Melbourne (Dubai), London, Sweden, (Dubai) Melbourne…
Summer, Winter, Spring and back to Autumn…..
Since I last wrote, all those months ago I have been round the world and back again…passed through major time zones, spanned all four seasons in four weeks and lost a dear friend, mentor, guide and beloved grandmother Theresa Zeidman….
I wanted to write again since as time goes on everyone gets on with life – the northern hemisphere opens up to spring and summer and the southern hemisphere prays for rain as nights draw in and winter prompts jumpers, scarves and pumpkins….
Way back when, on the 28th of January 2007, I re-arrived in Melbourne having landed here 3 months previously to the full brunt of its crazy climate and unseasonal frost. For the month of February, kept going by the predictable excitement of my forthcoming solar return, aka birthday, I struggled – in truth – to find my feet after 3 months of travel, barefoot antics, snapshots of love and the richcountryside of Northern New South Wales. For the first weeks I was fortunate enough to experience, for only the second time this trip, the joys of ‘backpacking’ - sharing space, rooms and resources with the world’s rich kids to whom ‘travelling’ and ‘getting wrecked’ – let alone wasting water (don’t get me started) are synonymous. I am getting too old for this malarkey! Not out of place on some level (being one of the rich kids) I was desperately miserable on the other and made my escape from the ‘biggest hostel in the Southern Hemisphere’ (you can imagine what fun that was) and found myself a room in Sari’s flat in a little district called Abbottsford, close to the river, not far from the centre of town.
So it was there I stayed (and here I now write from) until on the 23rd of Feb my world got turned upside down when I heard my gran was very ill and was in hospital with pneumonia. It is strange as you can feel so easily lulled into a false sense of security in Australia – the language is the same, they drive on the left, culturally they seems to bridge the best and worst of the UK and the US. Yet when this happened I felt so far away and helpless my world here, the fragile construct of a ‘life’ I had created for myself - fell away and I was literally pulled back to the UK – spiritually, emotionally and physically for the two days before I made by decision and flew home I was in limbo – suspended between two worlds.
I arrived in London on Tuesday the 27th of Feb at 2pm. Following the long trip I did not go straight to the hospital – it was almost as if the relief of arriving meant somehow it would be ok. She died at 5pm that day and sadly I did not get to see her; a truth I am reconciling myself with still. What was strange was that on the journey back I spoke to only 3 people – the first woman in Melbourne airport was going back to Glasgow as her dad had died. The second woman I sat next to for the flight was a Catholic nun who lived in Kenya and had gone back to Melbourne to nurse her mother who had subsequently died. She was very kind as I explained that it felt like I was literally being ‘pulled home’ she said how the dying person’s spirit calls the family members home so they are all together when it is time to let go – I figured she has a line to God so I did not argue. Indeed, although I did not get to see her I believe she waited till I was on terra ferma and let go soon after. The last man I met in Dubai airport let me send a text to my mate Graham who was meeting me at Heathrow as I had got onto an earlier flight in my will to get home. He had gone back from London to Perth as his Grandma was dying and had subsequently died. Of all the people I could have connected with on that journey somehow, energetically, I attracted people with these experiences and while I did not know she would die all the writing I did on those flights, all the communicating with her spirit perhaps part of me knew it was the end …
So, on return to the UK, into the loving arms and tears of family and friends the Jewish tradition held us up and together. Through her funeral, where she was buried next to Sidney her husband, and through 3 days and nights of shiva; the period of mourning where family, Theresa’s friends and our friends all gathered to pay respects and celebrate her long and eventful life. The first night of shiva was held at her sheltered accommodation in Ajex house in Stamford Hill. It was very amusing really, she would have laughed, a pissed rabbi who told the group of mostly old folk that ‘Theresa was a good woman in the Jewish tradition as she followed her husband’. The crowd got rowdy at one point – talking amongst themselves, shouting ‘what a load of rubbish’ to the rabbi and generally misbehaving in a way only older people can get away with. It was light relief for the family following a difficult day. The next two nights were at my mum’s place in Whetstone and I think we all felt very supported by the ritual where our friends also came for prayers and tea and cake (we are Jews remember) and to hold us up in our time of mourning.
Summer, Winter, Spring and back to Autumn…..
Since I last wrote, all those months ago I have been round the world and back again…passed through major time zones, spanned all four seasons in four weeks and lost a dear friend, mentor, guide and beloved grandmother Theresa Zeidman….
I wanted to write again since as time goes on everyone gets on with life – the northern hemisphere opens up to spring and summer and the southern hemisphere prays for rain as nights draw in and winter prompts jumpers, scarves and pumpkins….
Way back when, on the 28th of January 2007, I re-arrived in Melbourne having landed here 3 months previously to the full brunt of its crazy climate and unseasonal frost. For the month of February, kept going by the predictable excitement of my forthcoming solar return, aka birthday, I struggled – in truth – to find my feet after 3 months of travel, barefoot antics, snapshots of love and the richcountryside of Northern New South Wales. For the first weeks I was fortunate enough to experience, for only the second time this trip, the joys of ‘backpacking’ - sharing space, rooms and resources with the world’s rich kids to whom ‘travelling’ and ‘getting wrecked’ – let alone wasting water (don’t get me started) are synonymous. I am getting too old for this malarkey! Not out of place on some level (being one of the rich kids) I was desperately miserable on the other and made my escape from the ‘biggest hostel in the Southern Hemisphere’ (you can imagine what fun that was) and found myself a room in Sari’s flat in a little district called Abbottsford, close to the river, not far from the centre of town.
So it was there I stayed (and here I now write from) until on the 23rd of Feb my world got turned upside down when I heard my gran was very ill and was in hospital with pneumonia. It is strange as you can feel so easily lulled into a false sense of security in Australia – the language is the same, they drive on the left, culturally they seems to bridge the best and worst of the UK and the US. Yet when this happened I felt so far away and helpless my world here, the fragile construct of a ‘life’ I had created for myself - fell away and I was literally pulled back to the UK – spiritually, emotionally and physically for the two days before I made by decision and flew home I was in limbo – suspended between two worlds.
I arrived in London on Tuesday the 27th of Feb at 2pm. Following the long trip I did not go straight to the hospital – it was almost as if the relief of arriving meant somehow it would be ok. She died at 5pm that day and sadly I did not get to see her; a truth I am reconciling myself with still. What was strange was that on the journey back I spoke to only 3 people – the first woman in Melbourne airport was going back to Glasgow as her dad had died. The second woman I sat next to for the flight was a Catholic nun who lived in Kenya and had gone back to Melbourne to nurse her mother who had subsequently died. She was very kind as I explained that it felt like I was literally being ‘pulled home’ she said how the dying person’s spirit calls the family members home so they are all together when it is time to let go – I figured she has a line to God so I did not argue. Indeed, although I did not get to see her I believe she waited till I was on terra ferma and let go soon after. The last man I met in Dubai airport let me send a text to my mate Graham who was meeting me at Heathrow as I had got onto an earlier flight in my will to get home. He had gone back from London to Perth as his Grandma was dying and had subsequently died. Of all the people I could have connected with on that journey somehow, energetically, I attracted people with these experiences and while I did not know she would die all the writing I did on those flights, all the communicating with her spirit perhaps part of me knew it was the end …
So, on return to the UK, into the loving arms and tears of family and friends the Jewish tradition held us up and together. Through her funeral, where she was buried next to Sidney her husband, and through 3 days and nights of shiva; the period of mourning where family, Theresa’s friends and our friends all gathered to pay respects and celebrate her long and eventful life. The first night of shiva was held at her sheltered accommodation in Ajex house in Stamford Hill. It was very amusing really, she would have laughed, a pissed rabbi who told the group of mostly old folk that ‘Theresa was a good woman in the Jewish tradition as she followed her husband’. The crowd got rowdy at one point – talking amongst themselves, shouting ‘what a load of rubbish’ to the rabbi and generally misbehaving in a way only older people can get away with. It was light relief for the family following a difficult day. The next two nights were at my mum’s place in Whetstone and I think we all felt very supported by the ritual where our friends also came for prayers and tea and cake (we are Jews remember) and to hold us up in our time of mourning.
From here ensued the remaining ten days of revisiting London life from my, albeit brief, 4 month break. Seeing my family of friends was so nurturing. While I have met beautiful people in Australia I have deeply missed my friends in the UK. People whom I have known for sometimes decades many of whom now are ‘proper grown-ups’; popping sprogs, getting hitched and tailoring their love of all things green. Seeing all the lovely babies: Charlie, Ivor, Ella and my cousins Elaine and Tony’s gorgeous girl Miya was not a great tonic for the broodiness (except when they cried and I could hand them back) but more important this was a chance to hang out with my soul group once again, going for dinner with old colleagues, meeting mates for big hugs and wet walks, being at ease.
As the saying goes (and my gran loved a good saying)…every cloud has a silver lining and part of the shiny stuff for me that trip was the chance to re-visit brief and growing love which had been planted in January and not had a chance to bloom despite some careful watering and long-distance TLC…For my final week in Europe I went to Sweden, forested, below freezing Sweden, with its warm embraces, love, romance, log fires, wood cabins, pasta, fruit, red wine and strange conversations. This part of the story is an unfinished poem – paused - patiently and impatiently awaiting its next stanza – will it rhyme, free flow, ignore all rules and begin again? Even as the co-author I have no idea only some hope and re-ignited faith….
And now I am back in Melbourne. Australia’s cultural capital – rich in art, music, wide roads and repeated street names. I came back, lagged, shagged and emotionally haggard….my flatmate was an angel – caring and nurturing. I fortunately had some consultancy work to come back to and my teaching job, teaching a religions course to adults one night a week, was also due to start so having touched the void deeply I slowly began to fill it again… Moreover, before the Easter break I was interviewed for a consultancy job to work for Collins Street Baptist Church to undertake a 10 week feasibility study for them to explore them setting up a fair trade café to reach into the community and improve their ‘mission work’ (are you still awake?). Actually it is proving a real insight - finally working for God – she is a good manager and we get on well. I meet the Deacons next week and am doing workshops with the congregation so somehow I have come back from the UK with a closer relationship and appreciation of ‘tradition’. How long though till they all find out I am the only Jew in the village?!
So having been resurrected (financially and emotionally) before Easter I borrowed Sari’s friends for the weekend and we walked 4 days of the Great Ocean Walk (the Aussies are known for their innovative use of semantics). It was just what the doctor ordered (quite literally as I had not been able to breath properly for a number of weeks and have since discovered I am anaemic) and since then I have been able to be more at peace on many levels. Waiting for the man to come back, but not waiting too much, looking to buy a camper van and live the dream and trying to embrace this stage as it unfolds…
Keep in touch folks – observations and rude commentary most welcome on the blog.
So having been resurrected (financially and emotionally) before Easter I borrowed Sari’s friends for the weekend and we walked 4 days of the Great Ocean Walk (the Aussies are known for their innovative use of semantics). It was just what the doctor ordered (quite literally as I had not been able to breath properly for a number of weeks and have since discovered I am anaemic) and since then I have been able to be more at peace on many levels. Waiting for the man to come back, but not waiting too much, looking to buy a camper van and live the dream and trying to embrace this stage as it unfolds…
Keep in touch folks – observations and rude commentary most welcome on the blog.Pictures include:My family, Snapshots of Jo’s hen weekend last year, pictures of Sweden and views from the Great Ocean Walk…..
