Question of the day

What do you do when you don't know what to do?

This is my favourite question at the moment. I thought of it yesterday when I was redesigning a leadership activity for a client.

I've been thinking about it ever since.

Actually, that's my answer - when I don't know what to do I think - sometimes.

When I don't know what to do I stop and think, spend some time analysing the problem. That would be my head taking the lead.

Other times when I don't know what to do I look and see what everyone else is doing. I check to see whether they look happy and engaged and either collaborate or avoid and change tack.  That would be my heart in charge.

Other times I'll just leap and do something! It may not be "the answer", but something will happen as a result and then I'll probably get a clue about what to do next. That would be me leading from my gut.

I've been talking to leaders lately about the balance between their head, heart and guts when they think about from where they lead. We've been discussing the book Head, Heart and Guts and the concept of the whole leader.

It's been interesting to reflect on my own growth and ripening as a leader. I look back on my days as a young union leader and know that I really lacked heart - not for the members I was representing, but for the people with whom I was working. I was head or guts. I LOVED the drama and thrill of acting on instinct. I usually felt confident and couldn't bear to "fiddle around", as I called it.

I now recognise that I've learnt a lot and am much more balanced and am mindful of whether my leadership actions are representative of a whole leader.

The question of the day is an excellent way to prompt thought and conversation about what your defaults are.  So: What do you do when you don't know what to do? I'd love to know.

Quoting Tara Moss

Tonight's episode of Q and A on the ABC was much better than usual. I put this down to the fact that there was plenty of politics, but no politicians.

Author, model and all round intelligent, fabulous woman, Tara Moss, was wonderful. She said this about sexual abuse:

"Silence protects the perpetrators and shames the victims."

That is all tonight.

Sucked into the call centre vortex

Every two years I have a conversation that I swear never to have again. I had it again yesterday. My mobile phone provider offered me the chance to upgrade my phone and get a better deal. Great, I thought. It will be okay. They've had two years to act on the feedback from the last delivery debacle. Oh, wait, that's what I said to myself two years ago.

The phone and the plan are both great. All the details were quickly sorted out. Then came the dreaded question: "What the is the address for delivery?"

I held my breath and gave my GPO Box which I rent from Australia Post and is completely secure.

The predictable reply came. "I'm sorry we do not deliver to post office boxes. You need to give me your home address."

I inhaled through gritted teeth and prepared to give the standard explanation.

"Who does the deliveries?" I asked.

"Australia Post," came the reply.

"My post office box is an Australia Post box. The parcel will be delivered and signed for by counter staff. You will give me a tracking number, so we will know where the parcel is at all times. A card will be placed in my post office box. I will open my post office box, discover the card and take it to the staff at the counter. The staff will locate the parcel, check my ID, scan it and ask me to sign. They will then give me the parcel. What is the security risk?"

"We don't deliver to post office boxes because they are not secure."

"Please explain to me what happens if you try to deliver to a physical address and I am not there to collect it."

"We will attempt delivery. If you are not there to receive the parcel a card will be left on your front door, and the parcel will be taken to the nearest post office," he explained.

"What happens then?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"You will need to take the card to the post office, hand it over to the staff and they will give you the parcel. You will need to do this within seven days or the parcel will be returned."

This felt like a really hard game of Spot-the-Difference.

We argued back and forth and I was ready to scream the next time the polite Indian man told me "don't worry Tanya, we will get this sorted out for you".

I considered having it sent to one of the workplaces where I work, but was worried as colleagues have had deliveries go missing. That seemed like the best option. I gave the address and specified that Wednesday was the only day I would be there to collect it.

Last night I received emails and texts confirming all the order details. The delivery address was basically my name and a suburb. While I have respect for Australia Post, I don't think that even they would be able to deliver the parcel with only that information. I clicked on the tracking number and the Vodafone website said that it was "on it's way" and "on the truck". I clicked a further link to the Australia Post website and was greeted with the news that the tracking number was invalid.

I became angry.

I called the "customer care" centre at Vodafone. After twenty minute of being on hold while the guy tried to figure out what was going on he suggested that I call Australia Post on Monday and ask them to change the address!

"Why would Australia Post change, over the phone, the delivery address of an item requiring personal deliver and signature when they have no way of verifying me? And anyway, how are they going to find the parcel when it has an invalid tracking number?"

"Well all you need to do Tanya, it is very simple, don't worry, is just give them a call on Monday and they can fix it for you."

"This is not my problem. This is Vodafone's mistake. I don't need to do anything."

"Well if you're not there, they will take it to the nearest post office for collection, don't worry."

"If I'm not "where"?"

"At the delivery address?"

"And what is the delivery address?"

...

"That's the problem isn't it? The parcel will not be delivered. It will be returned to sender. What you need to do is cancel this order and order me another phone for delivery with the correct address."

"Certainly, Tanya. That will take 10 business days..."

I try not to yell at call centre people. I've worked in one myself. I will confess that this morning I yelled. Nothing makes me as crazy as people who don't listen and aren't customer focussed. They were making this all my problem and it was not my problem.

"I started paying for the phone yesterday when I placed the order. Why do you think that I would be happy to wait for at least another three weeks to get the phone? That's ten days for you to get the phone back and then a week for another order to be placed and it to be re-sent. That is not what is going to happen. You're going to fix this."

"Don't worry Tanya. I will put you through to the upgrades team and they will be able to help you."

"Why didn't you do that 25 minutes ago?"

"Hello! Upgrades. Vipin speaking."

Suddenly I had been put through and it happened too quickly for a handover to have been done.


I told the story again.

"Oh well we can not add more information to the delivery details because our system doesn't allow the space."

This wasn't getting any better. I believe the hysterical, laughter may have entered the conversation at this point.

We went through exactly the same conversation as before. I was put on hold.

After 55 minutes on the phone Vipin offered to call Australia Post and change the delivery details to the complete address on Monday and confirmed that he will also call me on Monday to confirm arrangements. How they're going to find the parcel, given the tracking ID is invalid is beyond me, but I had nothing left.

Why was that not the solution offered in the beginning? I'm trying to have faith that the problem will be fixed, but I have no confidence. The only power I have is to take my business elsewhere. That will involve lots of paperwork,  more money and probably the same issue around delivery. Apart from this biennial problem, I'm very happy with the service and value. Why can't they get this right?

What's your strategy when you get sucked into the call centre vortex?

Design flaws and "common sense"

Sometimes I wonder how things end up the way they are. It's usually little, simple things. Well they seem simple to me, but evidently they are complex. News of France's blunder with their TFT's (too fat trains) set me thinking again this week.

You'd think you'd check something like the width of trains before you spend lots of money. They've got to fit! Some might even say that doing so is common sense.

This term "common sense" is one that I wrestle with. I actually think it must be a myth. If it was common we wouldn't end up with these kinds of errors. Would we?

On my regular travels through Flinders Street Station in Melbourne I am regularly struck by a piece of poor design. Here's a picture:

Display screens for platform 12 and 13 at Flinders Street Station
© 2014 divacultura

This screen is at the entry end of platforms 12 and 13 at Flinders Street Station. Everytime I see it it sets my teeth on edge.

The first thing you might notice is that it doesn't read in numerical order from left to right. Then you might think that's because platform 13 is on the left and platform 12 is on the right.

This is not the case. Platform 12 is on the left of this screen and platform is on the right of the screen.

If you're not familiar with the layout of the platforms it would be easy to go to the right hand platform to catch the Williamstown train and go left for Sandringham.

The only thing I can think is that they put them in alphabetical order. That's a valid order, but not usually how train stations are laid out.

Would common sense say they should be the other way around?

That's before we even look at the gap between services during peak time.

Off to have my water tested!

Sitting opposite me on the train to Flinders Street this morning was an old man. Beside him sat an old woman wearing rose tinted sunglasses, gazing out the window and clutching her handbag on her lap. The man turned his head fully towards her as he spoke very loudly.


"I'VE GOT TO GO BACK TO THE DOC. BUT BEFORE I DO HE SAYS THEY'VE GOT TO TEST MY BLOOD AND MY WATER!"

The woman continued to gaze out the window, but nodded, barely.

"SO I'M ON MY WAY TO HAVE MY WATER TESTED."

...

"I DRANK THREE BIG GLASSES OF WATER BEFORE I LEFT HOME. DO YOU THINK THAT'LL BE ENOUGH? THEY SAID THAT I'LL HAVE TO DO MY WATER ON THE SPOT. I THOUGHT I'D BETTER DRINK ENOUGH SO I'LL BE ABLE TO GO. DO YOU THINK I'LL BE ABLE TO?"

Quietly, the woman said: "Yes. That should be fine."

"I SUPPOSE YOU'RE RIGHT. I SHOULD BE READY TO GO TO THE TOILET WHEN I GET THERE...LUCKY I DON'T NEED TO GO YET. THAT WOULD BE A WASTE."

The train passed the big Melbourne viewing wheel and the woman said, sotto voce: "Adrian took his new girlfriend up there on a date."

"WHAT?"

"I said Adrian - you know Adrian - took his girlfriend up on the wheel last week. They were on a date, you know," she repeated. I wondered what the relationship between the two of them was. Was she planting a seed, secretly hoping she would be taken on a wheel date? Was she secretly in love with the enigmatic Adrian and ready to push the other woman off the wheel at the first opportunity?

'WHAT DO YOU DO UP THERE? ISN'T IT CRACKED? WHAT KIND OF A DATE IS THAT?"

"What?"

"THE WHEEL! IT'S CRACKED YOU KNOW!"

"Not anymore. It's not cracked anymore."

The woman stood up to leave the train at Southern Cross Station, leaving the man to travel solo on his way to deposit his water for testing.

7 steps to inspire customer loyalty - effortlessly!

My shoe shop called last week. When I tell people, they look at me as though I'm the only person on earth who has a shoe shop. I look back as though I can't believe that they don't have a shoe shop.

My shoe shop is a peek into the relationships I have with businesses with which I deal regularly. These are successful and mutually beneficial relationships. I've been reflecting on what makes them tick. I think the elements are transferable to other situations. It doesn't matter if it's shoes, clothes, electronics, stationery or personal services.

divacultura's 7 principles of customer service to inspire loyalty

1. My first experience was great. I still remember that Alice served me and I bought a pair of long black boots and a pair of red heels. To put this into perspective, my first visit was at least seven years ago.

2. My first experience was so good, I went back. Alice remembered me. She didn't remember my name without a prompt, but she remembered our interaction.

3. Third time through the doors and the staff recognised me and greeted me like a friend.

4. Sometimes I wander in, not necessarily with a view to buying, but with a view to looking. The staff are happy to play if it's not busy and are happy to bring me shoes just to try. Quite often they surprise me with something that I had overlooked on the shelf, but loved on my feet.

5. Even if it is busy when I go in, I never feel rushed and feel like I am being paid full attention.

6. We trust each other. Last year there was a mix up and an extra pair of boots I already owned was put aside under my name and marked as "paid". Rebecca called to find out when I was collecting them. I already had my boots and told her there had been some error. In that split second I realised that I could have just said that I would be in to collect them "tomorrow" and scored another pair of boots. That's not how I roll and I know my honesty was really appreciated.

7. Rebecca knows what I like and keeps an eye out for things that might appeal to me and then gives me a call. There's no pressure. It's a friendly call and I find it helpful.

They followed me home.
© 2014 divacultura

When I look over this list, it's not rocket science! These are easy things to do and they have an impact. I only buy shoes there now. Actually, I'm a very loyal customer. Once I find somewhere I like the people, they like me and I like the product, I will stick with them forever. Notice how the product is the third thing in the list.


I've even considered whether these principles apply in the online retail environment. They absolutely do. (I'm thinking about my favourite online clothing store, Birdsnest.)

Where do you like to shop? What keeps you coming back? If you're in business, does your customer service inspire loyalty?

"My" shoe shop is called Sole Devotion. I was not asked or provided any incentive to write this post (other than being inspired by great service!).

Brisbane perspectives.

I'm sitting beside the Brisbane River enjoying the sunny view and a cafe latte. (Brisbane finally knows how to make them.) I'd forgotten how much brighter than Melbourne the mornings are. Sleeping past 7:30am without comprehensive blackout curtains, even in May, is an impossibility. So even though my breakfast date is  not until 11am, I'm up, checked out and sitting by the river.

A favourite thing of mine is to visit markets and the Brisbane Riverside Markets were a huge sprawling cornucopia of handmade artisan wares. I expected to easily fill an hour and half but have been disappointed. Perhaps twenty stalls exist, some of them lovely, but most selling junk. Perhaps the online shopping revolution has hit here too.

The Story Bridge looks more serious by day. Its structure black and grim, contrasting with the clear blue sky and sparkling water. The river beneath is busy with traffic - ferris zigzagging from one side to another while cars cross the river above.

Just before 10am my phone tells me it's currently 22 degrees Celsius, yet a man sits at a nearby table wearing the strange combination of skimpy shorts, thongs and a polar fleece jacket. I'd forgotten the craving for seasons that one gets living somewhere like this. During the week, I saw women on their way to work defiantly wearing knee-high boots, scarves and coats. I watched them, dressed in a summer dress.

As I walked in this morning, the river was on my left and the skyscrapers loomed on the right, their footprints substantial, standing solidly, in contrast to the mercurial water opposite. They look so clean and impossible. It must be the space around them that makes them seem bigger than anything in Melbourne.

Three metres from where I sit, a white-haired woman has paid a woman with a matching hair-do to tell her fortune. Her husband has opened his wallet, handed over the cash  - and his wife - and made himself scarce. The two women look like old friends meeting for coffee.

My weekend has been filled with friends and food. I love living in Melbourne but I do feel a tug whenever I come back to Brisbane!

Refractions
© 2014 divacultura 

Refractions II
© 2014 divacultura

How was your weekend?

What I'm wondering

I'm wondering why I keep receiving notification that peak hour train services have been cancelled due to "driver training". Surely there's a better time to train.

I'm wondering why big organisations pass the buck and fail to take responsibility and help customers (ie citizens, the public).

I'm wondering how to extricate myself from a whirlpool of buck passing.

I'm wondering why hotel bathrooms are lit to make me look at least thirty years older than I am.

I'm wondering why caterers think that luke warm water is any way to make a decent cup of tea.

I'm wondering why rice paper rolls marked as "nut free" contained walnuts - the nut to which I'm most allergic. (I can answer this one, partially...because the chicken mix from the sandwiches was used to make the rolls and the chicken mix from the sandwiches contained walnuts. Still doesn't explain the sign.)

I'm wondering why there are still people in the catering business who think that food allergies are not serious, that is potentially life threatening.

I'm wondering why a person who has requested "fructose free" food is served a plate of fruit at morning tea. Sigh. It is marginally better than cake.

I'm wondering why I have to fight so hard to be paid for my services on a regular basis.

I'm wondering why I didn't decide sooner to call it quits with a couple of clients who are bad payers.

I'm wondering why people (ie politicians) don't take responsibility for their decisions to do something different from what they "promised" in the election campaign.

I'm wondering whether there's a definition of "promise" of which I'm unaware.

I'm wondering why people don't listen.

I was wondering why a nurse working in a health care organisation was doing theatre reviews until I realised that I'm the only embedded creative and that her theatre always involves blood, while mine involves blood only sometimes.

What are you wondering about?

* Posts will be erratic this week due to other commitments. *

What are you afraid of? - leadership action

Don't be afraid of what will happen if you act. Be afraid of what will happen if you don't act.

I've found myself having this conversation a lot lately. Leaders tell me that they haven't tackled something they know they should, because they're scared or worried about a reaction. I ask them about what that reaction is likely to be and they describe another person's bad or immature behaviour. They'd rather battle on - and force their team to battle on -  than address a problem.

When I ask what will happen if they do nothing, eye contact is broken, they get a guilty look and then they tell me they know they should do something, but they are gripped by fear.

I ask again - what will happen if you don't act? - and keep asking until they face themselves. Eventually they realise that doing nothing about a problem is worse for everyone.

Sometimes they tell me stories about how they've inherited a problem and that a person has been allowed to get away with certain things for a long time. They tell me these stories, manifesting frustration and blaming the others who came before them and did nothing.

I then ask whether they are about to be the next person who does nothing or will they be the person to make the choice to act?

Some people make the decision to act at that point, others need another nudge, so I tap into their empathy.

"Imagine if you were that person, acting and believing you're doing okay, but actually there are major problems that everyone else knows about, but no one has ever respected you enough to talk to you about it."

It's easy to make excuses when the path of action is challenging. It's easier to do almost everything else when you've made an effort to address problems that need fixing.

I've realised this week while working with another group of leaders that I've brought my activist mindset with me. To me, the business of leading is about acting in a way that sets your people free to do their best work. The key is that leadership is an action, not a noun. It's not a title or a name on a business card. It's action framed by mindset. In any setting.

Are you taking action? What are you avoiding? What are you afraid of?

To shake or not to shake.

I offended people today. A split second later, everyone was okay and I had their undivided attention.

I'm facilitating leadership development for the next couple of days and I usually greet each participant with a smile and a handshake. Today, I refused the offers of hands to shake on the grounds of social responsibility. I'm still struggling with a head cold and so my hands are constantly handling tissues that I've used and covering my mouth and nose when I sneeze and cough, if I don't have a tissue handy. I know that a lack of hand hygiene is one of the best ways to share germs.

The reaction of people whose hands I refused to shake, was interesting. After an initial moment of uncertainty and offence (in one case), I was then thanked for my consideration.

I know how I've felt when offered the hand that I've just seen used to wipe a nose or a mouth, or handle a used tissue: I don't want to shake the hand. Being put in a position where the dirty hand is offered and then it's shake or refuse, is awkward. I'd say it's far better to be proactive and protect others by being as mean as possible with your germs.

I also hope that those whose hands I didn't shake today will consider their own actions the next time they are afflicted with a head cold.

Something else happened as a result of my choice today. The first impression people had of me was of a considerate and respectful person - because I didn't shake hands. It seems counter-intuitive, but shows that sometimes it's worth consciously breaking with convention.

I'm off - the tissue box is calling.

when do you shake hands?

Cold season - excuse for TV marathon.

This weekend has been a write-off. I left the house once, today, in search of food and cold medication. I've got one of those really annoying head colds; the kind where your head feels full of fluid, your ears are itchy and every time you sneeze, it's both a relief and a violent act. It started with a sore throat yesterday. That's gone today, so hopefully I might feel reasonable by tomorrow morning.

So what is one to do when it's cold and wet outside and you're sick? Fire up the Blu-Ray player and surrender.

Yesterday started with The Master, starring Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Joaquin Phoenix and Amy Adams. It's apparently about the beginnings of Scientology. It's a curious film, with fine performances and a very slow pace. The slow pace suited the cotton wool in my head. I'm not sure I would have coped with the 144 minute duration otherwise.

Next came the first three episodes of The Americans, a television spy drama about Russian sleeper spies living in the US while Reagan was President. I was a bit non-plussed and was beginning to wonder whether I should abandon watching anything while ill.

Then I dusted off the Danish political drama, Borgen (Danish for "government") and was gripped from the very first moment. It's the story of a woman's rise to be Prime Minister after negotiating complex deals with coalition partners to lead a minority government. Sound familiar? I kept thinking about our former Prime Minister, Julia Gillard and wondered if she's seen it. I suppose it's a bit like a Danish version of The West Wing. (I had to swap my knitting for something I can do without watching or thinking, so I can read the subtitles.) I don't know why I waited so long.

Now, I'm waiting for The Voice to start and the latest dose of cold tablets to stop my nose running, the sneezing and the blocked ears.

Off to facilitate a leadership program tomorrow. Early to bed.

How are you?

Curious people - on the trains today

Travelling home on the train tonight I saw a curious thing. That's not unusual, but I've never seen this before.

The train itself was a model with the articulated joins between carriages. You know the ones? They have sides like a piano accordion and a round platform in the middle of the join. In the middle of this platform, a man stood. Unusually for a peak hour train, there were plenty of seats available so it was a little strange that he would choose to stand, but even stranger that he would choose to stand there. He was wearing a serious blue suit, pin-striped and immaculate. He looked to be in his early 50's. He was looking at his mobile phone, holding an umbrella with his other hand and not hanging on to anything.

I watched him, fascinated. It was a rough ride standing where he was standing. Even if he didn't want to sit, there was plenty of space to stand up in the aisle. At one point, he could have been a surfer out on the waves. I wonder whether he is a surfer and was taking the opportunity to practise his balancing techniques.

The train lurched wildly as it moved from one line to another. The man almost toppled over. He righted himself, but continued to travel in the articulated join.

I stopped watching him when a 50 year old woman sat opposite me wearing a jumper with repeated pictures of Bart Simpson all over it. Eye searing is the only description. The woman wearing it wasn't exactly svelte.

What curious sightings did you have today?

We've boundless plains to share - lest we forget

The alarm went off at 4:45am and I was immediately awake, despite being mid-dream. I could hear light rain falling on the corrugated roof and my resolve to attend the ANZAC Day dawn service in Tamworth nearly crumbled. I pressed on. We drove through the streets, deserted until we neared ANZAC Park, found a park and walked towards the crowd assembled in the pre-dawn.

Wreaths laid in Tamworth at the dawn service for ANZAC Day.
Copyright 2014 divacultura

The rain had stopped. The service was conducted with moving simplicity. The crowd was asked to join in for the hymn, "Abide with Me". I did, but couldn't hear many others. The bugler played "The Last Post", lacking power, volume and confidence, but adding in lots of notes not usually heard in the piece. (Bugles are very hard to play, especially if you're nervous or emotional.) The gentle morning warble of magpies filled the silences.

A piper played something I didn't recognise on the bagpipes and the kookaburras thought it was hilarious. My brother and I found that hilarious and had to avoid looking at each other to avoid ruining the solemnity of the moment. Meanwhile the kookaburras laughed and laughed and laughed.

Both verses of the national anthem, "Advance Australia Fair" were sung, including the lines about welcoming people who come here from across the sea: "we've boundless plains to share". There were a few more voices joining in this time.

Flag at half mast as the dawn breaks in Tamworth this morning.
Copyright 2014 divacultura

We dispersed just as the sky was beginning to lighten. People staying to talk, look at the wreaths, while others took off to find their sometimes precariously parked cars.

We went back into town later for the march down Peel Street. As the bands played, the servicemen and women, and children from every school in Tamworth, paraded before an appreciative crowd. Overhead, planes flew in a formation that looked like the outline of an aeroplane itself. Tiny children, weighed down by the medals of a deceased relative, walked restlessly; others looked curiously at the crowd while waving, delighted to receive the occasional reciprocal wave.

I was heartened to hear that all but a handful of Australia's servicemen and women are back home. I hope the others return soon and that there is no need for them to go away again unless in a community assistance role. We are fortunate. I hope that today's reflection may cause our community to be appreciative of the fact that our citizens can generally live safely and peacefully, acknowledging that this is not the case for all people in the world.  I hope that we can extend our hands to those people and be true to the words of our national anthem. Lest we forget.

Advance Australia Fair

Australians all let us rejoice,

For we are young and free;

We’ve golden soil and wealth for toil;

Our home is girt by sea;

Our land abounds in nature’s gifts

Of beauty rich and rare;

In history’s page, let every stage

Advance Australia Fair.

In joyful strains then let us sing,

Advance Australia Fair.

Beneath our radiant Southern Cross

We’ll toil with hearts and hands;

To make this Commonwealth of ours

Renowned of all the lands;

For those who’ve come across the seas

We’ve boundless plains to share;

With courage let us all combine

To Advance Australia Fair.

In joyful strains then let us sing,

Advance Australia Fair.

Talking to the animals

Whenever I visit my family I am surrounded by animals of all kinds. It's a welcome change from my urban life, where I admire other people's dogs from afar. 

Sometime yesterday one of the heifers gave birth to a female calf, chocolate brown with soft curls. Her mother seemed to take little interest and the calf was left alone, breathing heavily and rapidly. The calf was able to stand up but seemed exhausted by the effort. Meanwhile the mother looked on and moved away whenever the calf approached. The calf sniffed my legs and groin, imagining that I might have milk to offer. I didn't. Somehow, the calf managed to attach herself to the mother's udder, but this was short lived when the mother wandered off. 

Another cow tried to nudge the calf towards its mother. The calf responded by trying to drink from it. 

We decided to separate the cow and her calf from the rest of the herd. We got them into a separate paddock, carrying the calf part of the way. While the calf rested in the shade of a tree, the mother bellowed and stared at us but made no move to be near her calf.  We ran her up along the fence line towards a smaller yard and then the cow climbed over the fence - back into the paddock from which we'd just removed her! A horse was saddled and the job finally completed. 

I've named the calf "Kylie", even though she's not mine to name. I hope it sticks and I hope she makes it.

Checking each other out.
Copyright 2014 divacultura

We tried to feed Kylie on the bottle but she didn't like that much either. 

Trying the bottle.
Copyright 2014 divacultura

I decided that Shirley the lamb was a better prospect as I explained she would one day help me knit a jumper!

Shirley the lamb
Copyright 2014 divacultura 

Lolling about with a novel - holiday bliss.

Yesterday I did something I haven't done in a while. I spent the whole day reading a novel. The novel in question was "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt, winner of this year's Pulitzer Prize for literature. The last thing I did before sleep the night before was read more pages. I reluctantly stopped for sleep.  The first thing I did upon waking was reach for the book. I stopped for breakfast and then placed a chair on the verandah to take advantage of the autumn sunshine and took my spot. I stopped for lunch and then finished at about 4pm. I raced towards the end because I was so engrossed in the story. Upon finishing I felt simultaneously satisfied - as if I had just finished a delicious meal - and bereft, because the story was gone. 

I think "The Goldfinch" is my new favourite book of all time. 

It's a long time since I've been free to completely absorb myself with a novel in this way. It's also been a while since I have loved a novel so much that I feel part of the story. It reminds me of Easter holidays long gone. 

Returning home from boarding school or university, it was nothing for me to stay in bed with a big novel. I read Peter Carey's "Oscar and Lucinda" and "Illywhacker" in single, day-long sessions, emerging bleary-eyed and jet-lagged from my trip into other places through the pages of a book. 

Taking literature subjects at university, with their demanding reading lists, meant homework was a pleasure, even if the choice of what to read next was dictated by upcoming assessments. 

I find the choice of "what's next" after such a big, satisfying book as "The Goldfinch" difficult. After such absorption and connection with one writer I find the switch to another author can be jarring. My choice this time is a slimmer book: "The Italian Girl" by Iris Murdoch - my book group's next choice. The gears changed as I opened to the first page and began the task of reorientation. They are still grinding a little, but I'm sure we'll settle in together. 

Having finished the novel, I now understand a conversation I had with my local Yarraville bookseller about the Booker Prize winning "The Luminaries" by Eleanor Catton - another big, fat book which I enjoyed immensely. The bookseller hadn't enjoyed "The Luminaries" because she was part way through "The Goldfinch" when she grabbed it to take on her Christmas holidays. She was dismayed to discover she had the wrong book and was forced to commence "The Luminaries" while she was stranded, remote from her copy of "The Goldfinch". Devastation! Disappointment! Frustration! Restlessness! All would have ensued. 

I'm amazed that in such a busy year I've managed to finish two huge novels - along with six others!

How do you like to read? What are you reading now? What's your favourite book?

My view from the verandah. The aeroplanes were very busy. 

Copyright 2014 divacultura

Superannuation - what's your name again?

I've made some progress on my superannuation campaign! I've also been stuck in another bureaucratic loop.

The good news is that I've received a refund of insurance premiums and fees. It's a small amount of money but an important acknowledgement that other people were spending my money in a way I had not authorised and that is of no benefit to me.

In the meantime, the Australian Tax Office is investigating whether I've been denied choice of superannuation fund under the requirements of the superannuation choice legislation. I suspect I know what the answer will be, but it's all part of amassing evidence to then mount an argument and perhaps broaden the campaign.

My local members of parliament will soon be hearing from me.

Today I received a letter from the UniSuper Fund thanking me for my request to change my membership details. They then went on to note my new name and new address.  I've had the same name since birth and the same mailing address for fourteen years, so I was a little concerned. I rang the fund and was advised that the university HR department had changed my details.

"Change them back please," I said.

"We can't do that over the phone," came the reply from Alice.

"Why not?"

"Only the university HR department can change those details. You need to speak to them."

"Am I the owner of the account?" I asked.

"Yes."

"If there was money in the account, would that money belong to me?"

"Yes."

"Why can someone who is not me change my name and address?"

...silence...

"You'll need to speak to HR. I can't do anything."

Maybe I'm feeling a bit sensitive after having to convince another employer on the weekend about what my name is. There was no folder with my name on it. Several people pointed me to the folder with the right first name, but the wrong surname.

"Oh, you're not Tanya Frew?"

"No I'm not."

"Are you sure?"

I have no patience for conversations like that.

I refuse to be sent back into the bureaucratic haze of buck passing between the employer and the superannuation fund. I insisted that the details be fixed. Alice just called back and told me the problem had been rectified. It's amazing what becomes possible when you persist, sound like you know what you're talking about and sound like you mean it.

I'll be calling the university HR department tomorrow to remove any authority for them to make changes to my account. I'll also be asking for details of the authority that they had to make the changes in the first place. That should be interesting.

In the course of the call, I've discovered that my account has been reopened, but no money has been paid in. It is set up without insurance attached, so that tells me that someone, somewhere is listening.

I'm a supporter of compulsory superannuation, but won't accept this distortion of the system.  Stay tuned.

To borrow a phrase - I can't stand the rain

It's raining in Melbourne. It's been raining solidly for the last couple of days. Apparentlly we've received our monthly rainfall in a couple of days. I forget which month. It's a bit wearing, travelling around, hauling umbrellas, avoiding others' umbrellas, being constantly damp, managing frizzy hair, but it's been lovely to see the grass green again.

I've been persisting with my daily walk. The trains and trams are so stuffy and humid that it's actually nicer to be out in the air, even if you are a bit damp and your hair has turned into a fuzz ball. In one spot where I walk there is a glorious stand of eucalyptus trees. I pause to take in the scent. I also notice the bubbles forming on the puddles and feel sorry for the people trapped in their cars, lined up and going no where.

I've been puzzled by the people I've seen hunched over, as if they are making themselves so small, they would fit between the raindrops. In one hand they clutch an umbrella. Why don't they open it and take shelter?

Umbrellas are particularly hazardous when boarding and alighting from trains and trams. I was nearly stabbed to death by a small Asian woman who suddenly changed direction while we waited to touch off our mykis on the way out of the station. I stood very still and she looked terrified.

All the floors are slippery and I walk like a 90 year-old woman everywhere I see a smooth service. Since my fall last year, I'm acutely aware of how a simple fall can cause serious injury. I'm constantly surprised by how many walking surfaces are completely unsuited to wet weather and rushing crowds of people.

This morning's commute was chaotic. Power failures further down the line meant cancellations and delays. As the train pulled into the station 15 minutes late, the windows were dark with crowds inside and fogged with all their breathing. I insinuated myself into an inadequate space, having already let one train pass. I held onto an overhead railing at an angle just wrong enough to make me feel discombobulated when I finally arrived at my destination.

Coming home a woman asked whether station announcements are made on the train.

"Sometimes," I told her. "If you're lucky, they might even be accurate."

She looked at me like I was some kind of zealot.

Soon the voice of Metro trains announced that the next station was Seddon. It wasn't. It was South Kensington. Only two stops out. The woman looked at me with mistrust when I told her where to get off. The train, I mean. I shrugged. She could trust me - a stranger on a train - or she could trust the disembodied, malfunctioning woman with the voice. Or she could look out the window and see the name of the station.

It's nice to arrive home to a dry place; although I'm slightly nervous that the unattended hole in the ceiling will soon prove to be catastrophic.

As I settle in to watch Survivor tonight, I'm reminded to be glad that I'm not camping on a beach, even if I was in the running to win a million dollars. Or in north Queensland waiting for the cyclone to arrive.

How do you feel about rain?

In concert - Bernadette Peters

I spent last night with Broadway star Bernadette Peters in concert. I saw her a few years ago at the Sydney Opera House and remember being a little disappointed. I put it down to the dodgy acoustics. When she came out and started with "Let me Entertain You" from the musical Gypsy, I wondered if it wasn't the hall that was the problem last time.

Before the show I struck up a conversation with a woman whose table I was sharing while I had a cup of coffee. She didn't really know who Bernadette Peters is and had won her ticket on the radio. I told her that she's 67 years old as the woman looked at her program. The woman told me that she hadn't looked as good as Bernadette when she was 25! I considered her now and believed this to be true.

Ms Peters looked fantastic wearing a spaghetti-strapped, soft lilac gown with just the right amount of sparkle and a split in the front of the skirt coupled with satin heels. She shimmied around the stage and wasn't always on the microphone.

Hamming it up during one of the best versions of "Fever" I've ever heard, the diva slinked her way up the stairs to lie on a black velvet pillow and strike a shapely drape on top of the piano, she sang the song with lust and wit accompanied by double bass and drums. Yes! This was great performance.

Charming conversation interspersed the evening. "Joanna" from Sweeney Todd started with a cracked note, but improved from there. I started to get a bit twitchy and then I realised what the problem was. Bernadette Peters is much more an actress who sings, than a singer who acts. She is at her best when there's an emotional or comic element to the song. Listening to her sing is not enough and will be a disappointing experience. If you can absorb yourself in the emotion of the performance, then the experience is sublime. Losing my Mind from Stephen Sondeheim's Follies was extraordinarily emotional and like watching someone have a break down driven by the grief of a broken relationship.

The show ended with the big Sondheim song, Being Alive from Company, full of hope (and a fluffed lyric or two).

For encore, Peter Allen's song "I Honestly Love You" left me with tears overflowing. She then shared "Kramer's Song" a song she wrote as part of a children's book written for an animal shelter charity. Kramer is her dog and it was lovely.

I'd love to see Bernadette Peters in a show, rather than just in concert. It must be incredible.

Were you there at Her Majesty's Theatre last night? Have you seen Bernadette Peters? What did you think?

You must want this - because we're telling you you do!

On my way home this evening I walked past the H & M store which opened in Melbourne's old GPO building in Bourke Street on Saturday. Until this week, I had never heard of H & M. Apparently they are a Swedish clothing retailer and we're supposed to be beside ourselves with excitement.

By the middle of last week, builders were putting the final touches to the building and installing red carpets, velvet ropes, spotlights and marquees. There was also a huge digital clock counting down the very seconds until our deprivation would be ended and Melbourne would have the only H & M store in Australia. I watched as two young women shooed the fifty-year old male security guard behind a pillar so they could take photographs of the front entry (before the store opened). A whippet thin, spray tanned PR blond standing nearby smirked as she tried to operate her phone with her stupidly long fake fingernails.

Since the opening on Saturday, people have been queuing for hours to gain entry. To a shop. That's right, people have been lining up for hours so they can go into a shop. If it was World War II and we were in Leningrad, then this might be appropriate if the shop was a bakery or supermarket, but it isn't. Presumably all of the merchandise inside the shop is only a click away from the comfort of bed if your ipad is handy. Amongst all the groaning about the demise of bricks and mortar retailers, the hype seems ridiculous.

On Saturday there was a DJ inside Flinders Street Station. That was nice, but it didn't inspire me to go and stand in a line for hours. Banners at Southern Cross Station told me that the moment I'd been waiting for had arrived!

I wonder what it's like inside and whether there are crowds of people and the restriction of numbers is just to keep the queue in place, with the double effect of scarcity and desirability sending the message that everyone needs to be there.

A quick look at their website suggests that it's Swedish Target or Big W. I suppose that's handy, but it's not enough for me to stand in a line for hours. I would have trouble doing this for the Leningrad Bakery, I'm certainly not doing it now.

The last time I queued was Expo 88 in Brisbane. The whole city learned how to queue for hours at Expo. It was so well-organised and there was passing entertainment, that you didn't mind. You knew that it was only going to be there for 6 months, so there was a now or never aspect to it. Word got out very quickly about what was worth queuing for and logically, the places that were worth the wait always had a wait. I haven't heard that H & M is a pop up shop and will be gone soon. I can just wait until the day I can just walk in the door. I expect to be as underwhelmed as I was when Zara opened at the other end of the mall.

I wonder how long the velvet ropes and security guards will last? Have you been to H & M? What's it like? What are you willing to queue for?

What I'm saying "thank you" for this week.

This morning I woke up at 5am, forty-five minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I'm grateful because it gave me time to wash my hair and still be at work on time. I felt better about myself today.

Thank you.

A participant in the program I have been facilitating this week, bowled up to me at the end of the two days, looked in my eyes, smiled and told me that I had really inspired him.

Thank you.

Another participant told me that he had realised that he has been badly behaved at work. He also told me that his behaviour had been bad for 40 years and no one had ever told him. He told me that he now knows he needs to change. He told me he needs help because he doesn't know how to make the change. I felt privileged to be the person he confided in. I had thought he would be difficult to deal with, but I had really enjoyed his participation. I told him so.

Thank you.

I was to meet a friend who is visiting Melbourne this evening. He received an invitation relevant to the conference he's here attending and had to change our plans. We're meeting tomorrow for lunch. I'll be much fresher and awake! (I'm very tired this evening.) I now get a bonus early night and still get to see my friend.

Thank you.

Listening to the story of a boy who fled Afghanistan at the age of 14 after his father was murdered and spent a year in immigration detention on Christmas Island, I thought about what I was doing when I was fourteen. I was at school. I was starring in the school musical. I was playing music. I was reading novels. I was hanging out with friends and writing letters to my pen pals. I don't think I would have been able travel alone to the other side of the planet and start a new life. This boy is now vice captain at his school and is relishing the opportunity he has to sit exams.

Thank you.

Lastly, I'm grateful for Survivor. Last night was sensational viewing in the Beauty, Brawn and Brains season. The show gave me a point of connection with one of the less engaged participants at today's workshop. I also had a fabulous debrief on the phone afterwards with one of my friends. (For the record, Cass did her dash last night and LJ is very nice to have around.)

Thank you.

And lastly, always, thank you for the music. This week I've been listening to Max Richter's The Four Seasons Recomposed and The Fray's album "Helios".


What are you saying "thank you" for this week?