More holidays to Apollo Bay, less work please

It’s getting real close now. Down to weeks. Your Mum has put a towel on the car seat just in case the levee breaks. "I work on the levee, mama both night and day, I work so hard, to keep the water away. It's a mean old levee, cause me to weep and moan, gonna leave my baby, and my happy home". My job is my levee too, I resent it enough now let alone when you arrive. I still want to be an at home Dad for you. Your Mum enjoys her job and gets all the holidays whereas I hate the job and get very few holidays. I would love to be around for you as you grow up. Its not always possible however, we shall just have to see. I hope we have given you enough of our time that you don’t feel short changed.

This weekend was another backbreaking chain gang of chores entirely of my own choosing. I have been painting so much that on Friday when I took Nan to the MSO concert I was barely able to applaud. My arms shaking violently as I strained to raise them and provide yet another encore opportunity for the conductor. You’re Mum and I have been to five concerts this year for the MSO. This last one we decided I should take my Gran for a night out. It was at the Town Hall instead of the usual showier venue. Nan told me that the last time she was in the town hall was for the Bing Crosby appreciation society club dance when she was 17 (that would make it around 1946). She talked about all the places she used to go on nights out and for lunches. She went on a date with an English sailor once and was escorted back to the station where he shook her hand and said "Thankyou I had a lovely time, good evening Miss Howie". I told this to your Mum and she just rolled her eyes and went "gypped". She has a dirty mind sometimes. My Nan also volunteered in a canteen in Collins St where she made sandwiches and coffee for the servicemen. She met my Grandad from memory working in Myer together. I will be getting all these stories and adding them to the diary later. I told her I want to video them telling all kinds of stories about their life for you. The great thing about digital format is that we can just shoot for hours and store it on a hard drive. The stories she tells me are so amazing, such a different life to what yours will be, although it is my intention to make sure you experience some of the same things they did. Volunteering at old age homes, tree planting days, things like that.

Grandpa tells me that when he was an underage house painter he used to have to carry all his equipment, including the ladder and paint tins in the train with his bike. Can you imagine that now? If you want evidence for how lazy we have become just look at the beginning of this paragraph. Poor little Dad has sore arms because he has done a little painting for Gods sakes. I milk it for all its worth once I get back upstairs, making wincing noises and rubbing my arms like I just wrestled with Zeus. So by the time you have arrived she has already got a good 15 years Mothering experience from looking after me.

I just read a Blog about a guy whose ear hair was mistaken for a stray bit of clothing fluff. I commented that I have so much fuzz on my ears that if I stand in front of a light it looks like I am growing angel’s wings out the side of my head. I also have either chest hair creeping up to my chin or a beard which is losing the fight against gravity and moving down to my chest. In the last year my eyebrows have established a few rogue hairs which have broken with convention and decided to create an upper canopy, which may provide shade for the shorter well behaved hairs but does nothing for my faces symmetry. By trimming the offending hairs to their regular size begins a vicious cycle that only exacerbates over time. For once you trim that hair the surrounding hairs think this is an opportunity to take over the position of head boy. All of a sudden you have a race for the sun on your hands, as your eyebrow begins to look more like a pair of hairy caterpillars on growth hormones. Give it a few years and I won’t need to wear a capped hat.

Your Mum is having weird baby dreams. She just told me about this one this morning. She went into labour and so I rushed her to the hospital. Then we are sitting in the waiting room and the nurse comes up to us and hands the baby over to her. She couldn’t remember having it though and asked me if she had to take any drugs. I told her no and she did really well. She then uncovered the baby who was all wrapped up including her head. She was beautiful, but then the more she looked the more she started noticing dog features, the eyes got bigger and the face started sprouting hair and the ears got pointy. By the end she said you looked exactly like a Chihuahua.

Christmas is soon upon us as well, a fact that I am sure you are tired of hearing because it will fall so close to your birthday. I was talking to my Nan about how the Christmas spirit of community and group celebration is virtually gone from the workplace because they don’t wish to spend the money on their staff any more. I said that this is part of a bigger issue and one in which will effectively wipe out the concept of loyalty and pride in your work. People are now thinking if they can’t even be bothered giving us a decent Christmas party why should I put in any effort? Cost cutting does not save money for a company. It breeds apathy and resentment which then effects performance and the bottom line. I can remember going to our local social Club when I was a kid to see Santa. It was a venue where people can meet and have a drink, eat dinner, have a dance etc. They put on a great day for the family for all the Club members. Santa would even come in a helicopter (he would sit in my grandparents leather chair which I hope will come to us). It was damn the expense and let’s give them a great time to say thanks for being a member. This does not happen any more. The Club itself is now just another venue built around pokies machines. Well I will try my best to make sure you have a ball during Christmas. I will aim to get the street involved and have a big Christmas party in the park for everyone to come to. Am I an idealist or has it actually come true? I hope that I have risen the occasion and done everything I can to make you a well rounded person.

So anyway, back to Bach. The Friday concert was the best yet, Bach is my favourite music. It just speaks to me and I don’t have to struggle to understand it and I am never bored listening to it. What is different is that his music often doesn’t have any melodies that you immediately recognise or even remember once the piece is finished. It’s those intertwining lines of melody that don’t really go anywhere that appeal to me. It doesn’t really go anywhere, you don’t recall strong repeating themes repeating and then given variations in different keys and tempos. It doesn’t always resolve itself in obvious ways that someone like Mozart is so good at. Its music of the ether, Gods music. It is the kind of music you can listen to for years before it becomes too familiar. The perfect desert island disk would be Bach. We also listened to a new Clarinet Concerto by Ross Edwards which was wonderful and finally Beethoven's 5th which is also one of the most perfect pieces of music ever created. It was a wonderful concert and im glad I got to share it with my Grandma.

Im sitting here on the top floor looking out to the Dandenong ranges. The dark grey clouds are hovering low above our house and lighting strikes light up the sky. Rain has become more precious than oil.

Bought the Definitive Rolf Harris and 'The most relaxing Bach album in the world'.

Listening to music we can play during your birth, here are some I found today -


Shostakovich - Symphony No.9 in E Flat Major, Op. 70 - Moderato
Haydn - Symphony No.22 in E Flat Major, "The Philosopher" - Adagio
Hayden - Symphony No.26 in D Minor, "Lamentatione" - Adagio (Chorale)
Mahler - Symphony No.1 in D, "The Titan" - 3. Feierlich und gemessen, nicht schleppend
Beethoven - Piano Sonata No.14 "Moonlight" - Adagio sostenuto
Beethoven - Piano Sonata No.8, "Pathetique" - Adagio cantabile
Beethoven No.6, "Pastoral" - Allegro ma non troppo

Bassinets, bellies and blubbering

You found something to play with last night. We sat there in amazement watching the top part of Mums belly button moving up and down. It looked like you were poking it from the inside. It really was bizarre. Also on Saturday night your Mum woke me up at 3am, screaming that she had a cramp in her calf. I sat bolt upright in the bed, grabbed her leg and started to rub furiously, blinking and staring around the room in confusion. She then said thanks to me and decided she wanted to have a conversation with me. It’s like dealing with Sybil (movie reference). I wasn’t having any of it and I dropped back down onto the pillow and immediately fell back to sleep.


Chas helped out all weekend with the painting of the garage that we are converting; it saved me an entire weekend of work. Best of all I got to play all kinds of music that he never would have listened to of his own accord. See that actually was the highlight over how great the room is looking. My sense of perspective is completely warped and terribly biased on music. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sadie and her man bought you a bassinet. I love that she gets to experience the same kind of relationship with you that I had with her. I was 17 when she was born and Sadie will be 19 when you are born. She will be able to understand the special relationship that you have with such an age difference. She will be able to understand why I went to London for a while and why I went to Queensland to live for a bit. I was at that age of exploration and it is a bit of a selfish time in your life. I’m not sure if she feels like I wasn’t there enough or not actually. I should ask her. I went to almost all of her school concerts from kindergarten up, I loved them although the later ones did tend to go on a bit. But that feeling of pride when I saw her up there on the stage was all encompassing. I went to more of these things than her father did.

I just realised that at this stage I am not talking about you all that much. I understand that it’s enjoyable reading things about yourself. The thing is, you still are a bump albeit a much more active one now, never the less you are not you yet. And trust me, I will run out of stories about myself and your Mum real quick. Pretty soon its just going to be all about you and you will be begging for another witty anecdote about my wacky younger years.

Reading Algis Budrys - Some will not die
Listening to The Decembrists - The Crane Wife
Chewing some free Mentos gum.

Coping with the past

I was told something in a forum that was one of the most horrifying and cruel stories about what happened to them as a child. I was so upset. When i feel that way i write. It is very personal (for both parties) however i believe it can apply to many peoples experiences.

This is what i wrote to this person -

I am sitting here alone in this cold room, no matter how high I turn up the heater this damn room never loses its chill. My hands click away on the keyboard and I write, simply write. I write because I am compelled to. Throughout my life I have often retreated to a quiet room, to try and make sense of it all. Thoughts are swirling, concepts, theories, kind words, sad words, words of comfort, respect, admiration, God I am flooded with a million words at once and I pray I can give them all to you. Yet prayer is more than a form of expressing hope, it is also a means of collecting our thoughts and what my thoughts tell me is that nothing I write here will truly be enough. In fact I think this is more about my needs than yours. Writing is a form of release for me, a means to express my deepest feelings and to show what lies beneath. So what is that pray tell? Well I like to think that inside us all is our truest self, our oldest self, the part of us that has been around for millennia. I like to think that within there lives the collection of our experiences both good and bad, and with each experience comes a new understanding and a new insight into not only ourselves but each other. I keep thinking about that damn ladder, the one I consider I climb as life goes on, but today I have learnt something new. That ladder makes no sense because at any given time we could fall off it and have to start again, and that makes no sense to me. I already climbed it so why should I do it again? One minute I think Im nearing the top and then whammo, I realise that the end was a trick of the light and I realise ive hardly started. Life just isn’t this simple. ……….We are capable of anything given the conditions, the only thing that stops us from doing one thing and not the other is choice. God what bullshit we can come up with to explain life, what arrogance to think it can ever be understood. The only thing that is real is what I am doing right now. I can try and work out why im doing this or I can just keep doing it because it is making me feel good. My most precious and peaceful times are when I am not second-guessing myself. When I am writing, gardening, making love, watching my dogs, talking to my sister. What clarity, what peace, nothing else matters, nothing I have been through good and bad is infringing upon my time right now. Ah but shit! Now see….. I stop doing that and for a second I was left with my own thoughts…………………..that’s dangerous stuff Daniel, I don’t want to suppress my hurts, I don’t want them to be there during my moments of silence but they always manage to. I’m reminded of when I told Jenny some of my secret hurts, the ones even the silence didn’t hear. It was a series of catalysts that got me to that moment and I was able to express to her what was lying beneath. God I felt good after that. Its like a freedom, an exorcism of old ghosts haunting my body. The consequences of letting these ghosts out are not to be taken lightly, I could have gone either way at that point, LOL, now we come back to choice again! I define myself by how I limit my choices, not all options are useful ones, so therefore I limit myself to ensure my times of peace are increased. At one point in my life I allowed myself the ultimate choice, to live or not to live, I made the right choice and from then on my second option was forever removed. I live here as Daniel for as long as I can, I accept that I was not given the right to a life free of hurt and nor would I choose it. It scares me to think of the man I would have been if I didn’t have those experiences, a worse one I know that at least, a shell, a robot.

You are living a defining moment and thanks to your trust in us we have been blessed to have you share it with us. I can’t properly tell you how good that makes me feel. Thank you for introducing me to your ghosts, they have partly made you who you are now……….partly. Once they are let go (and they will go) you will be able to fill those empty spaces with whatever you choose. If I got to make the choice for you it would be for you to be so filled up with moments of love with your family and friends that your soul will be overflowing with joy. We would all give you this if we could however there really is no need -because you have the opportunity to give it to yourself if you choose it.

Its got a little warmer in here, the light has just broken through the clouds. Just outside the window a rainbow lorikeet is calling to its mates and they come flying over. Isn’t it funny how they always stick together and function better as a group, I guess they realise that they don’t have to do everything alone, that God didn’t mean for them to function that way.

04th November 2007

Anna Akhmatova was one of the great lyric poets of the twentieth century. Born in Russia, she lived through the tumultuous events of that country's history: the fall of the Tsarist government and the Russian Revolution, the internecine struggles of the reolutionary period, the establishment of the Soviet Union, the iron fist of Stalinism, World War II, the Cold War, and the slow thawing of despotic power. Originally a lyric poet of love and her homeland, she was at times brutalized into not writing because of her popularity -- a threat to the regime -- and her independence. During the Stalin years she composed what may be our century's greatest poem, a remarkable lyric sequence called "Requiem." In it, she witnesses to and commemorates the suffering of those who endured the awful terror of imprisonment in the vast prison camp system known as the Gulag: "I stand as witness to the common lot,/ survivor of that time, that place."

I learned how faces fall,
How terror darts from under eyelids,
How suffering traces lines
Of stiff cuneiform on cheeks,
How locks of ashen-blonde or black
Turn silver suddenly,
Smiles fade on submissive lips
And fear trembles in a dry laugh.
And I pray not for myself alone,
But for all those who stood there with me
In cruel cold, and in July’s heat,
At that blind, red wall.