ON THE BUSES: EMPTINESS

Ever been alone, in a normally, really busy public space? (King George Square Station)

SEGREGATION AND DISCRIMINATION. SINCE WHEN IS BEING DIFFERENT A BAD THING?

Have you ever been discriminated against? The topic of discrimination has been going round and round in my mind today. Sometimes it is if the same theme visits you over and over.

Now I know Facebook is not normally known for being educational, nor is it very often very thought provoking. However, today the first two stories I read today were on segregation, or being different. (Segregation means to separate people by differences and discrimination means to treat people differently just because their differences.)

The first one was an older story of Marilyn Munroe and Ella Fizgerald, all the text and the image have come from The History Page, who originally published this on the 21st November. (http://www.facebook.com/TheHistoryPage)

The second story is a recent story on a young guy, who as an experiment for one of his classes at uni wore females clothes, or part of their clothing, incorporated into his everyday wardrobe. Again the images, and his story below, are taken off Facebook.

Both have got me thinking about how far, or not, we have moved for in regards to discrimination. I am curious to know other people’s thoughts. Have you ever been discriminated against?

:: The First is on: Discrimination because of Colour

When Marilyn Monroe learned that the Mocambo, a popular Hollywood night club, would not book Ella Fitzgerald because of segregation. Marilyn phoned the manager and told him that she would reserve a front row table every night Ella perfor

med there, knowing that her presence would get a lot of press and publicity for the club. Soon thereafter, Ella became the first African-American to perform at the Mocambo, and as promised, Marilyn was seated right up front to enjoy her favorite singer.

::The second story is on: When is a skirt not a skirt? 

Last week, as part of a cultural discovery project for one of my classes, I spent three days wearing ‘girls’ clothes while going about my day. I wanted to explore the general reaction and preconceptions that people in my city have to clothing, especially in regards to gender. To me, the idea that a piece of fabric or accessory can be so intertwined with who are in our conscious is perplexing. I didn’t want to show off, or offend anyone by my act of curiosity. Rather, I wanted to act as a meticulous observer of the times, to see if the community around me was really as open-minded as I wanted to believe that it was. After all, if such things really only had a place in the realm of high-fashion and in Scottish tradition, then something bigger must be at work.

On the first day, I wore a long-sleeve pink top cropped at the collarbone. I received many compliments, a few glares and even a free Venti gingerbread latte. On the second, I rocked a pink blouse with a high-waisted belt. Again, the same amount of well-wishes, questions and passing eye-rolls. These things were to be expected, as it isn’t necessarily the norm to see someone like me wearing things like these. I felt collected and confident in these modest outfits, seemingly convinced that the world around me could care less about the clothes someone wore. Most affirming was the response to my nails, which were almost always met with a cheerful grin, a high-five and a few words of encouragement.

What happened on the third day changed my perspective on humanity forever. I dressed myself as I normally would; band t-shirt, cardigan, plain Vans, etc. However, instead of black jeans, I complimented the outfit with a plain black skirt and matching set of tights. For me, this was a huge step in self-image. Years ago, I was barely confident enough to leave the house for school. These days, the opposite couldn’t be more true. As I set off about my day, the absolute worst in people came out in a full-force flurry of expletives and discomfort. I was ridiculed in whispers. I was mocked in glances. I was obnoxiously and filthily cat-called by a construction crew who, from behind, couldn’t tell that I was a man. Stopping by a bathroom before a lecture, a frat-bro went out of his way to shove me into the adjacent wall after eyeing me up and down on his way out. Expletives and names that might induce me to vomit were I to repeat them, were casually thrown in my direction with almost zero passing thought. By day’s end, I feared a full-on breakdown, unable to stand up for myself or what I believed in to maintain the integrity of the observer’s perspective. In a way, I had no right to feel that way, mostly because of the realization that this is the way that many have to live their lives. I fought back tears as every stare and ill-formed word engrained themselves in my sub-conscious.

Though I may not know you, I think that it’s important that we all come to understand why these things happen. In my book, cat-calling, shaming and harassment are among the worst actions we can engage in. As a heterosexual male, I will never truly know the fear that women may experience while walking home from work, going see a friend for lunch, or being sized-up in public based on their clothing. I will never truly know the gut-rot that a transgender individual may feel while being eyed up and down at the store or in class, strangers seeming to think as if the clothing they see before them begs a legal invitation of ridicule. I will never truly know the plights of these people, but as an ally and a human being invested in true equality, it is now my obligation to stand up for them as if I did.

What scares me the most is not the glances, mixed emotions, or 10-page paper that will inevitably come as a by-product of this project. No, what scares me is that this is the world we live in. We exist in a place where individuals living their truths can be subjected, directly or otherwise, to fear simply for living those truths. We live in an age where feeling ‘normal’ in your own clothing can create unfathomable contention with strangers, despite them having zero investment in their lives. We live in a world where the material, the fabric, the pieces that adorn you are somehow allowed to say more about who you are than the convictions in your heart and the sincerity in your deeds.

I don’t know about you, but I refuse that world. I refuse to let these things overcome the passion and genuine honesty that I’ve been so fortunate to bear witness to in my time. I refuse to let backwards, unprogressive mindsets stifle the glow and drive of those who are undeservingly robbed of it. Don’t say it can’t happen to you. If it happened to me, under the most average of circumstances on the streets in a progressive-leaning city, it could happen to anyone, and that is something I truly do not understand.

After all, it’s just a skirt.

What is it about a piece of inanimate, plain fabric that scares you so much?

-Tommy

DES VACANCES EN FRANCE: QUATRIEME PARTIE

DES VACANCES EN FRANCE: QUATRIEME PARTIE / HOLIDAYS IN FRANCE: PART FOUR

One Hotel Room at a Time

The original goal was to get up and leave Nancy first thing in the morning. But since Nancy had stolen a piece of our hearts, we found ourselves delaying. We had breakfast at the hotel, it was a simple meal of hot chocolates, croissants, and baguettes with spreads; all in very posh, refined surrounds. Jarvis is his usual charming self, throwing food on the ground, all the while managing to look cute doing it, and flirting with all of the women. 

After breakfast we go for another walk around the Old City of Nancy, we briefly contemplate traveling into other parts of Nancy, but we are so in love with this section we decide not to. It soon starts to rain, so we stop off for a haircut for Justin. Very interesting translation of what was wanted occurred!

Back on the road with the next stop being Dijon, the capital of Burgundy. We find our way to the Liberation Square, and the Palace of Dukes of Burgundy (Palais des ducs de Bourgogne), where we sit and enjoy the surroundings; it is a beautiful sunny day so it is gorgeous to bask in the European sun. Next it is off on foot to explore the town, which is meant to be of the most beautiful cities in France. Its historic buildings and byways, which were not heavily damaged by bombing in World War Two, are largely intact so it is very interesting as far as architecture goes. 

Dijon you may claim my tummy but not my heart. (The town is known for the mustard which is still produced locally.) I don't think it helped that we got lost in Dijon and spent an hour or so wandering around trying to find our way back to the car, exhaustion and feeling overwhelmed does not lend itself to you falling in love with a place.  

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ENGAGED TO A JEWISH SINGLE?

Meet Jewish singles, and engagement rings 80% off online; I wonder what my Hotmail junk mail is trying to tell me? Bianca over at bigwords wrote about her night of almost passion with George Clooney, for me it has always been Johnny Depp. Not the mid-life crisis Johnny who cheats of his wife and leaves her and the kids, but the 21 Jump Street Johnny, or even the Captain Jack Sparrow Johnny.

But Hotmail is trying to get me engaged to a Jewish single. Really? Hotmail don't you know who I live with? He does it for me even more than Johnny does. I guess I am lucky. OK  I know I am lucky that I am still in lust with my own partner, and enjoy having a good perv on him, more than any other man. But, if Johnny sorts his shit out, I am not going to say I wouldn't enjoy a moment with him.

Image is so we can all have a perv on Johnny and Justin. I never thought I did, but I also think this shows I have a 'type'.

ON THE BUSES: DRIVE BY

Have you ever had a bus drive past you without stopping?

I HAVE DIRT

You would not think, that as a woman who is more than a little OCD about cleaning, that I would be so happy about a dump truck full of dirt. However, on Monday when that truck pulled up in our driveway I was more than a little excited. I did get very over it by about the 20th wheelbarrow; thankfully both Justin and Dad were on hand to help. 

But, now it is all in the garden beds I cannot wait to begin planting the seedlings we have been growing. Top level I am planting a couple of fruit trees, as we already have a lemon tree in our backyard, I am thinking a lime and orange tree would be lovely. Then I will have two huge beds for vegetables and herbs. 

DES VACANCES EN FRANCE: TROISIÈME PARTIE

DES VACANCES EN FRANCE: TROISIÈME PARTIE / HOLIDAYS IN FRANCE: PART THREE
One Hotel Room at a Time

It was time to check out, and move on from Paris. We get up early, and head off to the train station; with a pit stop on the way for breakfast of crepes and hot chocolates. Also a stop off at a vintage jeweler to buy something for someone I love who was still in Brisbane, but never far from my mind. I found this amazing turquoise ring for Tamika, I know it will be (and was) too big for her fingers but I just love it and know that she will.

Trains, trains, oh how to describe how epic it is catching trains in Paris? How to describe what it is like catching a train in Paris with a 12kg 10 month old baby strapped to you in a baby sling?

We finally arrive at the car hire place, and they try to up-sell us to a BMW, umm no thanks even though she tries to tell us it will only be an extra 70 euro a day. I love how she used the term only. In the car Justin seems to struggle a bit, so before we even leave the car park I take over the driving. I am not great, OK so there was that very illegal u-turn, but without reading French or knowing the roads I managing to follow signs and guess our way back to the hotel. We are almost there and Justin finally sorts out the GPS.

I park willy nilly on the side of the road while Justin runs up and gets the luggage. Getting out of Paris is even crazier than our trip to the hotel, and add a screaming baby, you have our journey out of Paris. Once on the motorway it all seems easier, well easier once I pulled over in the emergency lane and feed Jarvis. Nothing like breast feeding a baby while cars zoom past doing 150klm per hour. Jarvis finally falls asleep, so it is back on the road and on our way to Nancy.

After three hours of driving I pull over into a service station, and we find ourselves in one of the weirdest servos. The attendant reminded me of Norman Bates, not a good thing in the middle of no where. We were stared at the entire time it took to eat a weird tasting baguette and drink our drinks.

Justin take over the wheel, this time he does better, but it is pretty easy to drive on the motorway which helps build up his confidence in driving in a foreign country on a different side of the road. Boredom as a passenger sets in, and I am soon taking random photos out the car window.  Finding our way into Nancy is easy with the GPS. We are staying in the best area! It is the old historic part of Nancy, simply called The Old City. Our hotel is amazing. But we dump our stuff, and quickly head out to explore before it gets too dark.

The town is gorgeous; Justin and I have fallen in love with Nancy in one afternoon’s walk. Over the last 15 years – after much restoration –, the old town of Nancy has revealed itself to be a significant asset. Justin described Paris as slightly faded and tacky, like a girl trying too hard. But Nancy as a beautiful classic woman that never goes out of style.

After wandering around, exploring and taking photos we stop for dinner, a goat's cheese fondue, very yummy. On the way back to the hotel we stop off at a patisserie, and get deserts, me a chocolate thingy. No idea as I can't read French, but so rich, but delicious. Justin had a chocolate éclair; I think the best either of us has ever tasted.

 Nancy you are a beautiful town.

Random things on the side of the road.

Thankful for a sleeping baby in long road trips.

 Gorgeous Hotel.

 With Amazing service.

 Must recommend the Goat's cheese fondue.

Could have sampled everything in this patisserie.

ON THE BUSES: WAITING COUPLE

STEPFORD WIFE

Today as I did the housework, an exciting chore for any stay at home parent, I wondered if I was becoming a “Stepford Wife”. OK not the “fawning, submissive, impossibly beautiful” part, but the “mindless, docile housewife” bit. Actually not the wife part either as I am not married, but the mindless docile bit.

Apologies to the few Men out there who do equal share of the housework, my Dad is one of these men, but I wonder why it is that it is that ovaries are necessary to clean a toilet?

Since when did I find myself with a contentment of a simplified life? Instead of going out to restaurants I am cooking meals that include organic ingredients. I cannot wait for my garden to grow so I can include food I have home grown, instead of just using home grown herbs. I have become so conscientious about what I eat and what Jarvis eats, I no longer even ‘cheat’ and use store bought sauces or baby food.

I also find myself simplifying other areas of my life. After I had Tamika, as a single Mum I just wanted to survive. Now, since having Jarvis I feel things that hold the highest values; love, health, and my relationships (both with myself and others) will always take precedence over career success. 

I have several degrees, but yet the highlight of my day often is a clean house, home cooked dinner, and reading Dr Seuss. I wish I could say it was time with my camera, or time to create, whether it is art or sewing, but with an 11 month old cling on, that does not ever seem to happen. I get to do things for ‘me’, such as write on my blog when Jarvis is breastfeeding; it is amazing how good I have become at the one handed typing. I guess, as I clean the toilet it is a salient reminder to live in congruence with my own unique path, regardless of what others think.

OK so I am happy to be a stay at home Mum, but I do get very sick of the question when asked with "that" tone.

Even statues have children who cling on!

VACANCES EN FRANCE: DEUXIÈME PARTIE

DES VACANCES EN FRANCE: / HOLIDAYS IN FRANCE: PART TWO
One Hotel Room at a Time

It is hard to think this time last month we had already left Paris; time has gone by so quickly.

The flight to Paris from Korea was not as comfortable as the flight from Brisbane to Korea. We were seated in the middle of a four row seat; and the lady on my side was an armrest hog, who kept glaring at me every time Jarvis moved or made a sound. Very hard to feed and hold a baby for eleven and a half hours in such a limited space. We flew Air France for this part of the journey, and even Justin remarked on how good looking the attendants were, the men included. 

Before we landed, Justin was saying he wanted to catch the train to our hotel room, the journey would have included two trains, then a ten minute walk with a baby, two suitcases and three carry on bags. Plus, he was talking about how he wanted to do stuff when we got into Paris. Getting through customs took forever, so by the time we did that, and got our bags almost two hours had passed since landing. So as soon as we got our bags, Justin changed his mind and wanted to get a taxi. I was so exhausted after the flight and customs I was more than happy to get a taxi, in fact I feel asleep the moment we got in.

In the end the taxi only cost just over 50 euro, so it was definitely worth it. We checked in to our room, and basically went out straight away for a walk. We wandered for about half an hour taking a few photos. However, Justin was talking about dinner and his hungry belly the whole time; even though it was only 6pm, and I explained that in France most people eat later. Justin’s belly won out and we found a cafe near us that started severing dinner at 6:30pm. We had the most delicious meal. But, as soon as we sat down it was like a switch flicked off in Justin, he could barely speak he was so tired. 

We came back to the room and had quick showers and were tucked up in bed by 8:30 Paris time. But with the time difference it was actually 4:30 in the morning Brisbane time. We were soooo tired. But none of us slept well. Over tired? Jet lag? Excitement of being in Paris?

Day one in Paris Tuesday: We left our room about 9am and did not return until 8pm. We walked so much, I cannot even begin to describe how very tired my feet and legs were. Plus carrying Jarvis around Paris in a sling is no joy to the neck. I felt every 12kgs of him.

After breakfast, in the Latin Quarter, we walked across the bridge to the Cathedrale Notre Dame. As crowded as it was, it is still such a beautiful place to walk around. The history permeats the air, tradition has it that Notre-Dame’s first stone was laid in 1163 in the presence of Pope Alexander III.

From the Notre Dame we walked to the Musee de Louve, but it is closed Tuesdays so we kept walking. We then walked through the Jardin des Tuileries; such beautiful gardens, once famous for Men of the time walking around in their finery, basically showing off. Now it is filled with tourist and joggers. In the gardens there was an old fashion carousal, so Justin and Jarvis had a ride. 

After the gardens we kept walking, up Av des Champs-Elsesees, our final goal was Arc de Triomphe. On our way we had crepes in paper and a half hour wait in Maccas to use the toilet. 

By the time we made it to the Arc it was already after 3pm, but with legs aching and feet hurting we made it to the top. The Arc de Triomphe honours those who fought and died for France in the French Revolutionary and the Napoleonic Wars, with the names of all French victories and generals inscribed on its inner and outer surfaces. Beneath its vault lies the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier from World War I. But without even knowing the history of the Arc, it is an impressive landmark in Paris.

Then it was time to head back to the hotel, half way back we stopped at a cafe for a very late lunch/early dinner. Back at the room just after 8pm, we collapsed. So very tired, it was quick showers and then in bed with in half and hour.

Day Two Wednesday: Justin woke super early; don't think he could get his body clock right. We got up dressed and I gave him his 30^th birthday present. After so much walking the day before Justin thought we would tackle the trains, very confusing and lots of effort to get connecting trains, left me wondering if it would have just been easier to walk. But once we got to The Musée du Louvre the art historian in me was super excited. Massive line up, close to two hundred people, but then Jarvis’s cute face got us through the line up, and to the front.

The Louvre is one of the world's largest museums, and a historic monument. It is a central landmark of Paris, located on the Right Bank of the Seine in the 1st arrondissement (district). We spent several hours wandering around looking at art, but only covered about a quarter, of the gallery if that.

Trains back to the hotel, by the time we got there Jarvis felt like he was 100 times heavier than when we started. Justin lay down for "just a minute". Four and half hours later! I tried to wake him so many times, but couldn't. I think him getting up early each morning and jet lag slammed him. It was 9:30. After we woke, we just walked down from the hotel, and had a quick dinner. A lap around the block after dinner, but bed was calling us, so it was a short walk.

 

IF YOU BUILD IT

Growing up I always took for granted that Dad would over take most of the backyard, in every house we lived in, with a vegetable garden. Dad likes to be doing “stuff”, even now when he is in his mid-seventies, he still likes to do “stuff”, and he says he gets bored with only working part-time. So I knew Dad would be perfect on so many levels to help me with my new project.

Even before we moved in this house the one thing I hated was the backyard. Before we signed the rental agreement we were promised it would be cleaned up. Twelve months of phone calls and emails to the real estate agent, the back yard still looked like part of an abandoned house. With Jarvis getting older and starting to walk, I knew there was no way I could ever let him into the backyard to play; it would be just too dangerous.

So with the dual reasons, of wanting to clean up the back yard and wanting to plant my own veggie garden, the clean up began. It is amazing what one 74 year old man and two women in their 40s can do. I think it also helped my sister was in a pissed off mood when she came over. There is nothing like a woman angry at her partner to get her welding a sledge hammer with amazing gusto.

Over the space of four days, we demolished the old pool and fence. It probably would have been quicker, bar for the fact my father is a man possessed when he gets a chainsaw in his hands. Never trust him when he says he is “just going to trim those trees back a little”. It took eight trailer loads to the dump to clean up. We kept what boards we could to re-use. But before I went to France, we were left with a clean backyard. ok, a big dirt patch, but it was free of dangers.

This week, dad and I have started to build our, (and I will have to say our as this will be as much Dad’s project as mine) garden beds. Next is the trailer loads of dirt and a final clean up. Then we can get planting!

I know it is crazy to go to all of this work in a rental, we won’t mention Jarvis’s bedroom, but I think it will be worth it. Not only will we save money in the long term, we will get fresh vegetable and herbs. Plus most important, I can control what goes into our food. I can either keep our produce organic, or at the very least use fertilizer and pest control that I approve of.