Summer in Sydney is a test of how well you can avoid the harsh sun. We haven’t had any days over 40° (yet) here this year, it’s still possible though.
But what I find fascinating about those days when the sun beats down is the absolute starkness of the light, the contrast it creates—and its effect not just on people but the whole environment…
I got a message recently from my sister in Toronto, to say that our dad’s gravestone had been installed in the cemetery where we laid him to rest one snowy day last year, before the pandemic began.
She’d also found an older family plot, in a different part of the same cemetery, and had spent a day there cleaning up the monument—and unearthing the stones of some of our ancestors that had been covered in dirt and grass, over many years…
A little while ago I found an essay online, written by my grandfather.
I never met him, he died in 1960, almost a decade before I was born; but through an accident of timing, he spent WWI in a German prison camp. Instead of becoming a concert pianist, which is what he was studying there at the time, he became a psychologist and professor, and wrote a book about the society that sprang up in the camp in the years he was held.
Later, while working for the Canadian government during WWII, he wrote for Maclean’s magazine about how difficult it was going to be for the soldiers and prisoners returning from the war, the trouble they would inevitably have returning from that experience to “polite society”, and how their imaginations of life back at home after all that time away would inevitably lead to disappointment with the real thing.
I think that’s what the return to relative normalcy will be like for all of us, as the pandemic starts to get under control around the world…
If you’ve been reading my essays for a while now, you might know a bit about my family in Canada—the birders of Southern Ontario, that’s them.
One of my sisters sent me a photo of the decorations going on their tree this year over there, which naturally enough included a lot of bird-related ornaments, gathered over many years. My dad and my uncle used to have a boxing day tradition of shopping for new ornaments, so the collection was pretty expansive by the time we were kids—and we had to be a bit careful around all that Czechoslovakian blown glass, I can tell you. But I think we did okay; most of it survives and is still being used by them & their own (careful!) kids today.
Not having kids, a tree, or ornaments here in Sydney myself, I decided to do pretty much the opposite of what I usually do for one of these essays: I took my longest lens, and my largest camera, and went looking for actual birds I could capture, and send to my mum over in a wintry lockdown in Toronto, to give her a bit of colour and summer light to enjoy for a while…
If you were to stop by my apartment, you might think I was mildly obsessed. And you’d be right—but it’s not quite what you’d think, at first glance.
There might be a Phantom of the Opera poster on the wall. You could find a Phantom action figure, lurking on my desk. And, sure, I do have six (SIX?!) copies of the film—many of which actually contain two versions of it.
But, I promise you—there will be no songs about him, no Broadway or London cast renditions of anything. This isn’t the Phantom you’re thinking of; well, probably not, anyway…
Like most of us, I’m finding this year hard.
I’m well aware that it could be worse, of course—Sydney (and New South Wales, and Australia) are comparatively speaking doing extremely well, with new cases under 20 per day for months now; meanwhile, to our south, Melbourne is in their second lockdown after case numbers went over 500/day for weeks on end.
But still, between my father’s passing earlier in the year, and the fact that the entire industry I’ve spent my career in is closed indefinitely, it’s hard to know what my purpose is at the moment. Mostly I try to stay safe, which means rarely leaving the house aside from walks in a nearby park or grocery shopping; so I see the same few blocks, and not much else…
To suggest that there’s been a lot going on in 2020 so far would be, well, the understatement of the year.
We drove inland from Sydney on the weekend to visit a friend (now that we’re allowed to travel locally), passing through lands that were scorched by the bushfires in December and January, flooded with rain in February, and quarantined for coronavirus ever since.
But what I was thinking about on this trip was, ironically, the things I didn’t need to think about. The many, many things that are just easier for me, as a whitefella in Australia—even as a recent migrant…
My last essay, from February, seems like a postcard from a bygone age. Me, at home; a life in the arts; what different meanings those have now.
Two days after posting the essay, my father died; by the following week I was in Toronto with my family, putting him to rest on a windswept hill, as snow fell around us…
Constant
ADJECTIVE
Occurring over a period of time.
Remaining the same over a period of time.
(of a person) Unchangingly faithful and dependable.
NOUN
A situation that does not change.
Glasgow, like most cities, is changing rapidly. But you may have noticed that the older something gets, the better the chance of survival. The Provan's Lordship is the oldest house in Glasgow. It's a stones-throw away from Glasgow Cathedral and was built by Bishop Andrew Muirhead for the chaplain of nearby St Nicholas Hospital in 1471. I was lucky to have the place to myself when I visited recently and I have to say that it was more than a little eerie. You can practically feel the history in each room as you make your way through the house.
Nearby graves at Glasgow Cathedral have alphabet gardens growing in the engravings of the tombstones. Nature takes back everything eventually and here the soil has blown into the channels, followed be seed. constant growth; Constant renewal. Nothing ever stands completely still.
A short walk towards the city centre reveals the latest area for architectural renewal. Glasgow College and the surrounding area has seen a massive change in the past few years with building after building being erected at great speed (at least for someone who lives outside the city). But if I had to put my money on which of these buildings would still be standing in 100 years, The old Provan's Lordship would win hands down.
An old London bus passes by the modern architecture, the rattle of the Diesel engine cutting through the quiet like a chainsaw. It heads toward the Provan's Lordship. A link between new and old.
My headlights always seem to be switched on this time of year. Every morning my car greets me with the ping that warns me for slippery roads despite the new winter tires. I can see a roller coaster year in my rear view mirror and there is that nagging realization that only a fundamental change of course can avoid the view of yet another roller coaster year ahead.
For now I'm going to push the cruise control button, lean back and find joy in the few rays of sunlight that make it over the horizon and through the clouds. I have to have faith that at some point I'll be ready to exit the traffic flow and enjoy the change of speed, the sound of tires on rough tarmac and an unknown but clear view through the windshield.
