Past tense

Years ago I wrote a story on A WineDark Sea called 'Can't kill him with an axe'. It was an account of the times I'd nearly killed Old Salt on his fishing boat. He'd previously had heart surgery ('they put a bit of pig in me!'), licked asbestos as a kid because he liked the tingling feeling on his tongue, had an affinity for battery acid and thought electrocution was a fine remedy for Ross River Virus.

Bill died on Monday. It's a weird feeling. When a close friend is dying, people ask if I want to visit them but I'm already there, somehow. Several hundreds of kilometres apart and I'm with them. I don't really know how to explain this. Despite this feeling, when Nga told me on Sunday that he was now on morphine, I'd said, 'Yeah, I'll ring him in the morning.' He sounded fine on Friday when he took of his oxygen mask to chat. Fine.

He was my mentor and teacher. He taught me everything about what it is to be on a boat, how to follow the channel markers home to port in the middle of the night. That was one of his first lessons as we motored home from Michaelmas Island. He taught me about family, about how fish think and how to tie knots (still terrible at that).

He seemed incombustible, unkillable. An incorrigible white man with a stout sense of right and wrong, a strong interest in his family's history of fishing the Great Southern inlets. He never gave up. So Bill, the star of Salt Story is gone. Bizarrely and so bloody banal for someone who always sailed too close to the wind, he copped covid at a funeral a few weeks ago. On Monday, we'll go to his.

 

 

 

 

Channel 40 on the school run

 

In 400 metres, take the 2^nd exit onto Stirling Highway

What was my Mum like when she was a baby, Nanna Sarah?

She had amazing eyes, Gracie, bright blue with dark rings around the outside. 

She’s got green eyes now.

Yes. 

What else? Was she funny? 

Yeah. She talked all the time, in another language, garble garble garble. I wish I’d taped her talking. 

My brother doesn’t talk yet. He just lies and sleeps and then he wakes up for milk. 

I always wanted a brother. A big brother though. Someone to stick up for me. Having a brother is really cool, I think. 

Was Mum naughty?

Yes, all the time.

Why? 

Take the 2^nd exit onto Stirling Highway.

Hang on, just let me get into this traffic, it’s busy.

Trafficky.

Hey! You just made up a word. Trafficky. I love it. Traffic is trafficky. Excellent.

CHCHCH … right lane on Roe’s out.

CHCHCH … what the fuck is it now.

CHCHCH … some dickhead in a Sierra’s parked up with ‘is fucken hazard lights on.

CHCHCH … ahh ok mate, cheers … what a fuckwit. 

They’re swearing Nana Sarah, who’s swearing? 

It’s the truckies talking to each other on their radios. Sorry. But I like leaving the radios on, so I can hear what’s happening. It’s a bit different but sort of like music radio.

Stay in the left lane.

It’s like being on the telephone except everyone with a radio can hear what you’re talking about.

Can I make a call? On that radio thing?

Mmmm.

For the next 5 kilometres, stay in the left two lanes. 

Okay. But here’s the rules. Did you hear them talking about which lanes are safe to drive?

Yeah. 

So you can’t jam up the radio waves and carry on when they’re talking about stuff like that. You say what channel you’re on, like TV channels. These guys are talking on channel 40. So let’s practise first. Say your name and channel, Gracie. 

Grace reporting on channel 40 …

That’s brilliant! Okay, what are you gonna say next? 

Say hello if you can hear me?

Yep okay. That’s good. How do you sign off? 

What does that mean? 

It means how you finish the call. Say Grace over and out. That means you’ve finished speaking but you that want them to answer back.

Hi everyone, this is Grace reporting on channel 40 … I’m on my way home from school, if you hear this please say hello to me, Matilda on channel 40, Grace over and out. 

Pretty cool, Grace.

CHCHCH … 

No one is talking to me.

That's okay mate.

Take the next exit onto highway 3 to Victoria Park, Sealane Avenue.

I’m not sposed to know where I live, Nanna Sarah. Is this machine going to tell me where I live?

It’s okay. I’ll stop the directions before we get there so you don’t hear it.

CHCHCH … 

Why didn’t they answer my call Nanna Sarah?

They’re probably busy. Hang on, I’ve just gotta do this thing. mutters fuck this city thing stresses me out.

Take the exit.

 

***

Grace reporting on channel 40. Hope you had a good weekend. Today at school we did our maths test. Please say hello. Grace out.

CHCHCH … Heeeelllooo Grace!

Someone said hello!

Yes someone did!

CHCHCH Hello Grace!

CHCHCH That fucken dickhead doin’ 50 northbound I can’t fucken believe it what a dickwad.

CHCHCH I’m having chips for dinner, mate. Jacks n chips.

CHCHCH Mate I hear you.

CHCHCH Hello Grace! 

Nanna Sarah, what was my Mum like at school? Was she good at sport?

Your mum was hopeless at sport. 

I’m good at sport. What colour was her hair?

Brown.

What colour was her eyes?

You know that. They were blue and now they’re green.

My brother’s eyes are blue.

Yeah. All babies are born with blue eyes. Did you know that?

His eyes might turn brown.

Yes they might do.

His Dad’s eyes are brown.

Yes. Yes they are.

My Dad’s taller than you, Nanna Sarah.

No he’s not. 

Dad wants to know if you still have big frizzy hair. He says your frizzy hair makes you look bigger than him but he’s really bigger in real life. That’s not true, is it?

I’m taller than your Dad, Gracie. I don’t care what he says.

At the next exit, take highway 3 to Victoria Park. 

Can you turn off that machine please, Nanna Sarah?

No worries love. I’m getting better at this city thing. 

Does your frizzy hair really make you bigger than my Dad?

Not really. I dunno.

CHCHCH … southbound on Stirling shit’s happening up ahead.

 ***

Hi Gracie!

Nanna Sarah, here’s my NAPLAN test. Can I open it? 

No! No wait. Wait. I’ll ring your mum first and ask her.

But I’m such a good writer. This says my handwriting is bad. 

CHCHCH … it’s shit out there ay. There’s fucking dickheads about everywhere today. 

I’ve seen your handwriting. It’s really bloody good Gracie.

You just swore Nanna Sarah. 

Look, don’t pay any attention to this test. It’s rubbish Gracie. It’s not real. It’s not real! 

But it says, look here … 

Hey. What are you going to call in today?

Hello everyone, this is Grace reporting on channel 40. I wrote a story about a mermaid called The Pearl Princess and it’s about to be turned into a movie, you can see it tonight on channel nine. Grace reporting, over and out. 

CHCHCH … that sounds like a good story Grace.

CHCHCH … we need to hear more like this, guys.

CHCHCH … yeah, we need more of this.

CHCHCH … just a reminder everyone, there’s kids like her listening in, please tone down the language.

CHCHCH … Copy that.

CHCHCH … Copy

Copy

Copy

Copy that.

*** 

Gracie, I’m leaving, I’m going back down south tomorrow. So this is your last call. What do you want to say today?

Proceed to the roundabout and take the 2^nd exit.

Hello, this is Grace reporting on channel 40. This is my last call to you all. If you hear me, please say hello and goodbye. Grace on channel 40, over and out.

That was pretty cool, Gracie. Really great.

CHCHCH … 

Grace! Heeelllooo! Goodbye!

Hi Grace and goodbye

Hello and Goodbye!

Bye Grace

Hi Grace, see you on the road mate.

Hi Grace Bye

Bye kid.

I’m waiting for the movie.

I think you are awesome Grace.

Thanks for being there for me, mate.

Keep on trucking, kid.

 

 

 

 

 

Purest Potential

I've just had a new baby grandie, a boy. Here are his feet resting on my hand. Look at those toes!

 He's 24 hours old in this picture. 24.Hours.Old. 

 

The Uluru Statement

 In 2017, Indigenous people gathered at this continent's heart Uluru to develop what is now known as The Uluru Statement from the Heart. Such a getting together from so many nations to clearly articulate a singular unity of purpose when it comes to our constitution and our national relationship to history ... it was mind blowing to me at the time. Imagine a collective of Indigenous peoples from the Europa continent doing the same thing, on the same day, with the same sentiment. 

They know they stand on the shoulders of giants.The Pallawah of Van Diemen's Land petitioned to the Crown in the 1830s that their treaty pleas had been ignored, and the letters from Corranderk, calling for a treaty and a voice in parliament, the Burunga Statement, the call for National Day of Mourning on the 26th of January, 1934, William Cooper et al. It goes on and on.

Anyway, after the statement being originally rejected by our then Prime Minister and kicked to the side by other ministers, who misunderstood the statement enough to say it would mean a third tranche of parliament (not true btw and some of those MPs have since apologised for 'not getting it'), the Uluru Statement is gaining traction again as a fair and true campaign for Voice Treaty and Truth. 

Out of the many British colonies, Australia was never ceded to British ownership by its people. There was also never a treaty. The Uluru Statement seeks to cut through that history in really practical ways: We need a makkarata, which is a reckoning and truth telling about our history. We need an Indigenous voice to parliament and this voice has to be enshrined within our constitution, so that any Indigenous advisory mob cannot be kicked out when the government changes hands or ideologies, which has happened in the past.

These statements are the voice from our country's oldest people. Their requests are simple and a profoundly generous solution to our way forward as a nation.

Here are some explainers on why the Uluru Statement is momentous. The first one is from Dean Parkin:

And the second one is the statement itself:

Finally, if any folk want to voice their support, please visit this spot where it is all happening and you can jump on board.

https://ulurustatement.org/

On potential isolation

I gave my last hug to a woman named Vikki on Friday. She is kind and wise and met me, lost, at my front door. It turned out she was in the right place, just one hidden driveway away. So good to see her. Ever since I’ve greeted people with a prayer gesture or arms crossed over my chest and a nod. I’m a natural hugger so this whole thing is a bit weird.

Trilby bailed me up outside the parks and wildlife office yesterday. He’s found a ‘dumper’, a habitual dumper of rubbish. Unfortunately. this dumper probably weekends at the place where I live and Trilby is onto them … ‘like a ninja’ he says, karate punching himself on his hard, septuagenarian stomach. ‘I worked as a constable in Hong Kong in the 60s,’ he said. ‘Imagine what will happen to those litterbugs when I get hold of them.’ He then mentioned something about testicles and investigations. ‘I’m not sure which rangers are on today,’ I told him, carefully concealing my cigarette butt in a chewing gum tin. ‘Have you considered writing a letter to the council?’

A major Australian university divests their stocks in fossil fuels. Markets are tanking anyway due to the lurgy but this particular move is heralded as ‘virtue signalling’ in crisis times. There is talk about self-isolation. I feel I could well be the next expert, for once. None of this is new to me. ‘Aren’t you afraid sometimes?’ a woman asked me yesterday. ‘Living out there alone?’

I can hardly believe it myself, but it’s been nearly five years now, since I moved out to the inlet. Apart from the poles, it’s one of the more isolated places on our planet. I live here off the grid and without telecommunications. Famously (it’s catchy) I finished the edits of my last book at the local laundromat in town because there was a power point, a chair and table and mobile phone range.

Now as a new imperative, I’m looking at heading to the laundromat to continue my work as a uni tutor. The beauty of tech means I can continue work as a tutor when the universities shut down, as I listen to my clothes churn around and around (the lint filters need changing by the way), and stay connected with the students. Self-isolation is actually the pinnacle of my life options. What could be better, for me?

Trilby talks about his dreams for an eco-caravan park at the inlet so they can knock down the squatter huts where I live. He looks to me for approval. He may as well be looking under a car seat for that missing hairclip. ‘Eco-caravan park talkers are akin to white-shoe property developers to me,’ I say. He stares forlornly at the orange bag of litter at his feet. ‘Those huts should be heritage listed,’ I say. ‘They belong to the old cattle run families.’ The word ‘heritage’ has power. He nods, but he knows now that I am not an ally.

Where am I going here? Not sure really. Information seems to be at least a week late from the gubberment and meanwhile we make it up ourselves. Flattening the curve involves no more hugs, handshakes or kisses for the foreseeable future (whatever those chicken entrails are) and I’m happy to comply. Just don’t turn my bolt hole, my haven, into an eco-caravan park.

And be kind and good to each other. Consider your workers in retail, education and medicine and give them your most gorgeous (non coughy) juice. The people who heal you and your family, who sell you fuel and a carton of milk and those who teach your kids, they live at the coal face now. They deserve your utter, utter respect and consideration.

*posted from the laundromat*