Crazy markdowns! Graves going cheap!

The Melbourne Cemetery has a banner hanging on the fence advertising new graves available. Low prices! Prestige positions!

I suppose in a world where everything is competing in a marketplace, it was only a matter of time. 

As I drove past, several questions sprang to mind. 

Where did they get the space?

Who moved out?

Did they go voluntarily?

Do they have an annual stock take?

Could I buy a plot and rent it out to take advantage of negative gearing?

What does "prime position" mean in the real estate of the after life?

Later I walked into the post office to collect my mail. A woman was sitting on the customer side of the counter on an office chair. She was resting her head on the counter and the staff were looking concerned. While I waited to collect a parcel, the woman complained that she couldn't breathe and urgently asked someone to undo her bra. I obliged and asked the staff to call an ambulance. She protested one minute -  "No ambulance!" - and then said she couldn't breathe. 

The manager looked uncertain. I nodded to say "keep going, get the ambulance". I imagined the headlines if she died in the post office and no one called an ambulance. 

"My partner is coming. He will be here soon. I don't need an ambulance, " the woman kept repeating. 

A man standing behind me in the queue protested, saying that we shouldn't call an ambulance if she didn't want one. I questioned whether someone who was having difficulty breathing and therefore had no oxygen to the brain was in the best position to make life and death decisions.

A man wearing a leopard onesie then arrived. He was her partner. It wasn't exactly the cavalry, but I felt relieved of responsibility.

I wonder if the woman knew about the sale at the cemetry?

Justice and fairness - casualties of fear

Funny how fundamental principles of justice and fairness are threatened whenever something like yesterday's siege in Sydney happens.

The gunman was out on bail.

First thing this morning I received a request to sign a petition to tighten up bail laws.

That didn't take long, I thought.

Extraordinary situations happen. Sadly. It's quite frightening to think about what our legal rights would look like if the laws were based on the rare event.

I think about Peter Greste, the Australian journalist currently in an Egyptian prison. He was denied bail. We signed petitions for him to be released on bail.

It seems that the presumption of innocence is the first thing that is easily thrown out when something terrible happens.

Maybe I'm a bleeding heart, but the presumption of innocence is precious to me.

Then again, we have dozens of innocent people locked up in offshore prisons, their only transgression, the temerity to seek asylum and protection. I suppose in this context,  what was done yesterday by a dangerous man known to police is very hard to accept.

The world is so out of balance.

It's interesting how all actions devalue or enhance. That balance is so delicate and now there's no balance at all.

As I despair, I remember the story behind "#illridewithyou" and a little bit of hope is restored.

She's got a ticket to ride - farewell Kerry

On Friday I attended the funeral of Kerry Edsall, another woman taken too early by breast cancer. She was only 57 and leaves behind two gorgeous daughters and her husband.

I met Kerry when I was an official with the CPSU, in the early 2000's. I knew about her as the dedicated workplace delegate in the Centrelink call centre in Geelong. She quickly became a very important member of our executive and many negotiating teams. It was nice to have another woman on our side of the table.

I liked Kerry's blunt, no-nonsense and often dryly funny approach to life. I knew that I could always rely on her to tell me the truth. During negotiations we would all be away from home for days on end and she seemed to have unending stamina for socialising at the end of a hard day or putting in long hours at the end of negotiations to work out our position for the next day or find a solution to some problem.

When I called Kerry to tell her that I was moving on in 2008, she was characteristically wry: "And who said that you could do that Ms Edlington?"

The other time I found myself in trouble with Kerry was when I failed to win the million dollars on a television game show. I carried over two weeks and she told me that everyone was lined up to watch me win. I recall her saying to me, "Well that was a bit of a fizzer. I guess we're stuck with you then."

The auditorium on Friday was packed to standing room only and filled with warmth and love for a woman who gave a lot of herself to support other workers and their families. It was a fitting and proud celebration of Kerry's life. I was surprised to learn how her own family didn't really appreciate the extent of her standing within the union community. It must have been overwhelming for them.

It was bittersweet to be seeing people with whom I once worked very closely, but had not really seen in the last seven years. The human joy at continuing acquaintance and hearing about the lives of others is not suppressed even when one of your number is no longer here.

A few months ago Kerry contacted me to seek help with getting started on sock knitting. "I've been told I need to find something to do while I'm sitting on my skinny arse, so I've decided to knit socks. Where do I start?" As a devoted and prolific sock knitter myself I was able to help. I told her not to freak out when she got to the gusset and just to follow the instructions. The last time we spoke, Kerry told me she was having trouble and needed help with her gusset. I laughed. Blunt and funny until the end.

Thanks for being part of my life Kerry.

Stream of consciousness - musings on journeys and problems and Melburnians.

Today I'm grateful that the most obvious to response to this information: "I'm going to get my hair done." isn't, "Which one?"

That sentence was really quite difficult to punctuate. How did I go?

Every time I have been to the hairdresser in 2013 it has rained on my way home. This is definitely a first world problem.

Speaking of first world problems, the other day I was at Flinders Street Station trying to locate my train (you'd think this would be easier than it actually is). I'd been waiting at Platform 8 for a while. This wasn't random, the signs all pointed to the fact that this was the place for the 5:36 pm to Laverton. A train arrived on the platform. The crowd of waiters (not the drinks kind) surged forward under the impression that the train would be the 5:36 pm to Laverton. As we surged, the sign changed its mind and informed us that it was the 5:40 pm to somewhere else, like Frankston or Packenham. We held back. An announcement informed us that the train on platform 8 was indeed the 5:36pm to Laverton. We surged forward and settled into our seats. "Settled" isn't really the right word. We were unsettled, but I don't know how to unsettle. The sign inside the train suggested the train was going to Packenham or Frankston. People dithered. Who to trust? The written word on a sign that has been wrong before or the live announcement from a human. I assume it was a human. Just as I relaxed in preparation for my journey homeward, an faint announcement was heard outside the train which sent a ripple of anger, a shiver of confusion through the commuters on board who had foolishly trusted the announcement last time. This announcement told us that we were on a train going to Frankston or Packenham and that the 5:36pm Laverton train was now arriving on platform 9! Could we trust the announcement? We surged from the train on to the platform and found a small moustached man wearing an orange high-vis vest and asked him the pertinent question: what the hell is going on? He shrugged in response.

The shrug was like an ember on a stream of petrol. Teeth were bared. We just needed to know which train, where, so we could go home.

Off to one side of the group a woman announced:  "First world problems people! First world problems! Some people don't have a home to go to, let alone a train to get there on. These are first world problems."

That didn't even make sense. As she wasn't getting on any train, but just hanging around the platforms passing moral judgement on people responding to chaos and the cosmic joke that is Flinders Street and Metro Trains at peak hour, I wondered where she was trying to go.

Another man tried to argue to logic of how the 5:40pm train had arrived before the 5:36pm train and it should be ours! I wanted to start singing songs from "Les Mis". I refrained. By that I mean I didn't. I don't mean that I sang a chorus.  Another shrug and he would have hijacked the train and taken us all west. We would have heard the people sing!

Once you're on a train in peak hour there's the added problem trying to navigate overcrowding of the aisles when there are lots of seats vacant. They're vacant because people don't move over and fill the seats furthest from the aisles first. They hog the outside seats hoping to have a bank of two or three to themselves.

I ask people nicely if I may have their seat. They look shocked. Then they move over. I always get a seat.

Then I hand them a tissue because they will inevitably be sniffing the entire liquid contents of their head back into their nasal passages. Repeatedly. What is with Melburnians and sniffing on public transport?

This was a diversion from the hairy, smelly man who was engaging himself in detailed conversation this morning on the way into the city. I didn't mind the conversation, but the smell was hard to take in closed quarters.

Then I heard that the baby elephant born at the Melbourne Zoo nearly a year ago died overnight. I never met Sanook but I had watched a documentary about the elephants at the zoo. I felt sad.

The rain fell, providing a sympathetic background of Shakespearean proportions and a mechanism to negate the efforts of my hairdresser.

Farewell Amanda - reflecting on life and death.

Amanda with the Love Rug knitted for her, square by square.
Used with permission.

Today I went to a funeral. The funeral was for Amanda Rynne about whom I've written before. Only two years ago, I wrote about the contribution I'd made to a "love rug" for her following the news that she had breast cancer.

Today we said goodbye.

I didn't know Amanda that well, but am very close with people who were very close to her.  I went to her funeral to mark the fact she and I were connected and show myself as part of the community of people touched by her.  I also went to support my friends who were also close to her.  A very large church was filled with people dressed in red at Amanda's request.  There was laughter and there were many tears as stories were told and life and death contemplated.

Melbourne turned on wild and unpredictable weather. Throughout the service, the wind sounded like a woman humming.  I imagined that it was Amanda singing as we heard about Amanda's love of music.  This contemplation was interrupted by the sound of a baby gurgling or crying. I thought about the bookends of life; beginnings and endings; innocence and pain.

The blanket we made for Amanda rested on her coffin today.  My first glimpse of it caused the first tears of many to flow.  I walked out with a handbag filled with soggy tissues.

Forty-one is young to have life taken away.  I reflected on my own life and wondered whether I'm living it in the best way, fulfilling it in every aspect. It's good to think about these things.

I drove another friend back to her home afterwards and we shared a cup of tea together.  Her extroverted four year old daughter came out and introduced herself.  She gave me a hug and asked where we had been.  I told her that we had been saying goodbye to a friend.  Of course she asked why we were saying goodbye.  I told her that our friend wasn't coming back anymore.  She thought about this and nodded and then told me she really liked my shoes! It was lovely to be surrounded by the life pulsing through this little girl.

And so life goes on.

The news on the radio in the car as I drove to work carried a story about new drugs available for the treatment of breast cancer.  I hope they work. Too many lives are affected by this disease.

One thing that has stuck in my mind from the homily was that there are only three things you need to be able to say to the people in your life: I love you. I'm sorry. I forgive you.

Amanda, I'll miss seeing your gorgeous photographs on Instagram.  It was nice to know you Amanda, even a little bit. It was clear from today's turn out that you touched many people. A life well lived.

Trains, skateboards and shoppping trolleys

The peace of the small suburban train station late on Sunday afternoon is shattered by the arrival of six teenage boys, all with skateboards and ipods.  About eight of us are strung along the length of the platform enjoying the spring sunshine after yesterday's grey wetness.  The boys are all talking to each other in the boisterous way of boys but the effect is magnified by the fact that they have to compete with the music playing in the heads of the people they are talking to.  The skateboards hit the pavement, clattering as they lift them and then slam them. I shudder as one boy tries to change direction and loses control. He and the board go in opposite directions.  Is there a train coming?  I look away.  I don't want the image of a teenage boy being slammed by a train seared into my memory.  I don't even want the sounds of danger there.

They are oblivious to the fact that they are inches from death.  Careless with their lives and immune from harm, they go ever closer to the edge of the platform, tracing its imperfect edge with the imprecision of the skateboard.

Their tribe is decked out in too new Converse hi-top sneakers, washed out t-shirts large enough to be a dress and drop crotch skinny pants.  Their hair looks like it has been paid much attention with more hairspray in it than I have in mine.

The stories of prams running away from parents who have turned their backs for a split second and ending up under a train go through my mind.  Things with wheels seem to be a dangerous thing to have on a railway platform.

I ponder this on my journey into Flinders Street.

As usual, it's a battle to get off the train.  Today there is a little old lady with an enormous shopping trolley ready to board the train.  Her fragile wrists have the trolley tilted and ready to lever onto the train regardless of passengers attempting to alight.  I ask her - and everyone else - to stand aside and let us off.  She glares, but she does obey and we surge off the train.  For a moment I think she's going to have me and then the logistics get the better of her.