That’s just ugly.

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A very good friend of mine has been on the receiving end of some butt-ugly treatment lately.
It’s the second time in the last 18 months that I have been aware of people I know wilfully acting to assassinate someone’s character. Those people should hang their heads in shame. They absolutely know better. They are intelligent, professional people with families of their own.
My friend is not perfect. I don’t see how that justifies anything. She is fully aware of her flaws, and nobody is perfect, least of all me. There is no excuse for the way she has been treated.

The following are ugly and ungodly behaviours which amount to verbal bullying and vilification:

1. Sharing someone else’s story or personal information when one has no business doing so.
2. Telling a story about someone when one has only heard half of it.
3. Going behind someone’s back and telling falsehoods or half-truths about people to those who are their friends.
4. Attempting to ingratiate oneself by putting someone else down.
5. Veiling these behaviours behind “I thought you should know” or “We need to pray for ******” or “I am so concerned, I had to share it with someone”.
6. Taking pleasure in gossip or in shaming someone.

Do not ever ask me to listen to or excuse these things.
These are not things friends do.
These are not things nice people do.

Sadly, they are things that some people who claim to be Christians do.
What ever happened to “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” and “Love your neighbour as yourself”?

Encountering Inspiration.

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My students are discussing various ideas about the ways in which people encounter and respond to conflict as part of our Year 12 English course.

As I observe their interactions and tune into different conversations around the room, I am so impressed by the maturity and thoughtfulness they are bringing to these discussions. They are taking this really seriously. They are asking questions that I might never have thought to ask.

I had hoped that they would inspire and encourage each other to extend their thinking through this exercise.
They have gone further than that – they are inspiring me.

I am a very blessed teacher.

ANZAC Day.

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My great-uncle, H.C.E MacAuley, was a member of 6 Div AASC. He was captured in Kalamata in April of 1941, and stayed undercover and on the run for more than twelve months during which he tried to make it to the Turkish border. He was recaptured in June 1942 and remained a POW until liberation by the 101 Airborne.

I was privileged to know this man as my beloved Uncle Charlie.

He had a great sense of humour and always made time for me. I used to go and visit him and my Auntie Marion on Saturday afternoons with my Grandpa. We would watch the cricket, football or other sports and talk and joke and laugh.
This was where I learned to love watching sports, where I the learned the rules of the different games, where I started to learn about politics, and where I first learned about the war.
Uncle Charlie would tell me stories about things he and his fellow soldiers did, but as I got older I realised how gentle and careful he had been with my young heart and mind.
He told me of events and characters of the war, but he never revealed to me its horror or brutality. He always told me how lucky I was to be Australian and explained that men like him fought so that we could remain the lucky country.

We cannot underestimate the degree to which we owe those soldiers our social and cultural freedom.
We cannot allow our society or our nation to forget the reasons for each war in which we have participated or the outcomes and consequences that each delivered.

I am proud of Uncle Charlie and every other person who has risked or sacrificed their own freedom to preserve that of their countrymen and of the oppressed.
I am thankful for their service.
I am thankful for my country and our prosperity and way of life compared to many other countries.

This ANZAC Day, I encourage everyone to remember and reflect on the freedoms the Australian military services have won on our behalf, and what it cost many of those men and women to achieve them.

Lest we forget.

Complicated.

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It’s day 21 of my 28 day holiday in Canada and the US. It has been an absolute blast.
Right now we are on our way north to meet with a friend from Missouri who is driving to a small town in Illinois to meet us there. I’m looking forward to seeing her again after several years. Even so, my day is still flavoured with more sadness than I care for.

I love some of the places we have left behind but it runs much deeper and stronger than that.
I miss the very special people I have left behind. I am missing them terribly, to the point where the tears won’t stop.
I guess part of keeping a schedule is that you do have to move on and keep going, but I don’t want to.

I want to go back and spend more time. I want to drink coffee together, talk, hug, share meals, see places, and to show them how much I love and value them. I want to hold hands and hug and touch faces and talk and listen. We just didn’t have enough time together.
I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want to be gone.

Sometimes parting really is more sorrow than sweetness, and I don’t think I can ever be quite the same again. As much as I love Australia, it won’t ever fully be home now, because it’s true: home is where the heart is, and I have a very powerful sense of having left several large chunks of mine behind.

Complicated, eh?

Just one sleep to go.

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One sleep. Just one sleep. That’s all.
The countdown started at 187. 
This time tomorrow I will be doing final checks and preparations before I get on the plane and fly away.
This trip has been four years in the dreaming, then hoping, then planning, then organising.
It’s so close – I can almost taste it. 

I’m going to the US and then to Canada.
I’m going to hug people that I have never met, but speak with every day.
I’m going to meet family that I’ve never met before.
I’m going to see places and animals that I’ve only ever dreamed I’d see.
I’m going to spend four weeks on the other side of the world.

And yet it still doesn’t really seem real, because I’m sitting at my desk like I do every other night.
I’ve spent the day at school. I went to the staff meeting, then came home, graded essays and planned lessons.
The washing machine is still going.
My dog is sleeping beside me.

Life seems remarkably normal tonight for someone who is going to experience the beginning of the trip of a lifetime tomorrow.

 

Rock solid.

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Rock solid.

One of the people I love most in this world gave me this heart-shaped rock for Valentine’s Day.
It means a lot to me because she chose it for me.
It means a lot because it is solid, dependable and strong. Love that is etched in stone can neither be erased nor forgotten.

What a blessing to have a rock-solid friendship.

To mourn with those who mourn…

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To mourn with those who mourn…

On Wednesday, February 12, Luke Batty was killed by his father on a cricket field in Tyabb, an outlying suburb of Melbourne. The tragedy unfolded further when the boy’s father threatened police with a knife and was shot in self-defence. The entire scene played out in front of horrified onlookers including the boy’s mother and a number of his friends and schoolmates.  Thankfully, most of the children who had participated in cricket training had already gone home. 

My heart breaks for Luke’s mother, family and friends. I have no words for their loss or their pain. 
I mourn for the loss of innocence of his school mates and all who witnessed his brutal death. Things will never be quite the same for them, especially school and cricket practice.

I also grieve for the police officers who had to attend such a horrible event, witness the death of a child, and shoot a man in self defence. They are traumatised, too.

Luke was a student at the school where four members of my family work.  I grieve for each of them. I grieve for his teachers and for everyone in that school community. It has rocked the whole community – and so it should.

I spent today at my school’s swimming carnival, looking at the kids having fun, playing around, swimming races, encouraging and cheering each other on… and I thought, “You know… that could be us. How would we deal with it? How on earth would we hold our school community together after such an event?”

The answer: only by the grace of God, with the love of God. 
And there, but for His grace and love, go we. 

I wanted to tell every one of the kids at the swimming pool today how amazing, how unique, how special they are.  Most of them hadn’t heard about what happened to Luke. They would have either thought I’d gone slightly mad or been more than a little freaked out by it.  So I kept my grief and my feelings to myself, save for one friend I confided in. I smiled at the kids, encouraged and praised them, and did all I could to give them a great day.

It may seem odd to grieve over someone I’ve never met and who I didn’t even know existed until yesterday, but the death of this young boy is a reason our nation and our whole society should mourn. 

Love your children, people. Cherish them. Make memories with them. Nurture and encourage them. Fill them with hope, courage, strength and love. 

God knows, it’s a sad, sorry, broken world we live in.

What my political posts on social media say about me.

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I often post political content on social media. Any politician who appears to be breaking promises or doing things that are deceitful, immoral or harmful to Australia, her people and her international reputation are sure to get a mention. That’s because Australia, Australians and our international image are important to me. This is a fantastic country, even though we haven’t always done the right thing or managed things in quite the right way. Yes, the white settlers were generally hateful and cruel to the Aboriginal people, although there were some exceptions.  I rejoiced when the Mabo decision in the High Court gave back  some of the land to the Aboriginal peoples from whom it had been wrenched. I agreed with the report into the Stolen Generations, and I rejoiced when the severely overdue National Apology was made, even though I didn’t like the Prime Minister who made that apology very much at all.. I applauded last year’s apology to victims – both mothers and children – of forced adoptions in Australia during the 50s, 60s and 70s, who had waited and grieved for decades before their pain was officially acknowledged. I supported the review of educational funding carried out by the previous government, regardless of the fact that I didn’t like many of the things that PM did during her political career, either.

In that sense, I’m not particularly aligned with, partisan to or biased against any one party of politicians or another. I take pride in being a swinging voter who makes decisions about voting through conscientious debate and careful research into the policies, intentions and past behaviour of both the candidates and the parties who jostle for my vote. I don’t start from a position of having trust in any of them.  I don’t doubt that there are some who genuinely want to serve their country, at least when they enter politics, but the overwhelming impression I get from watching our politicians in action is one of a bunch of people who manipulate, connive and seek their own power and glory rather than working together for the best outcome for Australia and Australians.

Viewing Question Time from Parliament House on the ABC is enough to make anyone wonder what’s really going on in our government. Are these adults? Should they not be building Australia instead of mocking each other and acting like buffoons? Shouldn’t the debate and question/answer process be mature, dignified and centred on Australian concerns rather than party political interests? And our current Prime Minister wonders why the national broadcaster, the ABC, isn’t very sympathetic toward him? Give me a break.

Last night I posted about some of the “promises” our Prime Minister made on the eve of the Election last year.   I started by asking how long the Prime Minister and his government would continue to aggravate, disappoint and embarrass Australians with their behaviour.  I asked whether or not he realises the damage they are doing to their own reputation as well as that of this wonderful nation?  The post finished with “Please re-post to keep him to account”.

Someone commented that the post said more about me than it did about the Prime Minister. It’s only been four months, after all, since they got into government.
I replied by saying that if what this post says about me is that I believe in keeping politicians to their word and holding them accountable, that’s absolutely true.
If what it says about me is that a great deal of what Tony Abbot and his government are doing is offensive to me, that is also true.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who knows me that I am cynical, outspoken and critical of anyone who brings disrepute to themselves and/or our country by being dishonest, inhumane, or publicly ignorant of the facts.
Call me judgmental, or critical, or anything you like. I don’t care. The future direction and the reputation of our nation is at stake. That’s bigger than me and what people think of me.

The Australian constitution says that our government is to be representative. The opinions, voice and concerns of the people matter. Tony Abbot believes he has a “mandate” but that isn’t why he was voted in. Nobody liked the way the previous government turned on itself and imploded. The Liberals didn’t have to do a thing to win except watch the Labour Party implode and melt down. Their behaviour toward each other over time was unconscionable, and that’s why the Coalition won the election.

I’m not prepared to be lied to, snowballed or smokescreened by any government that is behaving this way.
I’m not going to accept that their suppression of information about asylum seekers is crucial to their ability to stop them coming. I believe that it is designed to establish an “out of sight, out of mind” mentality among Australians in the hope that one day, we’ll stop thinking and asking about them, and being active in the hope of a better outcome for them all. I’m not going to accept this week’s suggestion by Tony Abbot that the ABC should be more sympathetic to the “home team”. The ABC is taxpayer funded… employed by the people of Australia, not the government of the day. When the “home team” plays poorly, and does dreadful things, reporting on that is exactly what I want the ABC to do.  Threats to the ABC’s funding in response is not going to win the government any support from me, either.

Anyone who knows me knows that I spoke out against some of the things that the previous government (s) did. I also spoke up in support of some of their actions. I’m not going to wait however long for this lot to do something good, and then say, “Well, in the light of this good action, I’m going to ignore all the other stuff.” That just doesn’t make sense.

I will be outspoken. I will say what I think. It’s my right and responsibility to do so. My aim is not to have everyone agree with me – that’s not what democracy is about. My aim is to challenge people to think, and not to follow blindly. I want people to engage in debate, to talk to their local MHR and senator, to discuss things in public forums, and to be active in the processes of democracy and representative government in this nation.

I know I’m not perfect and I get things wrong. On the other hand, I’m not leading the nation and causing the rest of the world to shake their head in disbelief at my behaviour.

What’s wrong with keeping the Prime Minister, and all the other Members of Parliament, accountable?

Wherever you live, whoever is in government, let me encourage you to participate in the process of democracy.Call, email, write to or visit your local representative, the leader of the government, and the press. Make your voice heard. Encourage others to think critically, to evaluate situations and promises and actions, and to be heard. Don’t just think about today, think about tomorrow and the future. What sort of nation are we leaving to the next generation?

If we don’t hold them accountable, they’ll just do whatever the hell they want. That’s not democracy. That’s an abuse of power, and it spells disaster for any nation that allows it to happen.

How to wait for someone without being bored.

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Some people find waiting for others really annoying. I consider it to be a chance to stop and observe people and the things they do, or think about things, or send a quick update to Facebook or twitter. If there is nothing better to do, I’m quite capable of amusing myself – I am, after all, enormously funny.
This afternoon, for example, I was sitting in the main street of town waiting for my chauffeur (aka husband) to meet me. I smiled at the sight of the man who was standing on a ladder to wash the sign hanging outside the front of his shop, and holding onto that same ladder with his belly over the top of the ladder so that he had both hands free. Now there’s a problem solver! I was tempted to take a photo, but that would identify both the man and his shop, which would be quite politically incorrect of me since I don’t know him at all.

Ten minutes later, because I am so refined and politically correct, I performed my “internal facepalm” (where I am yelling “Oh man!!! Are you serious?” and facepalming quite vigorously on the inside, but remaining calm and collected on the outside as though nothing at all were happening) as the same gentleman wrote advertisements on his shop window for “ART SUPPLY’S” and various other special items.
Then I noticed the sign below the door of a nearby vacant shop. It read “WATCH THE STEP”.

Image

I sat there for 45 minutes, and that step didn’t do a thing. I have to say, that step wasn’t anywhere near as interesting as watching a man hold onto a ladder with his belly.

My mother’s daughter.

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A couple of weeks ago I posted some photos of my parents on their wedding day with a reflection about the legacy they left their children. Scroll down and you’re sure to find it.  I meant every word of what I wrote, and I love my parents dearly. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about that. 

Since then, however, I’ve experienced something of a strange conflict. So many people – many more than I ever expected – have commented how much I look like my mother. That’s not a bad thing at all, but I’ve never really thought myself to look like her.

 
I know I get my colouring from her. My dad’s side of the family are pretty much all your stereotypical Dutch blondies, except for my Auntie Margaret whose hair was a lovely nutty brown. She still has the ‘Dutch’ blue eyes though.  My dark hair and hazel-green eyes almost definitely come from Mum’s side of the family. 
I’ve always thought that my face was more like Dad’s side. Especially in the department of facial expressions, that is certainly true.  
Both my aunts and my cousins Michael and Geanette share a cheeky grin with me that I know without a doubt came from Dad’s side of the family. 
My Auntie Trish used to give us “the look” that communicated that she meant business, and we knew to take it seriously.  It involved a straight mouth and an arched eyebrow.  It wasn’t until I was about 20 that it occurred to me that I had inherited “the eyebrow” from her. I realised by accident one day when I was plucking my eyebrows – I arched my eyebrow and actually intimidated myself. True story.  Now I use “the eyebrow” to communicate my displeasure to my students when they deserve it, and it’s equally effective – perhaps even better. Not everyone has an eyebrow with superpowers. 
 
So what’s with people telling me I look like my mother? And why does that bother me so much?  I honestly have no idea.  My mother was an only child, and I never met her mother, so I don’t have much family on that side to compare with. 
I clearly remember some of her uncles, aunts and their children, and I know I don’t really look anything like them. Mum’s cousin Helen was really pretty, and her dad, my great-uncle Charlie had the cheekiest grin I’ve ever known and loved. His brother Mick had the second cheekiest grin I’ve ever known and loved. Her Aunt Enid and Aunt Anne (known as Judy) were beautiful women. I remember their visits with much happiness. They were always impeccably dressed and made up, and they smelt beautiful. They talked with me like I wasn’t a child, and I loved the fact that we had intelligent conversations about all sorts of things. I felt so grown-up with them. I loved them more than I probably ever told them. I would so love to be like them. Perhaps I am in an intellectual sense, but I’m certainly not beautiful or elegant like they were. 
 
Mum was a wonderful person. She had a great sense of humour with a quickness of wit that I loved. We liked similar music and similar books, although I was more interested in reading the literary classics and “stodgy history” (her term for my more academic history books) than she was.  She taught me about my Irish, Scottish and English heritage, and that’s probably where my passion for English, Irish and Scottish history came from. She loved The Beatles, Glenn Campbell, John Denver, Tom Jones and Beethoven.  We loved singing along to “Jukebox Saturday Night” on the radio and playing Trivial Pursuit at home on Saturday nights right up until I left home and moved interstate.  We had teaching in common: she taught in the primary school, and I teach secondary. Our teaching styles are completely different, but I know she was proud of the fact that I was a teacher. 

Even so, we didn’t always see eye to eye, and I often felt like I didn’t really measure up to what she wanted me to be. Maybe that’s the source of my inner conflict. 

On the other hand, maybe that is irrelevant given that you can’t see those things in photographs. 
 
Perhaps it’s because I fear that people see similarities in us physically – please oh please, use the words curvaceous and buxom instead of any other less flattering terms. Let’s just say that we were built for comfort, not for speed, and leave it at that. 
 
Maybe it’s because I just want to be me. I don’t want to fit into a pattern or to be predictable. All my life I’ve been known to many people as Anne’s daughter or David’s sister.  Those aren’t necessarily bad things, but the pleasure one experiences in such associations does wear thin after being mentioned regularly over a few decades. 
 
Overall, I’m quite happy with who I am and what I’ve achieved. I’ve learned to live with my physical flaws and work with my assets. I have overcome injury, infertility and illness and stayed positive. I have my flaws and failures, and I’m still learning from them. I have my own style and I have always done things my own way. Confident, sassy, sarcastic, independent, and perhaps a little stubborn on occasions. Okay… so that last point made me laugh, too. 
 
Maybe it doesn’t matter if I look like my mother. Perhaps I do look like her more than I realised.  Maybe I’ll learn to embrace that. Maybe it’s actually kind of cool.  
Until then, though, it would be nice if people said things like “Oh, she’s lovely!” or “Oh, she looks like fun!” before they tell me I look just like her. That would help a lot. 
Thanks in advance. I appreciate it.