Neglect

A few times late last year Silas and Oisín both fell asleep while my back was turned. Oisín did it once or maybe twice in the bumbo, a baby seat that forces the kid to submit to his centre of gravity.

Silas did it on the floor, and on my bed. Both times I was doing something else and heard that most frightening of sounds from a toddler boy – silence. When there’s silence I am usually concerned that something subtly destructive is happening, or there’s been an escape. The first time was on the floor in front of Colin Buchanan. The second time I went into my bedroom and there he was, asleep on my pillow.

For Oisín it felt more natural – when he was a very young one he fell asleep quite easily unassisted, in his bed, in someone’s embrace, on the couch. For Silas it did smack more of neglect. He was tired, the context was right and I wasn’t paying him attention. Poor kid.

I always have a few resolutions each new year, and they are of varying quality and realism. This year my main one is to pay my sons more attention. Usually if they’re happy I don’t rock the boat, I leave them be to do their own thing – like now. Oisín is crawling awkwardly around finding toys to put in his mouth while Silas is glued to the TV, but it’s not wholesome Colin this time, but the BBC comedy ‘Gavin and Stacey’. He’s got good taste.

But lately the peace hasn’t lasted so long when that’s been my default parenting position. Silas gets bored and then rough, and then the tears flow from the little guy. I’m going to try and go out walking more, take them to the park and the beach, visit with people and head into the bush. Hopefully then the ensuing daytime naps will come about because of tiredness rather than boredom.

Tags: beach, Silas, sleep, Oisín, Colin Buchanan, bush

Househunt

For months now we’ve been searching for a house to call our own, or at least someone else’s, to rent. I’ve found it pretty all consuming. We’ve looked at more than I care to remember. We’ve driven to suburbs far and wide. I’ve dragged my baby children in and out of the car and up and down apartment building stairs, as we’ve tested out potential abodes. We’ve applied for about 10 and been declined each time. Not rejected you understand, just put to the side in favour of some other happy person with a bulging rental history.

With each missed house I go back to the drawing board. To the too-good-to-be-true pictures and poorly written descriptions of what are usually average places. Real estate agents need to learn that quiet isn’t spelled ‘quite’, an apartment described as ‘space savvy’ isn’t a turn on and calling the mall at Cronulla a ‘cosmopolitan haven’ is a downright lie.

It’s frustrating and discouraging and a time-waster. Often as I lie awake at night, unable to sleep as pictures of lounge/dining rooms, bedrooms with BIR’s and homes with LUG’s scroll through my mind I remember our wonderful home in Johannesburg. And I feel sad. I even shed a few tears. I wonder if we made the wrong decision to come here.

I remember all the walks I enjoyed in my beloved Brixton, taking in the trees, and flowers, the beautiful old homes, the view from the park, the interesting people and the patchwork footpath. I also remember all the times I got hit on by annoying guys of varying ages, the times when there were council worker’s strikes and rubbish piled up outside every home filling my nose with stink and the times I walked and dreamed of being in Australia and seeing the ocean and my loved ones. It wasn’t all roses and federation facades.

Maybe it’s just nostalgia or the lateness of the hour speaking, but I think the memories that are the most beautiful in my mind are all from the couple of years I spent in Brixton. It was ours, Stephen’s and mine. Australia is mine – my memories, my friends, my family. Hopefully soon we can find a little piece of this funny country that we can turn into ‘ours’. And then I can start writing with feeling again.

These are my favourite posts about Brixton –

About the houses in Brixton

An afternoon walk

A walk in Spring

One old Brixton man and another

Our last walk

Tags: Brixton, renting, sad

Christmas miracles

Thanks to the sounds of Sufjan and the sights of Sydney we enjoyed last weekend. We were also blessed by two significant occurrences which, between you and me, felt like Christmas miracles.

On Christmas Eve we spent a lovely afternoon in Sydney city. Silas stared and stared at the slightly frightening moving puppets in the David Jones windows. We ate delicious cheese and tofu burgers. Silas tore it up in Hyde Park and the Botanic Gardens. From there we walked around past the Opera House and Circular Quay. And then it happened. Silas and Oisín fell asleep at the same time, in the pram, side by side. We enjoyed a peaceful, ice-cold Peroni on the steps of Customs House – surely one of my favourite buildings in Sydney.

On Christmas morning we reluctantly dragged ourselves to a church in Surry Hills. I’ve never been big on going to church at Holiday time – especially if I’m going somewhere as a once off. But Stephen’s stoic obedience has rubbed off on me. We walked from Goulburn street up through Surry Hills, to St Michael’s near Taylor Square. Considering our current malaise and specific confusion about church that we’ve been feeling for about a year or so, we weren’t expecting much. But it was amazing.

The minister was sincere and winsome. He showed us a carpeted area at the back, found us some toys and assured us not to worry about innocent baby noises. The sermon was gentle, provocative and pertinent. The people were a patchwork in every way. The music was rousing and good in a back to basics sort of way. It really was wonderful.

And – Silas and Oisín both feel asleep during the service, and stayed asleep until the end. Another Christmas miracle.

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Tags: beer, Christmas, church, city, family, Oisín, Silas, Sydney

The city and Sufjan save Christmas

All is not lost as far as Christmas spirit goes in the Reid household.

After my anti-Christmas rant from a couple of weeks ago we have managed to muster some semblance of festive cheer. We bought presents, we listened to Christmassy music and we’re enjoying the holidays.

Sufjan Stevens’ aptly named ‘Songs for Christmas’ has helped us to bring the spirit to the fore. We’ve been listening to his caroling for nearly three weeks now. Sufjan’s unmistakeable alternative folksy sound would struggle to not bring a little cheer to any bleak heart.

And after much internet searching I found Bec Recording’s ‘Happy Christmas Redux: Volumes 1, 2 and 3′. In what feels like another lifetime I worked at a Christian bookstore. Back then I listened to volume 1 time and time again in the lead up to Christmas. Volumes 2 and 3 are a bonus. When I told Stephen I had ordered a Christmas CD from a Christian website he was not looking forward to it’s arrival. But he was pleasantly surprised. He was expecting more music in the line of Michael W Smith and less punk, ska and other alternative expressions. I’m loving it.

I have always loved Christmas songs. In fact, Christmas, real Christmas – not all the presents, lights and other made up stuff – but the celebration of the birth of Jesus, is my favourite time of year. And again – not because of all the peripheral stuff that takes over. I could, and do enjoy Christmas all year. Silas has helped with that this year – Colin Buchanan’s ‘King of Christmas’ dvd has been his solid favourite since July. I must have watched it a million times. And why not celebrate this good stuff all the time? It’s all about the promise of peace, the method of the King’s birth which mirrored the legacy of his life and the joy and worship that would follow.

When I was pregnant with Silas Stephen and I read a book called ‘Disciplines of a Godly Family’ by Kent and Barbara Hughes. I don’t recommend it. It made me feel like a terribly mediocre Christian and us like we could never have a family like Ken and Barbie’s (as my friend Ellie calls them). As an example of the sickening perfection of the Hughes’ – they have a family tradition they use each Christmas morning. As each family member wakes up they start to sing a chosen carol which each person joins in until everyone is awake. Only then are they allowed to tear downstairs and rip open their presents (though I’m sure they do it in a much more orderly fashion).

We’ve often joked about this tradition but this year Stephen has chosen a song for us to use from ‘Happy Christmas – volume 3′. It’s a cover of ‘Do you hear what I hear?’ by a punk band called Hangnail. It starts off with fast and loud electric guitar and then the drumbeat takes over and the singing is frenzied and chaotic. It feels irreverent and part of me hopes that it is. But the lyrics are incredible. My favourite line is “A star, a star dancing in the night, with a tail as big as a kite”. I love imagining the shepherds seeing that star and knowing something very special was afoot.

Tonight we’re sleeping in a flat in the city. We spent the afternoon dragging Silas and Oisín around – to the Christmas display in the windows of David Jones, Hyde Park, Burgerlicious, the Botanic Gardens, Circular Quay. It was immense. Now I am writing this, Stephen is watching a wholesome Christmas movie – ‘Life of Brian’ and the babies are asleep in the other room. I can’t wait to go to sleep and wake up to our chosen Christmassy song.

Here are all the words to ‘Do you hear what I hear?’ if you have forgotten them.

Said the night wind to the little lamb
Do you see what I see
Way up in the sky little lamb
Do you see what I see
A star, a star
Dancing in the night
With a tail as big as a kite
With a tail as big as a kite

Said the little lamb to the shepard boy
Do you hear what I hear
Ringing through the sky shepard boy
Do you hear what I hear
A song, a song
High above the tree
With a voice as big as the sea
With a voice as big as the sea

Said the shepard boy to the mighty king
Do you know what I know
In your palace wall mighty king
Do you know what I know
A child, a child
Shivers in the cold
Let us bring him silver and gold
Let us bring him silver and gold

Said the king to the people everywhere
Listen to what I say
Pray for peace people everywhere
Listen to what I say
The child, the child
Sleeping in the night
He will bring us goodness and light
He will bring us goodness and light.

Tags: Christmas, family, love, music, Sydney

Christmas dis-spirit

We are feeling decidedly un-Christmassy at the moment. The other day Stephen asked me if I was looking forward to Christmas. I said no. He agreed. Our malaise is reflective of our general bad mood at the moment, as we miss friends in Jozi, family in Ireland and continue to struggle to find our feet in Australia, 6+ months after our arrival.

Stephen is annoyed about the three pronged, furry reindeer antlers that people have attached to their cars. He wants to buy a pair and cut off the two outside antlers to make them look like rude finger antlers and attach them to our family sedan. I walked passed a real Christmas tree the other day and the smell brought instant joy, as well as sadness to my soul. The joy came from memories and good Christmas associations. The sadness was sourced from my current grinchiness.

I was reflecting with a friend the other day about how complicated Christmas can be. Even for me, coming from a together and secure family, I feel some of the tension. But for her, coming from a more difficult family, she communicated how hard it has been for her to negotiate Christmas celebrations. We were drawn to consider people who have it even harder – those with less family than last year, or no family and friends. Silas and my dad visited his dad in a nursing home on the weekend and talked to a lady whose family all lived overseas while she wiled the long and painful days away on her own. She tearily begged my dad to come and speak with her again next time he visited. How will the 25th of December be for this lonely, old soul?

I am also longing for what I loved about Christmas in Jozi last year. In December and January everyone streams out of Joburg and heads back to their real homes. Last year we stayed and enjoyed the quiet roads and friendship with the remnant. Joyfully, Stephen’s parents and sister visited and we were able to enjoy Christmas with them. Silas had his first play with a cousin. We strung meagre lights through a holly bush I had growing in a pot. We ate ham glazed in Guiness, antipasto and meringue log. I read a lot. It was peaceful and subtle.

Last year's tree

Joburg was great at Christmas time because not everyone cared about it. In a country that is generally less focussed on consumerism and with large Muslim and Jewish enclaves, not everyone gets into the mad Christmas zone anyway. I noticed that our local supermarket in Brixton was open on Christmas morning. I commented to Stephen that it was thoughtful of them to be open just in case people needed last minute supplies. He looked at me quizically and kindly reminded me of the above. It was a quiet Christmas because everyone wasn’t going on about cool Christmas parties, presents and being busy.

Over the weekend my mum cracked out her artifical tree with LED lights that change colour. Once I recovered from my horror, (I am pretty obsessed with real trees), I appreciated it’s prettiness. She then got out the old decorations and I felt the familiar prick of tears in my eyes. They reminded me of my childhood and my family.

This year's tree

Christmas is actually a meaningful time, and it’s deeply important for Christians. Hopefully I can reclaim some of that over the next couple of weeks.

Tags: Australia, Christmas, Christmas tree, family, Jewish, Johannesburg, moving, Muslim, neighbours, opinions

What I’m reading – Nationalism and Community

It would be helpful if information could be downloaded into my brain a-la ‘The Matrix’. I love reading. I love learning and I love making sense of different information. I’ve never been a particularly quick nor cogent reader, but I have always tried to consume a variety of fiction and truth. This is particularly true at the moment as I get through each busy but often boring day on minimal sleep. And so, I push on through books – reading a lot of words, but unfortunately not taking in as much as I would like.

At the moment I’m reading ‘Irish Freedom’ by Richard English (an unfortunate surname for an Irish political historian. It’s a detailed treatise on the history of Irish nationalism, from the 1800′s until now. It’s a fat, intellectual book and so far I have only read the introduction. I am already hooked. English’s thesis is that nationalism appeals to human nature because at our core we all desire community and this is what being united by culture is all about. I am looking forward to understanding how this works itself out in Ireland.

I don’t know much about Irish history. Of the history I studied at school and university, I didn’t even touch on it. It now makes up half of my son’s culture and I want to understand it so that I can help Silas and Oisín to love it. Stephen takes his Irish heritage very seriously, even though he hasn’t lived there for over ten years. I also want to know it to better understand him.

Stephen is a serious nationalist. He worries about becoming an Australian citizen because it would mean being under the English crown. We were handed down a pair of cute leather Union Jack booties for our son – but under no circumstances could we use them. Stephen’s also seriously into real community – hospitality, sharing meals, giving money/food/clothes to people who need them more, sharing advice, experience and life with those around him. Now that I have read the introduction of ‘Irish Freedom’ I understand how Stephen’s generous personality and his commitment to nationalism hold together.

I’m looking forward to what I will discover in chapter 1.

What are you reading at the moment?

Tags: Australia, community, Ireland, nationalism, Oisín, reading, Silas

The problem with black = bad

On Tuesday in Cape Town, South Africa a bill to protect state information was passed in parliament. Lauded the ‘secrecy bill’, lots of South Africans are now up in arms about it. People are concerned it will make corruption easier to hide and represents a step toward censorship.

The opposition parties have decried it as unconstitutional. This is probably the first time the South African opposition parties have stood as one against the government. This is a step in the right direction for bringing about a potential opposition party to the ANC – making election time slightly more interesting.

I’m still trying to get to the bottom of what the bill will actually mean for South Africa. I wonder if a lot of the concerns I have heard expressed are too influenced by the media and people are uninformed. If government isn’t trustworthy, I wouldn’t have thought the media are much better. The bill can be read here – but a warning – it’s long and hard to read. And here and here are a couple of news stories about it.

One part of this whole thing that really bothered me is the way the media and the opposition parties used the colour black to demonstrate their opposition to the bill. South Africans who were opposed to the changes to the law were encouraged to wear black on Tuesday, the day the law would be passed. The message was clear – if parliament passed the bill it would be a black day for South Africa.

Image courtesy of newyorker.com

Black is often used to demonstrate the negative. There are basic re-tellings of the gospel where black is used to represent sin, green creation, white forgiveness, red Jesus’ sacrificial blood etc etc. It never sat comfortably with me. Representations of Australia’s history that focus on the way the Aboriginal people were oppressed are called a black-arm band view by critics. I think we need to be wary of using the colour black to denote bad. History is too loaded with instances of gross mistreatment against people with dark, or black, skin.

When I was in high school I was a major debating nerd. The best debate I ever heard was on the topic of ’1788 represents a black page in Australia’s history’ (this was the year English people first came to Australia). The affirmative team cleverly steered clear of the negative definition of the word ‘black’ in the topic and defined it in financial terms. Thus they argued that it was black because it lead to economic growth. I was so impressed. They avoided the whole obvious topic of the mistreatment of Aboriginal people and instead turned it into an argument of definitions by saying it was racist to use ‘black’ to mean bad.

This is why I was surprised to see black = bad in South Africa. Of all places, with it’s history of using the basic black and white colours to divide people, I’m surprised they are still going with black = bad. There’s got to be a cleverer way to represent bad, powerless, misery or oppression.

Tags: ANC, apartheid, Black Tuesday, politics, racism, South Africa

I miss you, Jozi

Sentech by sunset

Jozi was a magical city. When I was there I wanted to be here. Now that I’m here I miss it, sometimes I even wish I was there again.

I’d say I’m definitely romanticising it. There were things that made it difficult, that made me want to be here. But there were real, tangible things and people that made it wonderful too. Things like the view of the Sentech Tower from my bed, the man at the spice shop in Brixton mall, Soulsa, Ciro’s Too, free tennis at Kingston Frost Park, Stan and Lesley, Fufu, breakfast with Vicky, rushed conversation with Dineo, Sarah and Trevor, chatting with Lu, walking with Brigitte, Wits University, Budgie and Lelethu, dinner with Luis and Jacinda, tea with Helen, anything with Trevor, Mainly Music with Marietta, getting documents certified at Brixton police station, Oriental Plaza, real Indian food in Fordsburg, lunch in Sandton with Teneshe, the hills in Auckland Park, the neighbourhood of Brixton, the viewing deck in the Carlton Centre, people helping me with Silas, Mr Price, the purple of the Jacarandas in spring. None of these things or people can be replicated here.

There are good things here too, lots of good things. But in all honesty coming home has been a little disappointing. It’s my fault – I had idealised it here. The people I missed and longed to see face to face, I can’t see as often as I would like. Driving is not as stress free as I had remembered. In fact motorists seem more harried here than in Joburg. The housing is nigh unaffordable. The politics have become boring. I’m glad I’m here. Really. I just miss it there.

Homesickness is weird. It’s not longing for one place, it’s wishing for bits of different places to be merged into the one complete experience. It’s impossible to salve. Maybe nowhere is the best. Maybe happiness depends on more than safety and comfort.

I wish all the people I loved lived in the same cool city, by the sea.

The city

The sea

Tags: beach, Brixton, city, Johannesburg, neighbours, sad, tennis

Back to it

Every time I open the internet on my computer Kimlovesjozi is the first thing I see. I liked it, for the nostalgia, but it made me sad as well. I miss Jozi, and I miss writing about it too, as well as the rest of life.

I’ve had a hiatus. And now I’m back.

In the meantime, check out my spawn. It’s hard not to feel sorry for the little guy, he often has this expression on his face.

Tags: blog, Oisín, Silas

The end.

It’s time to say farewell to Kimlovesjozi, for the moment at least. I’m not going to shut it down, just go on hiatus from updating it. In reality I probably won’t come back to it in it’s current form.

I’ve loved writing this blog. It’s been one of the most unexpected things that have kept me going over the last few years.

But it’s stymied. It’s not that I don’t have things to write about. I’m constantly thinking of stuff to say. I write posts in my head while I am busy with other things. But it’s the actual act of sitting down and making something cogent and palatable that I don’t have physical time or headspace for. And to be honest, I’m not sure where to take it now that I no longer live in lovely Joburg. I could write about my family or the weather or political events or church life or compare stuff here to stuff in Jozi. But not only do I not have time, I don’t have the skill to make it all hang together in a sensible way.

The internet eats up too much of my time. It’s bad. I want to give more time to playing with Silas and interacting with Oisín during the day. Kimlovesjozi no longer gives me a place to channel ideas or vent or share experiences, but feels like a monkey on my back. After camping a few times in South Africa I’ve decided I really, really hate monkeys. So this one has to go.

Thanks for reading and commenting and making Kimlovesjozi far more buoyant than I ever thought possible.

Tags: blog, farewell, monkey, Oisín, Silas