Buttons and bread

Buttons are small daily objects that quietly connect things. They join things up, they hold us together. This blog features buttons as a way of reminding us of the little things that lie behind the actions we take to build strong communities.

The other part of this blog’s title represents the nourishment we get from participating in community life and that we can offer to others also. It is not the nourishment of the exotic, but the everyday sustenance of regular connections, ongoing work and play – bread rather than caviar.

Image | Posted on August 27, 2013 by parrot feather| Leave a comment | Edit

the seeds remain

It’s been a beautiful autumn for colour and sunny days. A bit dire for rain, of which we have had almost none this whole year so far, but the days have been glorious. The changing leaves against a background of blue sky – so vivid and lovely. I’ve also been noticing the scattering of leaves underneath the trees, and on car windscreens when they are parked under said trees. It’s all pretty gorgeous. It’s hard not to be reminded of life’s passing through all this. Time flinging by and our lives with it, in all their messy, hopeful, up and down intensity. All those feelings and thoughts and actions swirling around us and in us. Both Sonnet 73 and A history of leaves.

Amid it all I went to the funeral and celebration for Moo (Miriel) Lenore’s life last weekend. She was a poet too, and a truly wonderful woman. The gathering was held at Mt Lofty House, just next to the Botanic Gardens, where the leaves were going wild. It was a very special occasion – singing and speakers, time for reflection and tea, photos and memorabilia from a long and special life – she died shortly after her 96th birthday last month.

There were readings of some of Moo’s poems, and other poets too (Emily Dickinson was a feature), and we were given a poem on a bookmark, one of Moo’s, which seems to me to fit in with this autumnal theme very well.

Life’s full of all sorts isn’t it – we’re on our game sometimes and distinctly off it at others. We do our best, we are confused, we stumble, we pick ourselves up. We have a go, and have a go again. We are filled with joy and wonder, and also we’re filled with sorrow and trepidation and uncertainty. But autumn comes with its colours (and not just in autumn). Seeds remain for us to go ahead, or to leave for others to tend. We are involved deeply in life. To finish with another poem, one from Rilke, written 100 years ago this month…

We are not to know why

this and that masters us;

real life makes no reply,

only that it enraptures us

makes us familiar with it

Creativity, repair and transformation

Art this week. On Wednesday I went to a lunchtime talk put on by the Jam Factory in the city. Kay Lawrence, who has appeared here before, was one of the speakers, and the topic was something that also appealed, albeit that I had never heard of it before – transformative repair.

Kay was part of a project that connected broken items with artists and designers who took on the job of repairing/transforming the object. The outcomes were beautiful and uplifting. The artists were so attuned to the meaning of the objects for their owners, and often came up with transformations that were very moving. It was also interesting how often the objects, broken as they were, linked to loss, or grief, or death. Kay (a tapestry weaver) was connected to two pieces of broken jewellery. The maker of the jewellery had recently died, an added element in the situation. What Kay did is outlined in the video below, which was shown at the talk on Wednesday…

Another artist who worked on the project was Sera Waters, who does work with fabric and stitchery. She had the task of transforming/repairing a 1956 Olympics souvenir scarf. I found this video of the project, and the ideas Sera focused on – the work of women in holding people and families together, the unacknowledged efforts and intimate bodily work of so many women who love and care for those around them – really beautiful.

There are more videos about the project as a whole and the work of the different artists who participated here. It is really worth taking a look at them…

And then today, I went to a gallery in Marion to see an exhibition by Margaret Ambridge, called Embedded, and these same themes – the daily, mostly unacknowledged work of mostly women (still!) to keep the world turning, to keep families running, and kids getting to school, and housework done and on and on – underpinned her work too. She used tissue paper patterns for clothing that was common when I was young, printing, painting and drawing on the paper, making paper versions of the costumes, and then displaying them as kind of sculptures. They were very beautiful. This is the final weekend of the exhibition, but there is some terrific information about the work on Margaret’s website. Here are a few photos of the exhibition from the internet (with thanks to the photographer).

The transformational element was also part of her work – using a delicate and so often disposable material to make visible a part of life so taken for granted that it seems invisible, and giving it shape and body and presence and beauty.

Transformation is so often part of art and creativity – taking ideas and making them exist in the material world, whether through metaphor in poetry, or through the gamut of creative endeavours that enrich our lives – painting, photography, writing, music, craft, cooking, sewing, woodwork, building, etc etc. In all of them, we make something that was not there before; we take ingredients and combine them in new ways, we make connections where before there was silence, we get out of our heads and onto the page or into the world or into relationship with those around us. We connect, we create, we make and we do. I have felt very thankful for artists this week, for their skill and thoughtfulness, the beauty they bring from their imaginations and the upheaval too, the inspiration they provide for us to make and do ourselves…

The wonderful Winston (Footprints in the sand)

A big highlight this week was hearing from Pam, an old friend of this blog, and whose posts from early in the life of Buttons and Bread (and here and here) still get lots of views. I knew Pam from my work days – she has had many difficulties in her life but has remained a loving, warm and generous person throughout. It was fantastic to hear from her again. She wrote about the life and death of her dear dog – a reminder of how powerful our connection is with animals. Their non-judgemental attitudes are so important to folk who have had lots of trauma in their lives, but to everyone in that regard. It’s also a reminder of how overwhelming and painful grief can be. Now over to Pam…

Hi, I thought I would  write a little story about a best friend that I’ve just lost. He used to go to the beach with me. He would sleep next to me; he adored me. No matter what I did in the day he was always next to me looking at me, admiring me, and as I talked to him he would be just give me his look, but always hoping for something out of the cupboard or fridge. To be so loved so unconditionally! He  was the best confidante ever – he kept all my secrets never once telling anybody. When I had my knee surgery and I came home feeling sorry for myself he would make me go for a walk. He was the best physiotherapy; because of my love for him I would get up and I would walk 5 days after the operation with no crutches, no Walker, just a lead because I had him. I had seven children and they’ve all grown up and now there’s grandchildren but they’re all too busy for me and they live too far away. I thought that my life was just to produce babies. I could cook home cooked meals, I could sew, I could do a little bit of everything; nothing brilliantly but I was good enough – even though I didn’t think that, even with all the praise I got. But this new friend, this new best friend, my comfort – I was good enough, I was more than good enough, I was the best to him. Well I lost this precious precious friend. He died in August and I didn’t think I could continue on without him after he died in my arms. I ran because I’m a runner – I don’t try to solve problems I just run from everything and I figured I wasn’t gonna live this life, so I got in my jeep, I covered the windows and I drove far away. I found this little campsite and I had a plan to take a heaps of pills and just die so I could be with my best friend, but across from me was a couple with two dogs and I watched them out of the window of the car and then I figured they looked so lovely that I couldn’t upset their holiday with a dead body and ambulances, police, so I just left the next day. I drove and I found wildflowers. I would stop and pick the wildflowers and put them on my dash and I just kept collecting and every day I got stronger and better because of the flowers. Nature is amazing – and I guess Winston too is part of that, part of nature. I still miss my best friend more than I ever thought you could; I loved him. His name was Winston. He was a spotty Dalmatian.

After Pam got back home she decided to pay tribute to Winston in an excellent way…

This is the Winston buckets. I put them at three different beaches, Winston’s favorite beaches, after I got home. They were like a doggy Toy Library. I felt like I honored him by doing this because he had so many friends on so many beaches – he was very much loved. I was his sidekick he wasn’t mine – everybody knew us because of Winston. Pam tells me that the buckets have been really well used – a wonderful way for Winston to live on in the world, not just in Pam’s heart.

Galahs, goats, a goose and the gloaming

I have had a few small adventures this week, and as well have been thinking especially of my mum, whose death was 16 years ago on Thursday. Wild that so much time has passed without her actual presence. Thankfully she is in my mind and heart and memories a lot, so not entirely gone. I went to the hill where her ashes are scattered, and it was gorgeous – dry but beautiful in the late afternoon light (a hint of dusk, of the gloaming about it).

And here are a couple of shots of mum – as a tiny child and then when she was around 21. Dad had this picture on his side table all our lives. I took a picture of it when doing the big pack up. It’s now at my sister Helen’s place…

I also visited a property in the Barossa with the gals from CWA. They grow fruit trees and produce dried fruit (I bought some very delicious dried peaches), but I was more struck by the goats and the goose that they also have in an enclosure out the back. I felt for the goose in its very tiny pool, but think the goats have quite good play equipment!

Then there’s the galahs. There are many of them who come to roost in the trees next door in Auburn, and you often see them grazing in paddocks. I have been collecting galah feathers from the garden for a while now, and have quite a lot that I’ve been making pictures from. I also saw a galah in a tree on one of my walks here in Adelaide this week. They really are very common and have appeared here before…

I was very pleased with the pic above with the feathers all in a ball looking a bit like a hydrangea flower! So, a gentle sort of a week, not a lot to report, but the buttons and bread of life, the everyday sweetness and beauty, making memories and enjoying those already made…

Nature round up

Regular readers might remember Kylie’s special post last Christmas, about the butterfly that laid its eggs on a tree in her kindy, and which she and the children observed avidly as caterpillars emerged in the weeks before term ended. It was a dainty swallowtail, it seems, and I saw one a couple of week’s ago in Auburn – or more precisely, Kathy initially spotted it when she was visiting, in the orange tree, and we got a photo of it. It seems they are partial to citrus fruit. It is a native butterfly that has apparently extended its range more into South Australia from the east as the citrus fruit industry has grown. It was great to see it in the flesh, and it provides a good opportunity to link back to that terrific post from Kylie too.

And then a few weeks ago, when I was down the coast with friends, I saw a flock of yellow tailed black cockatoos – very special. I took some pictures, which are not very brilliant, but to see them was exciting! I will put a pic from the internet below, as well as my less than stellar attempts, so you get more of an idea… (You can see quite a few birds in the pine tree, where they were eating the pinecones, then a bird-y back shape in the middle distance of the next pic, and a few fliers in the looming sky in the third pic. The final shot is from Birdlife Australia’s website.)

Back in Auburn I found a gorgeous lizard in the garden – I’m not sure what kind it is, so if anyone knows please let me know…

Then there was a wonderful sky…

And a few fab plants – a hoya with its fantastic flowers, a stunning silver wattle, an amazing flowering eucalypt (again, I don’t know what it’s called), and a Queensland bottle tree, with it’s wallpaper like bark, and with the sun shining through its branches… ain’t life grand?

The 25-hour day

Today daylight savings time ended for another year, which means that today has 25 hours in it, sort of. It also is a signifier that we are well into autumn. It’s been a beautiful autumn day, and to celebrate I have been out exploring a little park in the suburbs that I’ve never been to before. It’s called Barton Gully, and it is a few kms south of my place, near Kingston Park and the beach there. It starts of with a bit of dilapidated looking vegetation, with plants that have been put in but which have died for want of water. It’s got an air of general scrubbiness. It’s nice though, a little bit wild in the midst of very tame and prosperous looking houses. There is a dirt track that runs downhill, and I followed it a short distance, at which point it became steeper and paved. Down some very steep steps and in a short-ish time I was at sea level, the beach just there, across a lawned area where people were having picnics. I walked across and then south on the coast path for a little while before heading back uphill. Past walkers and the odd runner; a young girl with flaming red hair glinting in the sunshine, a woman with ‘Be EXCELLENT to each other’ on her t-shirt, an older woman with a 4-pronged walking stick sitting looking out to sea. Past clumps of knobby club rush. There was a latitude sign (35 degrees south), and another sign suggesting this as a spot for hugs. On the way back up the hill, panting a bit – it really is steep – I passed a young guy with what looked like a plant sign thingy in his hand, gazing at a bush that I assume he was going to put the sign near. I also saw a couple of rosellas – gorgeous birds. A simple little adventure, and not a deciduous tree in sight, but good to celebrate the day – any day. (The pics below include a four pronged walking stick and a rosella, both from the internet – my efforts to photograph the latter ending in failure! I also got a bit carried away with the club rush…)

Time flies (French edition)

Time passes so quickly, she says, starting the post with a cliche, but true nonetheless, at least much of the time. And it passes in moments – fleeting specs of time that are so easily forgotten in their detail, if not in their general effect. Of course there’s nothing wrong with this – it’s just the way things go. It is impossible to hang onto time. It will pass, and then, if we are lucky enough to be still here, we get to glance back sometimes and be amused and bemused by the detritus it leaves in its wake (or it leaves me in its wake – I am good at detritus!).

Yesterday I did a spot of sorting out here at Glenelg. I went through a drawer of my filing cabinet and found a heap of old stuff. including some of my French tests and French books and papers from 1974, 50 years ago, yes, 50!!!!!! As well as the tests it includes around 10 little magazines called Bonjour, which include topical little articles and cartoons to assist with learning the language. They look massively old fashioned now of course. Then there was Salut les Copains – a radio program I think. The sticker is on the front of my folder and there’s an ABC logo thingy too.

I was immediately reminded of Mme Syrmen (who was always just called Madame), a lumpish older woman who had a kind of sparkle to her manner if not her physical appearance. I really liked her. There was always a bit of mystery about her – stories abounded about how she spent the war years – the Resistance was always hinted at. It’s a pity we didn’t ask her more directly. I recognise her handwriting very easily – and am reminded that she used to call me Lisbeth – you can see in her comment on one of the tests, from the end of term one, so pretty much 50 years ago exactly.

Good work EAB! I can’t remember why we had to put red boxes around some words, and have some letters (the i’s) in red too…

And then there was Francoise Hardy, the singer – Madame copied out the words to a whole lot of her songs and distributed them via the gestetner machine – do you remember the purple writing? – at the end of the year, when there were only a few lessons to go and after the exams, and we listened to her singing. I think Madame must have brought in a record player – very flash! Maybe we even sang along. My favourite was ‘Tous les garçons et les filles de mon âge’

So, le temps passe vite, and here’s cheers to those fleeting moments with Madame in 1974…

Ordinary life (rogue capsicum edition)

This week I am celebrating last Saturday, which was a full on and interesting day for me – an example of how much is going on around us every day, especially in so-called ordinary life.

It was (or would have been might be more accurate) my dad’s birthday, as those of you who follow this blog will know already, but as well it was election day for the first SA First Nations Voice to the SA parliament (click here for more info on the process, the candidates etc). Of course, the federal referendum for a Voice failed last year, but SA legislated for a local Voice, and Saturday was the date for local Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to go and vote for their representatives. Mia, a CD worker from Council, put out a call for anyone interested in staffing a ‘democracy sausage sizzle’ in support of those voting, and a roster and the details were nutted out. We had snags, veggie burgers, onions, bread, sauce, tongs, ice, water, other sundries and people to cook and serve and cheer at Christie Downs Community Centre from 8 am to 2 pm. And to add another layer of excellence, we had people organised to give leftover cooked and uncooked food to at the end.

It was a terrific day – a steady flow of people coming to vote and get a snag afterwards, and good cheer and good company all through. It was a small thing to do to acknowledge and celebrate local indigenous folk, but it was good to be doing so, and to meet up with other fine folk along the way. I forgot to take many photos, but did get a bit of a group shot at the end of the shift of most people who were there from 10 – 12. Plus we found a rogue capsicum growing alongside the carpark nearby. Kind of a good symbol for, well something! (Pics below of the capsicum, the bbq team (10 – 12 slot), and a pic of Dale Agius and Kyam Maher, SA Commissioner for First Nations Voice, and Kyam Maher, Minister for Indigenous Affairs and Attorney General in the SA Government.

From Christie Downs, I went down to Torrensville to Mrs Harris’ Shop, the little art gallery that has appeared here before (for another post with a similar theme as it turns out). It was the last weekend of their Festival/Fringe exhibition of Tracy Crisp’s work Pearls (Unstitched). It’s a piece about her mother, a wonderful seamstress (among other things), who made Tracy’s wedding outfit in the early 1990’s before dying suddenly in a car accident a year or so later. It’s about grief and memory and daily life and stitchery and the search for her mother’s pearls, which Tracy also wore on her wedding day. By chance I arrived when Tracy was at the gallery, so had a chance to speak with her a little about what she has done. She unstitched the whole wedding outfit – not a white dress, but a beautiful floral suit – skirt and jacket, so that it is in all it’s original cut out pieces, and then she stitched the story of her mother, the dress, and the pearls onto it. The story has been produced into a theatre piece for the Fringe too – it was sold out very early – and the script of the dress and the show was also there, at the Shop.

It was very moving, to see all the effort and the love that has gone into this work. It is a reminder of the loss many of us feel when our dear ones go – the yearning, the sadness, the immensity of the relationship that still continues in its funny, there-and-not-there way. The way we can become unstitched in the face of loss, and then restitched a bit anew if we’re lucky. The ways our dear ones never really go. The band of the skirt has this stitched on it: Pearls a mother’s wisdom lost then found. A collaboration between Vivienne Crisp and Tracy Crisp.

This post is a little opportunity to acknowledge not only the work itself but to think about the hours and hours of daily life that went into making it – Tracy working quietly at home, thinking, writing, sewing, ironing, unpicking, restitching – everyday life going on in ways that in the end enrich us all. Again, there are echoes of this in the ways ordinary folk (all of us) contribute to each other’s lives, whether through work or at home, many times in ways that pass us by unnoticed. The ‘stitches’ real or metaphorical that underpin so much of life.

Here are some pics of the exhibition, with Tacy (l) and another visitor to the exhibition (r) in the first photo. The white streaks in on the pieces are remainders of the paper that Tracey wrote her words on and used to stabilise the fabric when she was sewing the story onto it. The brown fabric is the underskirt. You can also see the (pink) outfit Tracey’s mother wore to the wedding, and the script of the piece is on the table under the phone. The wedding photos show the pearls and the love between T and her mum!

Fast forward a little further in the day and I caught up with my niece Leigh, went for a walk and then started work on a little project we are hoping to complete sometime this year, collecting recipes from my mum for a little family recipe book. My family were ‘good plain cooks’ – definitely no frills, but the grandies all have memories of Gran’s food, and my sibs and I also have memories of our grandma’s (mama’s) food too – so hopefully we can track down, or make up, recipes to match the memories and put something together. I took no photos on the day but in the interests of illustrating this post, here is a shot of Leigh taken last month when we went for a walk, and a couple of pages from my recipe book, including of mum’s instruction in the ‘savouries’ section, to look in the ‘cakes’ section for mama’s mayonnaise recipe, which she put in the wrong place! Looking at that recipe, it has a massive amount of sugar in it – if you are tempted to make it (I never do!), I know mum used to halve the amount… On the other hand, the pikelets are excellent, as are the meringues.

Watching tv with dad

I’m starting this post on dad’s birthday, 16th March. He would have been 101 today! It’s not going to be finished till tomorrow at this rate – I’ve spent ages tracking down some pics that I wanted to put here this week, of him watching Doc Martin in 2020. It was one of my favourite things, watching him killing himself with laughter at that funny, silly program, and I took some snaps of it all a year or so before he died.

It turns out I have quite a few pics of dad watching tv – often looking amused, sometimes just focussed – spellbound as mum would have said! You can see the device that amplified the sound for him in some of the pics. In the years after mum died especially, I watched a lot of tv with him – and I still miss his companionship in that pedestrian daily activity a lot.

I wrote a sort of poem about it a year or so after he died (I can’t work out how to format it, so you’ll have to bear with the gaps between the lines and the difficulties seeing the section breaks. Oh well!)…

Watching tv with dad

What I miss most are the sideways glances,

the laughs, checking with each other over

some program, some actor, some scene, some segment

Your shining eyes, and that laugh –

at Mr Large and Al on Doc Martin,

or that ridiculous copper – you would be

beside yourself with laughter

and I’d be beside myself, laughing at you laughing.

Or maybe it was a 1940’s movie –

Mrs Miniver was a favourite

or something with Jimmy Stewart,

the black and white version of Little Women.

Something with Katherine Hepburn.

You liked a good (bad) western – they bored me to tears.

I swear you must’ve seen every

mediocre, ridiculous, racist, sexist John Wayne

movie ever made. I’d leave you to it –

go out for a walk.

Then there were the war movies –

plenty of average ones with

cardboard sets and Richard Widmark –

but occasionally a classic (which might also feature

cardboard sets and Richard Widmark).

You had a surprising soft spot for the Romance Channel

Drew Barrymore of all people

was a favourite.

When I think back, I see that you loved lots of films

about fathers and children –

Sleepless in Seattle, Jersey Girl –

or single mums and their kids –

like Jennifer Lopez in Maid in Manhattan

I like to think you saw yourself in them somehow –

the loving gestures, the strong bonds.

Not that you found it easy in practice to be demonstrative

but perhaps Tom Hanks and Ben Affleck

reflected you in some way – the good heartedness, the humour, the honest yearning.

On Sundays I would arrive during Songs of Praise,

the tv on at that early hour only on Sundays.

Some weeks you wrote down the hymns on a scrap of paper

in your spidery writing, to tell me.

Often you would sing along, your thin voice

not quite in tune. We’d discuss possible winners

of their choir competitions.

Afterwards came Landline –

we both loved that one –

I’d be out getting lunch ready, and you’d

call me in if something especially

interesting came up.

We discussed whether Kerry, who gave the rural prices reports,

had dyed his hair,

and grieved for Pip when her husband died.

Then there was Gardening Australia –

another fave – though you despaired

in recent years (in a mild kind of way)

about Costa’s hair. We’d be eating lunch

through that – fish most often,

with veg and a range of simple sweets for afters.

And then – how could I forget – there was sport.

I’m not mad for footy, but you watching it

kept me in the loop – I’ve got no idea this year

who’s doing well and who’s not. You were

a vocal barracker and had very strong views

about the coaches.

If a team won it was because of the players.

If they lost, it was because of the coach.

Mum used to say you were ‘spellbound’ watching the football

and she was right. You were all focus – no time for

sideways glances there.

On the other hand, the races were

entertaining for us both –

we had a couple of years watching the races

from Morphettville and checking out the form.

We’d each pick a horse in every race, Richard too,

and award points for winning and places, see who ‘won’

on the day. No betting of course –

we were all too Methodist for that –

but it was fun.

You loved a nature program,

and the history channel,

war documentaries – WW2 central

to your whole life –

current affairs. You were wary

of ‘Artificial Intelligence’ –

the computer age left you cold –

concerned about the environment,

sure the good times would come to an end.

The tv was an educator for you

you learnt from it, thought about

issues, developed your ideas.

You were open, that’s what I liked about you –

your interest in the world,

generosity to others,

acceptance of different ideas and perspectives.

You had little actual schooling, and no chance

for more later – so the tv was good for you. ABC mostly

a bit of SBS, and some of the Foxtel channels.

We hung around each other for many years.

Watched heaps of programs together.

Back in the day, just before you turned 80,

I remember watching Parkinson with you one night.

He was interviewing David Bowie

who said something like –

‘when I was young, I didn’t know

how to express my emotions’

and you said “I’m like that”.

I started to laugh –

there’d be no one on earth less like

David Bowie than you –

but I stopped myself

because it was an opening

to a conversation we’d never had before.

About your difficulties in showing affection,

how you envied mum’s easiness with people,

how your parents never seemed close

and were not very loving. How you felt awkward

when people started hugging more, greeting each other

with kisses. You sounded wistful.

How good it is you had a long life.

You softened, you melted, your reserve

ebbed away in the end.

You laughed more, loved more fully I think

in the last years.

You let yourself take on those roles –

thanks Tom, thanks Jimmy, thanks Greer and even Drew.

You kissed everyone –

well, the women and children anyway –

shook hands with and sometimes even gave awkward hugs to the men.

You watched tv and laughed –

Doc Martin, Hogan’s Heroes,

Would I lie to you?, Yes Minister

As Time Goes By –

you sent out sideways glances

of love and companionship,

barracked for your team,

came to grips with the world.

You and me and the tv,

a gentle unfolding of a quiet

life, but alive, so alive

right up until the very end of transmission.

Laughed at by a kookaburra

As promised, this week is a reflection on Writers’ Week, and other Festival activities. I was in Adelaide for the whole week, taking a break from Auburn in order to attend WW every day. I really loved it, and felt that I was on holidays – a conditioned response in part I’m sure, after so many years of taking hols from work to attend. There were a lot of highlights and themes – but perhaps, overall, the main ‘theme’ is the power of creativity and sharing. All the work (mostly done alone, over long periods of time) transformed into conversation and ideas spread around in a beautiful location during a classic late summer hot week (albeit that we are supposedly into autumn). Some of my highlights were:

• Listening to Richard Flanagan talk about his excellent book Question 7
• Listening to Martin Flanagan (Richard’s brother) talking about his excellent book The Empty Honour Board
• Having Richard Ford back at WW after 20+ years – his sessions were great
• Seeing a visiting writer’s talk being interrupted by the laughter of kookaburras, and his thrill on being told what it was (“I’ve been laughed at by a kookaburra!”)
• Meeting my cousin as usual during the week
• Seeing friends and sitting with them from time to time – Kathy, Wendy, Kaye, Jo, Yvonne
• Hearing David Marr speak about Killing for Country
• Edouard Louis’ excellent session, and his powerful indictment of the class system – in France, where he lives, but applicable to all capitalist countries
• New writers, such as Una Mannion; and new to me, such as Catherine Lumby talking about Frank Moorhouse
• Very powerful sessions on different aspects of the Gaza/Palestine situation – it was wonderful to learn more and to see others there too with their notebooks and questions learning more too
• Anna Funder’s session on her book ‘Wifedom’, about Eileen O’Shaughnessy, George Orwell’s wife, and her amusement at seeing her initials on flags all over town (AF – for Adelaide Festival…)
• Laurie Anderson on Zoom
• Laughing at William McInnes – he’s a very funny guy!
• Sitting with Kathy for quite a few sessions – hooray for her holidays
• Jane Smiley on US politics among other things – so interesting the number of people who don’t say the previous president’s name on principle
• Getting to a couple of the really early sessions – very interesting and a cooler part of the day too
• Mary Beard’s session, and Patrick DeWitt, and Charlotte Wood, and Christos Tsiolkas, and Anne Enright and on and on it went!
• Seeing people’s funky clothes, and folk there with babies, and being able to lie on the grass and let the words waft over me
• The setting was wonderful too, once again. Even on the hot days there was lots of shade, and the trees and birds and sky were beautiful.

Then there were activities outside of WW. A quick trip to the Mall with Kathy and we ran into a fab, energetic group of Japanese buskers, with a quite old drummer and a very athletic front man and a funky woman guitarist…

Then on Friday, a change of pace, attending Lowitja O’Donoghue’s memorial service. It was a very hot day, and I was among those outside the cathedral, clinging to the shade, but very moved by the event itself – a beautiful acknowledgment of a fabulous woman’s life of challenge and service and strength. What a contribution she made.Here’s a link to an article about her and the funeral, here’s a link to Paul Kelly singing Brown Skin Baby, which he did at the funeral (this is a video of the same song on a different occasion), and here are a couple of pictures – from me (the bad ones) and from the internet…

Finally, last night I went to the festival centre to see a performance by Edouard Louis, who appeared at WW earlier in the week. He is doing a show there for 3 nights based on his book Qui a tue mon pere? (Who killed my father?) (excuse lack of accents in the French version!) It was terrific – focussing on his relationship with his dad, and his father’s experiences as a factory worker and street sweeper – and as a recipient of benefits after his back was mangled in a factory accident. The weaving together of songs, video, and the words spoken by EL in French mostly (with surtitles) and in English, were very moving – about Edouard’s own life, his difficulties with being bullied for being ‘a faggot’ and the changes to his relationship with his dad that time has effected – and around all this, the impact of politics, social policy, on his father and the family more broadly – the ‘killers’ of his father (who is massively disabled, at a young age, though technically not dead). It was just terrific. Afterwards, as an added bonus, Edouard came out to where we were all dispersing after the performance. We had a bit of a chat and I got a couple of pictures – he suggested selfies, which I am not very good at, but you get a sense of the atmosphere perhaps… the way art and creativity can enliven life – the way we can connect sometimes, across boundaries that often seem unbridgeable.

A few years ago, I wrote a post here about the festival and a performance in it called ‘A history of leaves’ – about how our lives can seem so insignificant, like individual leaves falling from so many trees, but still so beautiful. It has been in my mind this week – and these little encounters and events, the memorial to Lowitja, the words of the song sung by PK, the writers and all of us punters at WW, friends added to the mix, last night’s performance and the photos with EL (he took the one with only half of his face – he said he’s not so fond of his face and likes to do just half). All just moments, time that has come and gone, insignificant in the scheme of things perhaps, but leaving me uplifted, enlivened and – more myself somehow. It was all just wonderful.