by a doctor at the hospital, despite a wait of over three hours after which he left, probably in frustration and needing a smoke, and died in a park across the road.
There are a lot of questions being asked and few being answered.

Now for some Easter pictures.
The camera does not show how close they are, or how many there are! The cabin roof in the first pic is of Swan Song, IXL's old wooden boat, soon to be sold. She has been tied alongside for a month so I can access 240V power for sanders etc, but the work is almost done. Then she goes onto the slips for a clean and antifoul, then out of Yeomans Bay and into E-bay!

Arriving home late last night (I take a dinghy ride of about a kilometre from the tie-up to Heavy Metal) I was greeted by a fairyland of lights. This morning, daylight revealed over fifty yachts and cruisers jammed into a space that usually sees about five!
Perfect weather and the long weekend has drawn every boat that floats to Cowan Creek it seems.
IXL is at Mosman Market today selling her hand-made fashion garments but tonight she will visit and we will be joined by Neil and Heather in Tiki for a BBQ and catch up.
That is what I need right now; good company and a break from drama!

Vale Jimmy Little.

I first posted this on THURSDAY, 27 JANUARY 2011

Jimmy Little, singer songwriter and gentleman, was a very important figure in race relations in Australia.

He was loved in every household, black, white and brindle while the government was still 'stealing' mixed race children from their mothers. 

He was a successful recording artist because he possessed such a pretty voice but live audiences loved him because he loved them. His mate Brendon on Radio National this afternoon talked about his stagecraft but I would have to ask him to explain what he meant. Stagecraft suggests to me some degree of manipulation of the audience but Jimmy never did that. He did not sing to them as much as sing with them. He shared the stage with his audience as if they were all at a camp fire sing along. 

His death from complications following a kidney transplant was announced this afternoon, so I hope a repeat of this post is appropriate. I played on one record with him in 1963, but we shared the stage at a hundred live performances and Jimmy, if anyone deserves for the Royal Telephone to be answered, it is you.
Jimmy was a special human being and I am honoured to have known him. Here is my tribute as it appeared on this blog for Australia day, 2011.

Australia Day 2011.

Advance Austalia Fair-go! 

(A tribute to Jimmy Little)

Into the bay the tall ships came.

Brave, desperate, driven.

God given arrogance

hidden behind social graces,

a veneer of civilisation.

Men, custodians of thirty, forty,

fifty thousand years of culture.

Older, wise, inclusive,

watched them come

to a land where none knew

coal and iron slept.

‘A land for a people,

A people for a land!’

It started then,

this short history

written by victors

as it always is.

While Biame’s people,

weakened
by European pathogens,

misunderstood,
dispossessed,

shot by Christians,

but destroyed
ultimately by despair.

This must be the year

when 'The Apology',

wrought in guilt,

delivered in hope

should be judged.

Man to man,

woman to woman,

are we succeeding?

Are we embracing

our common humanity?

Now, using wealth
gathered from 
less fortunate men,

who make

from coal and iron

the transient artefacts

so desired;

we can pay others to 'fix it',

if we want.

Or we can look
into every eye

to seek
our common heritage
as humans
with love and respect,
and return it.

But, as in ‘The greatest love of all’,

It is our children
who ‘lead the way’.

Raised in schools
where so many faces of races

have places,

our children already

live the agenda
of inclusion;

Citizens of our Accidental Multicultural Society.

Dedicated with love and appreciation to Australian Aboriginal musician and activist Jimmy Little, an 'accidental bridge builder', and his feisty wife Marge, the ‘power behind the throne’.
PS. I heard yesterday that Marge died a few months ago... and Jimmy would have wanted to go with her, so he did.

...............................


Still struggling a bit with the poem but don't we all!
Tall ships pic courtesy National Library.

House trained magpie.

Pa Magpie, somewhat of a mouse,
Was scared of his wife, the old rouse,
And followed her rules;
To take off his shoes
Before he came into the house!
.........

Then the pose suggested something completely different....

‘Pa Magpie’, she called. ‘Are you free?’

‘I need you to come here to me!’

She sounded quite terse;

But he answered in verse:

“Please wait, I am having a pee!”

............

PS. Thank you everyone who contacted me over the last few days, by comments, mail and phone. It doesn't stop the anguish but it lessens it and that is the best anyone can do. The tide of tears is on the way out.

Visit the home of Ma and Pa Magpie to see more eggs hatching.

When a loved one dies on your watch.

His name was Stafford but with a father and grandfather of the same name close by, we called him David to avoid confusion and that might have been the first rejection.
Crawling around the feet of a practicing musician he was exposed to the best, Bach, Beethoven, Count Basie, Sinatra, Barney Kessel then Blood Sweat and Tear and the new wave of drummers of the super groups.

At three, on the one hour drive from his nanna’s, his incredible memory and vocabulary regurgitated in detail the story of whole movies. At six, he made up a drum kit from cans and boxes, so at eight when he persisted, Santa arrived with a real kit.
Then it was concerts with Frank Zappa and Chicago.
By twelve he was playing like a pro and seasoned players came to hear and learn from the prodigy.
By early teens his talent was too good to keep at home and professionals booked him for gigs. He was flying… but where? We were not ‘watching his back’ and he was introduced to drugs by his adult bandmates, who probably thought it was funny.

By his mid teens, strange things were happening, unfathomable lapses. Amazing opportunities blown like in the Man With the Golden Arm. A pattern was emerging. First time in a band, he was a star then next time, he arrived stoned and was sent home. None understood, not even me, who was so proud of his genius. I am sure I must have, but can’t remember telling him so. And after learning of his addiction, I was too confused to know what questions to ask. Even he did not understand what was happening to him and despite his prodigious insights and ability to express his feelings, if he did, we were not listening.

Just yesterday I had this thought:
Any prodigy only becomes so by having an extraordinary and detailed vision of a goal at an early age. In David’s case, his musical standards were assumed by osmosis while he was still a baby. His eagerness to play music was welcomed but nobody watching was aware of his anguish. What appeared to be perfect to us was never enough for him. He outshone the best of them, but failed his own test of worth. He never felt he was good enough.

If this is true of most prodigies, it explains why so many young celebrities fall victim to addictions. He was handsome, funny and when working he earned good money. Marriage and fatherhood gave him stability for a time, but even that was not enough and feelings of inadequacy drove him back to heroin.

Some get over it, but for some, they become dead men walking, repelling those who would help if they could, but having exhausted their patience, give up. From there, rejection and a failure, made bearable by drugs, completes the downward spiral to homelessness and all the terrors and horrors that brings.

But somehow, he managed to get clear of heroin and even beat methadone but alcoholism was a bridge too far. He keep himself clean and almost always had a phone and an i-pod. All he owned was carried in two shopping bags and all his clothes except undies, he wore all the time. And he found friends among the homeless and with them he spent his days, so there were good times. But he always yearned for contact with the daughters and siblings he loved, and he did love with a heart that was big, generous and forgiving, in the end, even of himself, his toughest critic.

His girls did give their love, and even sought him out when they could as did I. But although I had long stopped trying to change anything and just enjoyed being with him, accepting that he could not change either, I never really understood what kept him where he was and I doubt anyone else did either, at least until yesterday. Almost a week after he died alone and in despair, I think I finally got it.

Foresight can one’s life enrich
Lack of it, our dreams unstitch.
Ignorance, they say is bliss
But hindsight can be a cruel bitch.

Too soon

.

Perfect infant
Born to children
Too soon.

Innocent prodigy
In adult world
Too soon

Making choices
Taking chances
Too soon

Addicted, lost,
Choices gone
Too soon

Stolen life
Ended today
Too soon,
Too soon.

PS. Replaced Julie's photo of the homeless man with David, about 12 at a gig, and a recent one taken by a family member.
Thanks Julie.