It's fun to play 'house' like all the other gals, and some days I can read the local newspaper or watch the 'PBS Newshour' with a real fascination. I'll converse with my husband about the evermore bizarre decisions of the Liberal Party here, truly wonderous at how people could get it so wrong. Messing with Medicare, putting power in the hands of University Chancellors to determine fee structures, giving a Knighthood to Prince Phillip...what will they dream up next? And, what made them think they could get away with these notions? Australians only put up with so much disturbance of our way of life and if they don't know that, they don't deserve to be in power.
But, the truth is that I can't sustain for too long an overwhelming interest in the everyday world. I'm constantly lured into the world of literature, of Radio National, classical music and dance. When my husband opened up conversation at a lovely dinner out last night, telling me how much he enjoyed my Tumblr recently, it seemed an invitation to speak more of my inner landscape. I had heard an interview that day and I told him something of the wonderful Graeme Murphy who guided the Sydney Dance Theatre for many years to world acclaim. If you have seen 'Mao's Last Dancer' then you know something of Graeme Murphy's superb choreography.
'If we had boundless cash, and I know we don't, I'd take out a subscription for us to The Australian Ballet and the MTC and other companies.'
'Well, maybe we should just go ahead and do that anyway...'
After nearly 40 years together we've come to accept one another for who we are. He no longer says to me when I ask some political question I should know the answer to, 'How could you not know that?'
And, I no longer suggest that maybe he should read a novel some time, knowing full well that it will never happen.
We are as different as chalk and cheese and yet he has met me more than half way when he treats me like the object that I love to be; uses me without waiting for invitation or acceptance of his advances; helps me into that space where real life completely melts away and where I am most free and...me.
He recognizes, and accepts, that I live in my head, probably too empathic and sentimental; probably too prepared to forgive. It can't be an entirely good thing to wake up early each morning now wondering if the two imprisoned Australian men (of the Bali 9 group) in Indonesia who attempted to smuggle drugs have been transported to an island to await the firing squad, and to feel pain on their behalf.
And, yet, I do. If it is not possible to make the case of true and real transformation, if there is to be no forgiveness, then what does that say of us as people? We can't make a decision if we don't know the whole story and the whole story is only known by so few. The lawyers are fighting for every minute because as each minute goes by the debate over capital punishment is louder.
'I'm thinking of volunteering for Lifeline', I tell my daughter.
'Oh, I don't think so, Mum. You won't be able to switch off from the pain you hear.'
I'm not an outlyer of society but rather someone who feels too much. Lord knows, "the woman with emotions" isn't nearly as appealing as the girl who bunkers down into that object space, and that's especially true from my vantage point let alone anyone elses perception of my value.
But, the truth is that I can't sustain for too long an overwhelming interest in the everyday world. I'm constantly lured into the world of literature, of Radio National, classical music and dance. When my husband opened up conversation at a lovely dinner out last night, telling me how much he enjoyed my Tumblr recently, it seemed an invitation to speak more of my inner landscape. I had heard an interview that day and I told him something of the wonderful Graeme Murphy who guided the Sydney Dance Theatre for many years to world acclaim. If you have seen 'Mao's Last Dancer' then you know something of Graeme Murphy's superb choreography.
'If we had boundless cash, and I know we don't, I'd take out a subscription for us to The Australian Ballet and the MTC and other companies.'
'Well, maybe we should just go ahead and do that anyway...'
After nearly 40 years together we've come to accept one another for who we are. He no longer says to me when I ask some political question I should know the answer to, 'How could you not know that?'
And, I no longer suggest that maybe he should read a novel some time, knowing full well that it will never happen.
We are as different as chalk and cheese and yet he has met me more than half way when he treats me like the object that I love to be; uses me without waiting for invitation or acceptance of his advances; helps me into that space where real life completely melts away and where I am most free and...me.
He recognizes, and accepts, that I live in my head, probably too empathic and sentimental; probably too prepared to forgive. It can't be an entirely good thing to wake up early each morning now wondering if the two imprisoned Australian men (of the Bali 9 group) in Indonesia who attempted to smuggle drugs have been transported to an island to await the firing squad, and to feel pain on their behalf.
And, yet, I do. If it is not possible to make the case of true and real transformation, if there is to be no forgiveness, then what does that say of us as people? We can't make a decision if we don't know the whole story and the whole story is only known by so few. The lawyers are fighting for every minute because as each minute goes by the debate over capital punishment is louder.
'I'm thinking of volunteering for Lifeline', I tell my daughter.
'Oh, I don't think so, Mum. You won't be able to switch off from the pain you hear.'
I'm not an outlyer of society but rather someone who feels too much. Lord knows, "the woman with emotions" isn't nearly as appealing as the girl who bunkers down into that object space, and that's especially true from my vantage point let alone anyone elses perception of my value.
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