just a long shot

Long ago, when I was still teaching at Penrith High, I bought Long Shot, by Aimee Mann, on EP. I liked it a lot, then forgot about Mann for about a decade and a half, though every so often the thought of her formed a partly coherent image in the back of my head.

Then, while at Nadia's uncle's place in North Bondi, I found two Mann LP's amongst his collection. And the rest is a kind of sweet history. In 12 months I have collected all of Mann's work, from Whatever onwards. I have been wondering what attracts me to her songs, though the answer was clear from the start. She writes well. Her lyrics have bite. The tunes are good, with great hooks and clever bridges. That's not to say she's a method writer who churns it out. Quite the opposite. She is a pop artist with gravitas, which is a rarity. She reminds me of a lot of the good writing from the seventies. Her influences were mine too.

Yesterday I ordered the soundtrack to Magnolia off Amazon. It cost 12 cents! (Should any album be just 12 cents?) I wanted it principally for two songs - Save Me and Wise Up, which are not collected elsewhere.

With artists I come to like, something goes 'click' and then I pay attention. I am paying attention to Aimee Mann.

when a child is ill

In a crisis, the word community,
gets scrubbed clean. It’s not that
it’s been hiding amongst gutter-lain leaves
and cans,
or minuted in the local rag,
Rather, it’s left to molder in the van of life's
fast-passing train, a kind of sweet yester-notion,
or rarely heard refrain, still resonating beyond
the clatter.

Yet scrubbed it is, like a sea-found Piece-of Eight,
or a faintly historic, though now outmoded, memorial plate.
So when it’s a child, those
late perspectives, the day-born absolutes,
fritter and recede,
leaving us with a newly blank date, a shovelful of nothings,
as if pure silence, or incoherence
can compensate.

thankyou

To all the hands that went into last night's benefit concert for Gracie and her family, to the performers who gave their time, to the childcare workers who toiled and who had already had a full day at the job, to those who baked and served, to those who held doors, moved furniture, cleaned up, to those who simply appreciated, prayed and cried.

Thankyou.

Here are the groups!

The eight groups for the World Cup 2010 were drawn this morning in South Africa. Australia is in Group D and has drawn the Germans, the Serbs and the Ghanains. That's another tough ask, though last time we did have Brazil. Muchly relieved we don't this time but the Germans are tournament specialists and Serbia won their group ahead of France.

Group G has been designated the 'group of death' and Group C seems to have the lightest load, so to speak. New Zealand have a big job ahead in Group F, where the opposition is uniformly strong.

Group A: South Africa, Mexico, Uruguay, France

Group B: Argentina, South Korea, Nigeria, Greece

Group C: England, United States, Algeria, Slovenia

Group D: Germany, Australia, Ghana, Serbia

Group E: Netherlands, Japan, Cameroon, Denmark

Group F: Italy, New Zealand, Paraguay, Slovakia

Group G: Brazil, North Korea, Ivory Coast, Portugal

Group H: Spain, Honduras, Chile, Switzerland.

Pots of Fifa Gold

The seedings and 'pot' groupings for the World Cup 2010 Draw on Friday 4th have finally been released. If you are new to this process, Pot One contains the top seven ranked seedings(according to Fifa) plus the host country, South Africa. The other pots broadly reflect a geographical categorization. The final eight groups of four teams will be selected by drawing a team from each pot in succession, eight times over. The pots are:

Pot 1 (seeds): South Africa, Brazil, Spain, Netherlands, Italy, Germany, Argentina, England

Pot 2 (Asia, Oceania and North/Central America): Japan, South Korea, North Korea, Australia, New Zealand, United States, Mexico, Honduras

Pot 3 (Africa and South America): Ivory Coast, Ghana, Cameroon, Nigeria, Algeria, Paraguay, Chile, Uruguay

Pot 4 (Europe): France, Portugal, Slovenia, Switzerland, Greece, Serbia, Denmark, Slovakia


What's my favoured grouping for Australia? Here's one configuration.

England
Australia
Ghana
Slovenia

My nightmare grouping? One of many, includes:

Brazil
Australia
Ivory Coast
Portugal

All this will be settled a few days. Then we can get to discussing our chances of making the Round of 16.

a concert for gracie

I mentioned a post or two ago that a little girl in our local commmunity, Gracie, is seriously ill with a brain tumour. People have responded generously and we are having a benefit concert for her family and her on December 10th. She won't be there but a willing spirit of compassion will be assembled to support her. The poster above gives the details, if you should happen to be in this part of the world on that night.

out of context

And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.


I get a lot of questions from Tom about death. I don't have any pat answers, though I am compelled at times, by the insistence of his interrogation, to bring God in. I don't mind doing that, having a predilection that way, but I'd rather he found out for himself.

Other times, I wish I could quote this short extract from Larkin's High Windows. It isn't what the poem is about. Not at all. It's just how I feel.

against excess #1

I was surprised a few weeks ago when an academic friend and feminist responded to a note I had written in opposition to pornography. I had simply pointed out that the internet and the runaway mainstreaming of porn was likely to be more harmful than good, especially for young people with little or no experience of sex. If this was their portal to sex, then trouble was brewing. She said that porn was an issue of freedom of expression, that any censorship of the net was an attack upon choice and that people had the right to look or click off elsewhere. That, I suppose summarizes what might be a libertarian view.

There is a lot to be said for freedom of expression. Generally speaking, its a good thing, though I fail to see how the untrammelled publishing of porn has anything to do with it. No I'm not fond of censorship but understand that in a cohesive society, not everything is available to everyone all the time. Nor should it be. As for the 'off-switch' debate, sure, people can decide. But can children? When did you last meet a teenager with such discernment? What are impressionable, developing minds to make of material that 30 years ago would have landed the disseminator in court?

Porn pushes the boundaries of society in ways that are hard to predict the consequences of. Porn addiction is already clinically documented. Porn has been directly implicated (through testimony)in crimes from child abuse to rape to murder. It doesn't take a feminist scholar to understand that a huge percentage of internet porn is anti-woman. As one porn actor said 'They are just faceless holes to fuck.' The depersonalisation of woman in what are increasingly normalised sexual contexts augers poorly for the psycho-sexual health of young men and women.

Porn, of course, has always been around in one form or another. It's just that it used to be hard to find. Or you needed to be in a position of influence. Or have money. Now its everywhere, and its for everyone.

And that's sad.

for mercy's sake

When little ones are life-threateningly ill, then everything else is put into perspective, and what seemed irritating, important or of-the-moment, assumes its rightful, insignificant place. The same is true of many events, though most of them pertain to the question of mortality. When someone in their 80's or 90's passes away, then it's sad, to be sure, but we have our own way of normalising it. They have 'had a good innings' or got to 'a ripe old age.' It was 'time to go.'

When the ailing one is only 4 years old, then there is no such normalising defence. They are just starting their life - dependent, developing, hardly out of nappies yet. It is a life at the brink of living it. There is nothing to say that is consoling. Every parent surely knows this fear. Nobody wants to outlive their child, certainly not by decades.

Little Gracie is sick with a brain tumour. It is inoperable. This week she starts radiography in the hope of shrinking it. Fortunately the local community has rallied. A benefit is planned. People are offering help. It is the least we can do when there is nothing that can be said. Nothing that makes any sense, that is.

And nightly I pray, for though I don't know God's mind on the matter, I know that He hears me.

Counselling update

In February this year, I decided to enroll in a distance counselling course with AIPC. While I have always enjoyed being in a helping situation, the thought of training as a counsellor was still a bit of a leap of faith for me. But it was one which I took up nevertheless.

Since that time I have been ploughing through online units of work on areas as diverse as psycho-analysis (which I won't be practicing) and counselling ethics (which I will be paying close attention to). I have really enjoyed the challenge so far, not least because the process of becoming a counsellor entails considerable self-reflection and self-directed change, something I hope that my clients one day embrace.

The course also mandates a number of formal practical assessment days where students get the chance to practice and be assessed on the skills they have thus learnt, in front of an experienced counsellor or psychologist. Last week was my fourth such day (Counselling Therapies 1) and over two days we covered the introductory practicalities of Person-Centred, Gestalt and Behavioural Therapy. That's a big ask for any group of novices but it went off well and the learning experience itself was enough to make the trip to Parramatta worthwhile.

I really am enjoying this journey. If I get to practice one day, then I will have something else to be grateful for.

Sanda International Association in Oz.

Last weekend, a dozen or so members of the Sanda International Association visited the Blue Mountains. The circumstances surrounding the visit are too bizarre to recount, save to mention that the Leura Garden Festival (that they were attending) was supposed to be Japanese-themed (and wasn't), that the Japanese Ambassador had come from Canberra to open said-themed festival (he did, even though there was not a vestige of nihon no kyouyou to be seen) and that Nadia and I had been allocated the roles of official translators.

It struck me that an official translator should have more immersion in a langauge than I did, with my basic functional nihongo experience, so I was considerably unnerved as I met the ambassador and his wife at their hotel. After the obligatory greetings, I explained that I was not a translator, that the native speakers were in Japan on holidays, so I was sorry for my likely incompetence. I needn't have worried - they both spoke fluent English and were delightfully charming.

It was, in the end, a great catchup on things Japanese. We met and re-met old friends and acquaintances, made new connections and generally had a swell time. Nadia cried when the bus pulled away from the hotel, heading for Sydney.

Though as for departures, this really was just mata ne, not sayonara.

js41 o-hairi kudasai Off House!

One of the first places we were 'introduced to' on our initial working stay in Japan was 'Off House', a recycling shop not far from Shinsanda Station. In 2001, recycling wasn't much in vogue in Japan, and there were, at the time, many stories of foreigners finding recent model stereos, bicycles, washing machines and the like in working order by the sides of the road on throwout days. Our house in Mukogaoaka was mostly set up with recycled stuff and hand-me-downs, so we knew from first hand experience that it was an area for serious bargains if you were a short-of-cash gaijin looking to become comfortable on the cheap.

I think we must have popped in to Off House dozens of times over the years, often just for something to do on a cold day. I won't be making a list of things we came away with, but they included a micro 'system-table' and chairs for picnicking, dozens of teddies and soft toys (all less than 100 yen), a stroller, baby clothes, designer jeans and tops (for Nadia) and so forth, all at a fraction of their new price. Naturally everything had been cleaned to within an inch of its existence. Over the years we noticed that Off House grew busier and busier, as the Japanese adjusted to the idea that second hand could be a good thing.

The photo above is a ring-in courtesy of Google. If by any chance you want to find out about the Off House Chain in Japan and its parent company, go to this site, the Hardoff Home page(yes, that is the real name), where you can click away to your heart's content.

http://www.hardoff.co.jp/

values

During the week I saw my psychologist for my once-a-month maintenance (as she puts it) and the conversation turned to values. I found myself stumped by the fact that I wasn't able to clearly articulate what my values were. Maybe I was just tired but it was disturbing none the less. I hang my hat on what I consider a bunch of core beliefs. Now, of course, beliefs are not the same as values though they may intersect thematically at times or share common properties, though they won't ordinarily be expressed similarly. So, I have been giving some thought to what my values are. Here goes.

I value honesty and a commitment to tell the truth. I understand that complete honesty is difficult at all times (if, for no other reason, not to hurt people's feelings)and is not black and white issue.
I value faithfulness in a committed relationship, being the understanding and resolve in thought and deed to commit emotionally and physically to that one person. Not easy, but worth it, in my estimation.
I value creativity.
I value loyalty, not to brands, but to significant others in one's life.
I value self-reliance and the capacity and will to self-change(and I'm not talking about Botox or plastic surgery).
I value authenticity.
I value kindness.

does it work?

I just set up iGoogle as my home page and decided to try a little embedded gadget out. I guess if anyone else can read this, then it must work. And if you can see the image above, the snipping tool is working fine too!

my profile pic

I couldn't find a decent recent photo of myself and I refuse to 'photoshop' pics so instead I found this shot I took in Kyoto about four years ago. We were on a daytrip to our favourite Japanese city, mainly to see our friend Miwa, but also just to hang out generally. There was a special summer parade which included a float of genuine geisha through Kawaramachi, so I took some photos with my new camera, then ran around the corner to get some more. I remember standing in the middle of busy Kawaramachi dori to get a few close ups. It was a rare opportunity.

By some great fluke a took a couple that were absolute gems, including the one that is my profile picture. I don't know how it happened. Maybe just a good camera. What do you think the geisha is saying in her discreet aside? I have often wondered.

forty years ago

It's probably rare in a lifetime for really big events to occur, outside of the periodic warfare that humanity routinely indulges in. I am not talking about the death of eminent or popular figures either. I am talking about seminal, groundbreaking or extraordinary events that change perceptions at the moment they occur and resonate into the future.

One such event occured 40 years ago. I was huddled with my peers in a primary school classroom in Killarney Heights. The teacher had wheeled the cumbersome black and white TV into our room, and we all sat and waited for Neil Armstrong to emerge from the lunar module, descend the ladder and set foot on the moon. The images were grainy, shadowy and hard to make out. Armstrong's words were slightly slurred from the static interference and the delay. But the effect was magical. Something happened that changed the way we thought about our place in the universe. Boundaries were crossed.

For me and many of my friends, the astronauts were heroes. Not just on Apollo 11, but on all the space missions. They caught and fired the imagination. How small-minded, insular and foolish those people then who claim the landing was an elaborate hoax, who produce false science and logic to argue their case. I use the word 'case' advisedly, as even this might confer a modicum of respect on their pathetic delusions.

So to Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins. Congratulations. Then, and now.

js 40 fumiko

A few posts ago I mentioned that I went upcountry on Fridays to teach morning classes at the ICU (International Centre of Understanding) in Nishiki. At one stage I had three classes, all of (purportedly) different levels of English language proficiency. Fumiko was in the intermediate class, even though she was clearly good enough for the advanced group. She was a funny, helpful, chatty woman who had a spark in her eye and a real zest for living.

She occasionally ran a shop for Vietnamese clothing and wares in Sasayama in a cute gallery (see picture). She would take a flight to Hanoi, carrying suitcases full of beer(Asahi,from memory), and return with bags of crafty things. Then she would run a shop for a couple of weekends until 'stock' ran out. All for the love of it.

I remember her telling me when we first met that she had two children. One day sometime later in class she mentioned a third child, to which I said. "Fumiko, didn't you say you has two children?" "Yes, I do," she replied "the third one is my husband." The entire class (all women) broke into gails of laughter. They had all understood perfectly.

js 39 biking

Nadia and I inherited a number of old bikes when we first went to Japan. Where they came from is still a matter of conjecture, though the old teachers intimated that they may have been 'found' locally. It's quite likely that they had just been dumped, for they were in poor repair. Nevertheless, with the help of our biking enthusiast and boss Stephanie, we got a couple of them sufficiently up to scratch to risk the roads and pathways of Sanda and adjacent villages.

We had a couple of favourite rides - especially one out to Dojo, one stop downline from Sanda. Another was along the paths lining the Muko river through the old rice paddies. They were dead flat and while the river was of the usual concretised variety, the cherry trees on the perimeter made it a joy in early spring. You can see Nadia in the shot digging into inari on one such ride in late spring. The days were already heating up and the chances to ride in the middle of the day were growing fewer.

js 38 early shots at Mukogaoka

Nadia found an old disc with the title, 'Japan Photos', the other day. Inside we found some photos taken on Stephanie's digital camera (very people had them in those days) dating back to September 2001. So when these were taken, we had really only recently arrived and were probably still settling in, having started work in July.

It's interesting (for us, anyway) how empty the house seemed back then. We hadn't yet bought the red futon sofa, the classroom was devoid of display and decoration, and we still had the old Daihatsu Mira. Nadia's dad's old laptop was our only PC. In fact everything seems eerily familiar yet unfamiliar, as if we hadn't yet put our stamp on the place. And of course, we hadn't, since we still had L-Plates on and the house remained setup much as Duncan and Barbara(the previous teachers) had left it. Things took time and it helped that we had a few '100 Yen' shops nearby.

The pics above include the kitchen (from the lounge room), Nadia and the car outside Stephanie's old house in Tomagaoka, and the classroom.

js 37 upcountry teaching

Fridays was always a busy one for me. The day started with an early morning trip to Nishiki, about 15 minutes down Route 176 after Sasayama. Or, if you like, about an hours drive from home in Sanda. Nishiki is country Japan, where pretty much everyone is or knows a farmer, where local crafts and traditions flourish and where things are a little slower. I really enjoyed my classes in Nishiki, which comprised people from all walks of life( I had a rice farmer and a shinto priests wife in one class)and I was terribly sad to leave them. The picture directly above shows us on our last Friday at the community centre, with three ladies from the advanced class in the background.

In the afternoon, I started more regular English classes with local kids from Yakami (just west of Sasayama) in the local church building. The church was at the end of a street of houses that literally sat in the middle of rice paddies, like a tiny suburban island. These were real country kids, still very Japanese in their courtesy and application, but a little rougher around the edges. They were also more relaxed. Nadia and I had shared these classes on our first trips to Japan. On the final occasion, Tom's presence meant I had to fly the mission solo, so to speak. It was a long day to be away from the family. A long day for Nadia too. Leaving Tom in the early morning with his little face pressed against the lounge room glass was heartbreaking.

The top shot shows some of the kids we taught outside the church in Yakami. The girls in the foreground (Fuka, Mayana and Eri) are three of the originals from back in 2001. Yes, we miss them. Truly.

temporary geek lapse

I am usually loath to discuss computers or software at this place(or anywhere for that matter) but I find it a little perplexing that Windows Vista recieves such constantly poor press. Since the new laptop arrived 4 months ago (with Vista as the OS), I have never had a single glitch, freeze or hiccup of any substance. I did note the large amount of disc space that gets eaten up (temporarily) by Vista's various underlying processes, though I quickly found a way of getting every kb back.

With the release of Service Pack 2, I noted a lot of discussion around forums (no, I spent a very short time being bored at them!)about how crappy Vista was in general and how the SP2 was making matters worse. Well, the latter is now installed, the Dell is purring along and I have 14gb of disc space back too.

I guess that you can't please everyone, especially those Mac fanatics. I like OS X as well but I really can't get that worked up about it. There are, surely, better things to do.

And that's the last thing you'll read about computers here. The patient has got it out of his system and is sleeping soundly.

more assessments

Tomorrow I have the third of my counselling practical assessments in Parramatta. To be honest, I quite enjoy them. They challenge me. It's interesting too to be with people who have a similar orientation, by which I mean, there is a kind of commonality of ideas and attitudes amongst those of us studying this course. There is a particular outlook towards society, towards others, which is probably shared across a number of professions that are engaged in helping people. Don't get me wrong - I'm not blowing a trumpet for bleeding hearts. It's just that we aren't Wall Street or Corporate in nature.

Just a few points I want to jot down from my last prac. Our assessor suggested that we get the paraphrase in early. That the last thing in a client's list of problems is often the most important one. And that, when in doubt(such as one of those times when you don't really know what to say next), throw the situation back onto the client, with a "Tell me more about..." kind of question. Good advice from an experienced practitioner.

js 36 Dr Takemoto

I seemed to get sick quite often in Japan. If it wasn't a new allergy, then it was a cold or a virus. And sometimes it was pneumonia. When the going got too tough, I always went to Dr Takemoto in the old shopping precinct, now adjacent the new Hankyu Kippy Mall(see above photo). Dr Takemoto's clinic is a model of efficiency and modernity. Unlike surgeries in Australia, a lot of medical equipment for analysing patient ailments is kept in-house, so you can have an x-ray or a blood test and the results are ready almost instantaneously.

On arrival, you get your temperature checked and a urine analysis, self-administered, of course. Then there's the mandatory wait in front of a TV screen, which always seemed to have a panel show blearing. Then you are moved into the inner sanctum (shoes off, pretty nurses smiling), where you are but a step or two from the good doctor's room. After the first dozen or so visits, I didn't make so many mistakes, such as the time when I put the thermometer in my mouth rather than under my arm. (Polite snuffles of laughter in the waiting room)

Let me tell you just one story about this wonderful doctor. In the winter of 2004/5 I got pneumonia, though I wasn't aware of that fact for a few days. The proper procedure once diagnosed was hospitalisation, especially as I was in pretty poor shape. Dr Takemoto insisted on treating me personally, meaning I had to present every day for a week to go on an anti-biotic drip. And of course I did so. Towards the middle of my treatment I turned up at the clinic and all was in darkness. Heavens, I thought, it must be shut today. But I was wrong. Inside the dim waiting room I could see two figures. It was Dr Takemoto and a nurse. The door opened and I was ushered in. I went on the drip. Still no-one else came into the clinic. What was going on, I wondered?

I only found out the next time I went (and from another nurse) that Dr Takemoto had opened the clinic just to treat me on her only day off! What can one say about such kindness? I am still lost for words and so deeply grateful. Domo arigatou Takemoto sensei.

this be the post

As a theist myself, I find any discussion of God or religion quite interesting. Popular culture also has at least a passing interest in matters theological, though its treatment is usually debased by the simplicity or egotism of the argument. References to God are scattered throughout popular song lyrics, replete with a heavy dose of moralising. "If there's a God in heaven/what's he waiting for/if he can't see the children/then he must see the war" writes one lyricist. They might just as well have said 'We got ourselves into this mess, so you get us out". Not especially fair, is it? This kind of appeal is to the God-who-must-keep-the-good-times-rolling.

On the other hand, another song goes, "I don't believe in an interventionist God', which, I think, is quite an ambitious line in the undemanding realm of pop culture. To his credit,the writer eschews the idea that God has a role in human history, an honest appraisal which throws responsibility back onto, just us, apparently.

Poets have taken a slightly more serious approach, as poets do. Still they can be just as visceral, such as the bard who opines "That'll be the life/No God any more or sweating in the dark/Or having to hide what you think of the priest". Will the older, once God-fearing generation really have such envious thoughts of the young? I wonder. Surely there is a ledger for these kinds of profits and losses. In fairness, the same poet does express doubts himself, for he writes of churches, that, despite their fall into relative disuse, "..someone will forever be surprising/a hunger in himself to be more serious/ and gravatating with it to this ground" perhaps with the view to gaining wisdom.

Here in the Blue Mountains we have a thick stew of religious beliefs, particularly of the New Age variety. So God, or a variant of God, comes up quite often, though this God tends to have a smorgasboard of user-friendly rules and conventions. Acolytes can have a relatively pain-free, and deeply self-centred experience should they wish to, though I don't doubt that growing to self-awareness, if that is the goal, carries it's own backback of pain. It's not that I don't think these modern takes on old ideas and practices don't have value, they do, it's just that they are generally incoherent and too easily bought into and out of.

Me, I'm a bit of an old-fashioned theist - somewhat at the liberal end, but happily anchored to a more traditional way of seeing God.I don't mind what people believe really, so long as it does no harm.

undeniable facts

I read today about an elderly gunman, a white supremacist who went on a shooting rampage in the Washington Holocaust Memorial Museum. I'm not sure what gets into people's heads sometimes, but for this man, who shall not be graced with a name here, a lifetime of being just being plain, and dangerously, wrong, culminated in this moment. I briefly attended his blog site, comprising a series of lengthy, unsubstantiated and frankly nonsensical rants against Jewish people. Naturally there were 'facts', 'undeniable facts', from memory, to support these outlandish denials and allegations.

Way back in primary school, and then again throughout high school, the difference between a fact and an opinion was drummed into me. I don't think that I could mistake the two, even in a coma. The idea of facts gets bandied about a lot in conversation. Facts are brandished as incontrovertable evidence of a point of view, and often as not when the 'fact' cannot be checked. 'I say it's a fact so it is', pretty much sums up the attitude.

When enough of these slices of hearsay, or deliberately misleading opinions, or just plain lies, get tallied up, then a prejudice starts to form. It doesn't take a lot for the haze to shape into a firmer outline, the outline into an object. The object is the now hated 'other'.

Enter the man in the opening paragraph, and many others like him. I don't see an answer in sight, I'm afraid. The high water-mark of human civilisation has passed, in my unfactual opinion. And perhaps a huge unravelling, to come.

bondi respite

We spent the long weekend with Nadia's relatives in North Bondi, though we essentially had the place to ourselves. It was a case of transferring the sick from one hospital to another, as Tom and Nadia were ill and I got a terrible cold on the Saturday. Uncontrollable sneezing, sore throat and a cough. Oh well.

I summoned the energy though to walk each day to the Sun Cafe at the Seven Ways in North Bondi, a mecca of trendiness if ever there was one. Beautiful people everywhere. No matter how hard they tried to look grungy, these folks were just too well formed to look anything other than, um, well formed. And so much pouted and pushed flesh. A complete ambience of flesh, all on a winter's morning.

And good coffee, too.

crumbs

Just at the moment, everyone at my place is sick. Nadia has the flu (though not of the swine variety) and Tom probably has whooping cough. We await test results on the latter. It is a house pervaded by the smells of ointments and unctions, and its somewhat steamy too, as I bought a vaporizer to help sooth Tom's machine-gun cough. There's also the sense of tissues jammed in every cranny, of food left uneaten and plans for the long weekend dashed.

But it is winter, after all. Wouldn't it be worse in the summer?

lowering the tone.

One of my pet gripes is the corrosive effect that the media exercises over human behaviour. There are some excellent exceptions of course, but on the whole, the decline in civil values and the increase in selfish, shallow and mendacious lifestyles is at least partly attributable to the manner in which media outlets operate. I know 'media' is a vast area to canvas, and a huge target to take aim at. But such a large segment (meaning TV, radio, newsstand and internet delivered) aims at such a low denominator in terms of content that its hard not to lump everyone in.

Even my usual online paper, the Sydney Morning Herald, dumbs down for its internet audience, with pathetic 'stories' about celebrities, tabloid-style pieces concerning gruesome murders or intrusive forays into the private lives of individuals, or sex-sells lifestyle journalism, whatever that is. And this is a quality flagship newspaper in real life!

Consumer capitalism might have something do with it. Perhaps the decline of morally authoritative voices, such as the church used to have, is another reason for what now seems a fait accompli. I don't know about you, but I don't want to hear about Miss Hilton or Tom Cruise or who bonked who or the latest on the mile-high club. By all means, read about this trash in the circles that usually publish it (formerly low-brow magazines) but, do we have to have it our faces, on our national news, right there on our laps? I don't think so. What do you think?

anxiety

For over two decades now I have had periods in which I suffer from an anxiety syndrome, which is a result of the fear/flight/fight capacity inbuilt in all sentient creatures. It's debilitating and narrowing in its ability to hamper the joy of life, or even the most taken for granted or simple things.

Today I talked it over with my psychologist who gave me a few new strategies to help deal with my anxiety. In summary (and this is in addition to other CBT-based techniques I use) they involve breathing exercises in which I focus on the breathing cycle, whilst watching my thoughts flit by like passers-by. The idea is to not attach to those thoughts, to not fuse with them. We are not our thoughts. We are something more fundamental. The second was an emotional exercise, involving fosussing on the emotions and physical sensations, looking at them as if a disinterested observer. If thoughts intrude, they are bid farewell with a 'thanks mind'. Once again, it is about understanding that our sensations and emotions are not us. We are something more fundamental.

try hard

I'm in a band that rehearses occassionally and performs rarely. I guess you would say that we are somewhere in the pop/folk/rock area with touches of indie sound now and then. But this is besides the point.

We all contribute original songs but there is one I would like to borrow a line or two from for today's sermon. Try Hard is by our violinist, Elizabeth, and in it, she writes,

"...the world is too loose/there's too much choice.."

There is, simply, too much choice in the (Western) world. And the important things that bind societies, families and individuals together are under huge assault from a misinterpretation of human rights and the nature of liberty as well as the cult of the individual. You can throw the ceaselessly corrosive effect of consumer capitalism into that mix if you like, for it also has a fundamental role to play.

'I have rights. Don't you dare obstruct my rights. They are inviolable. I can say what I want. That's freedom of speech, don't you know? My freedoms extend beyond that of thinking and saying, but also doing. I can be obnoxious, disrespectful, inconsiderate, just plain rude, that's part of the deal, isn't it? Why, you can stock up on the Bible, The Communist Manifesto, The Satanic Verses and I wont complain. But don't obstruct the my freedom of speech, my license to be as profane, as wittless, as I like.

Of course I can buy what I like. Who are you to preach? So what if I want 20 choices of washing powder - that's my right, as a consumer, isnt it? Why shouldn't I have the latest gadget? Why this mobile phone can download a full streaming porn movie, and its my right to do so. It's all a matter of taste.'

And on it goes. A reduction of thinking power with every serve of choice. A reduction in social cohesion with every so-called freedom demanded.

Recently a well-known playwight commented on the social mores of the sixties, how they thought that free love and a rejection of antiquated moral structures would liberate a whole generation. He reflected that the group that he belonged to were ultimately completely and disasterously wrong.

More later on this. I could fill a book.

counselling practical

Yesterday I caught a train into Parramatta to attend my first counselling practical assessment. I was a little apprehensive about it, not knowing how the process would pan out and whether or not all the skills theory I had studied would resolve itself into competent practice.

I needn't have worried so much, as it turned out. The facilitator was lovely - motherly, reassuring and very experienced. So all of us were marked 'competent', which alas, is a good as it gets as far as marks go.

One area I do need to work on is getting a 'paraphrase' in early on with a client. Essentially, this means reflecting back a salient area of content to confirm and clarify what has been said so far. For example, if John says that he has lost his job, crashed his car and misplaced his wallet all in the last week, a counsellor might paraphrase. "You've had a terrible time lately' or 'It's been a really rough week for you." or something similar. I know I can do it but when you are juggling a list of skills-you-must-show in your head, its easy to forget one or insert it too late.

I'm glad I started this course, though I'm not sure where it will lead. But that's okay too.

js 35 uchi no tomodachi Miwa

Miwa was pretty much our constant companion in our final year in Japan. She moved in with us about a month after we had settled in, taking command of the guest bedroom. Not long after her mannequin also moved in. Miwa was studying Kimono and we were to see the mannequin in many states of dress and undress.

It's hard to quantify the contribution Miwa made to our lives. We were struggling with a baby boy, sleep deprivation and the need to invest huge amounts of energy into a school that had shrunk in our absence. She helped out with Tom, with cooking and shopping, with a thousand little daily interactions that would have taken us a long time to figure out. She was often an intermediary between us and various utilities and service providers and sorted out all manner of little conflicts. It's not that we weren't culturally sensitive, or competent or even quite experienced in things Japanese. We were. It was the baby Tom. He made all the difference, as we should have known from the start.

So this is a little tribute to Miwa, our dear friend. We hope that she finds happiness in all that she does. She never liked photos of herself but this one(taken at Sanda's Mukogawa) is a corker, if you ask me.

Tom's pre-school

Tom started pre-school about 2 months ago. He is a bright, demanding little boy who was ready for immersion in a new hands-on sort of experience, the kind that good pre-schools provide. I'm not terribly concerned about the overt didactic outcomes, whether they teach the alphabet or numbers or the like. The idea that a tiny creature can be pumped full of skills and knowledge from a national curriculum board is not on my radar screen at all. He is learning fast enough at home, already has a frighteningly precocious vocabulary and picks up stuff as he needs it. Which is fine.

His pre-school is up the road in Lawson. It's parent-built and run so (given the strong sense of community we have up here) it is likely to be a nice place to go, with lots of wood and sand and books and climbing materials. And those tiny cute toilets.

This morning I went to check my post box as usual. A long blue wheat train droned past, taking all of two minutes to do so, such was its stupendous length. Sentimental fool that I am, I imagined Tom hearing the train pass him only a few minutes earlier upline (definitely possible since he is a great fan of things trainish) and how this formed a kind of connection between us. Silly, ne?

stomping in cold leaves,
the boy hears the diesel-roar sliding,
messages tumbling downline

js34 amanohashidate

Amanohashidate is one of the 'Three Beautifuls' in Japan, a very select group given the great many beautiful things that they compete with there. The reference though is to the loveliness of the view, its location and doubtless other unquantifiable factors.

We went to Amanohashidate twice during our time in Japan, the second time with the infant Tom. It was a hot day, a very hot day, when the icecream was already melting in the cone as you exchanged yen with the shop assistant.

But what is it? Well, a long, thin sandbar extends from one side of the bay to the other, and the bar is covered with a fairly thick stand of trees. The waters of the bay gently lap at either side, and visitors can walk or ride bicycles from end to end. At some point it is obligatory to ascend to a lookout by a funicular, and even more obligatory to then stand and look backwards through your legs at the great beautiful below. The trees then appear as if to hang from the sky, a pleasant illusion and one not at all compromised by an Asahi or two.

In the second shot, my head is partly obscuring this great beautiful. Gommen nasai. In the top one, Nadia is doing the aforementioned party trick, with the assistance of a camera, of course.

upsidaisy summer skies
amanohashidate
like abe lincoln's beard

js33 the muko river

The Mukogawa does not neatly divide Sanda in two. Nor does it provide a lifeline for commerce. Or even the paasage for a canoe. It was almost certainly once a healthy flowing force that flooded now and then and spilled into fecund rice paddies, into the old 'three fields' that gives Sanda its name today. The flow was cut to a trickle by damming, then the banks and river floor were concretized (I never knew of this verb before living in Japan) and so, it is as it is today.

I've have seen this so often in Japan that it becomes like a repeat horror flick. Beautiful rivers with the potential to create a hundred little Parisian scenes (with a Japanese twist, of course) are sacrificed on the altar of pork-barrelling politics and irrational fear. This happens everywhere, but it's particularly sad in a country with such an aesthetic for beauty and harmony, as Japan.

Nevertheless, at least once a year, the river comes alive with human activity, much as it once did regularly, long ago. At the O-Bon Festival in the heat of summer, goldfish are put into a netted off-section of the Mukogawa, and children with nets descend from the banks to try their luck. It's a lovely site, a modern representation of an ancient practice, though the fish were not captives in olden times.

So here are two shots of the Mukogawa in the summer of 2006, looking towards the old town centre.

new learning

Since starting my diploma of counselling, I have been on a fairly steep learning curve. A lot of the information seems 'obvious' and 'common sense', the problem with that being that neither of those descriptions finds a common application in real life. I find that if something is obvious, then often as not, it isn't. It's just that a part of my brain that has heard or experienced this kind of thing in the past suddenly recalls the shadow of that experience, and then proclaims, 'why, of course.' The same with common sense. I don't think that walking on broken glass with bare feet is very common sensical, but people apparently pay other people to do just that. (Where is this going? Ed.)

The skills-based information in my counselling texts is another matter. So far I have been presented with about 10 methods or strategies for effective counselling, and to be honest, if I ever do practice counselling, I might need an autocue behind the client's head to remember them. I have a prac coming up in a few weeks which should be interesting and a bit of a challenge. I do need challenges so I am looking forward to it.

In case you are wondering about my college and the courses that are offered, I have put a link on the right (AIPC) to the site. There are even a few free articles for those of you who are so inclined.

gaps

Gaps continue in my blog, gaps that whisper that my entries are weeks apart. I scan the horizon for excuses but find few. Yes, I have been immersed in a new course of study and that is quite consuming mentally. But I know there is still time to write short bits and pieces here. Its just that I haven't.

Two weeks ago on the Easter weekend my choir, Crowd Around, performed informally at the National Folk Festival in Canberra. By informally I mean we didnt have a set venue or spot on the program - we were a bit like minstrels, though without lutes or tambours. I've been a member of the choir for 16 years(!) and we have our highs and lows, both in terms of membership and sound quality. These days we are doing pretty well and we are certainly on a par with the group who toured Japan in 1998. I think that says quite a lot.

Canberra is a big pleasant folky kind of experience and we fitted in in our daggy choral way. In case you're wondering, our repetoire goes beyond the staple of gospel and world music (though, nothing wrong with those!) and extends to some decent pop arrangements. We're becoming more eclectic, which suits me fine. BTW, I notice that my wife has started a blog about the choir, and the link is on the right.

So naturally, I include a shot of one of our open air gigs from the Canberra trip. I don't know the song we are singing, though my course in lip reading will help once I have finished it. Don't watch this space.

whisperings

In Japan, I often played internet radio stations of various stripes, though the one I played most often was Whisperings Piano Radio. It was simply a lovely wallpaper for the lessons happening in the classroom, especially when my students were middle aged women. It seemed to make them more at ease and I wondered at the time whether certain kinds of music (in this case, gentle piano solos) had an influence on learning or learning outcomes.

More than likely it just relaxed them, or took away the moments of complete silence, when students were thinking of or in the process of forming sentences. Anyway, it was a popular addition to my teaching armoury.

Since getting a new laptop a couple of weeks ago, and having to knuckle down and study, I've taken to playing Whisperings again. And occasionally, perhaps because I'm on the free stream and there is a shorter play loop, I hear songs that used to shimmer and twinkle through the classroom doors in Mukogaoka. And then, well, memories and feelings coming flooding back. You know, sometimes it's quite overwhelming. Almost like I can taste Japan again.

autumn thoughts again

We are really in autumn now. The nights are cooler and there is that sense of decline about. Some of the leaves are beginning to turn, while others are just plain bailing out. A little early, in my estimation. Autumn is my favourite season, when the sun still has a kick but you know this is the final hoorah. And that somewhere else, it's warming up too.

About five years ago I wrote some autumn haiku in a letter to friends back home. And I thought,upon finding them again, that perhaps they were worth adding here.

thinking of home,
I storm the cupboards clutter
finding dry leaves

A couple written about autumnal life in and around Sandadani Park:

in the traffic,
leaves drown in puddles
veins upwards

and

old man shuffling,
this path bears the sandal marks
of summer's late stroll

There's something I love about haiku - perhaps the collision of brevity with deeper thought, or observation. Well not mine particularly, but certainly many that I have read.

new directions

I started a new blog recently as a kind of diary for the correspondence course which I enrolled in last month. Then I somehow forgot both the email address and the password, so that project is currently on hold. The blog part, I mean.

The other side is coming along quite well. It's a diploma in professional counselling through the AIPC, an Australian provider. I've been interested in human behaviour and psychology for as long as I can remember and its kind of a natural seque from teaching. Whether I come out with any marketable skills remains to be seen.

That's not the only reason for studying. I need something to do with my spare time now Tom is at pre-school and I'm interested in self-improvement. Even the idea of self-improvement seems a little bit noble.

As Nadia would say, any improvement would be long overdue.

js32 around the tango-hanto peninsula

In the summer of 2006, we took a short vacation to the Tango-Hanto peninsula at the top end of Kyoto prefecture. We had obtained a booking for a few days at a ryoukan in Amino, directly across from the main beach. The establishment was traditional, with tatami mats, low tables and futons, exactly how we wanted it. There was a fabulous ofuro, a rotenburo and an oversized plastic crab on the roof. Well, it was a region known for its seafood!

It was a nice and very doable trip, given that we were travelling with a baby. Tom could fall asleep anywhere. We could go to the beach(I especially remember the beautiful Kotobikki), or zip around the coast, dipping into little towns that did not appear to have changed in a hundred years.

The photos above give a little taste of our trip, that summer.

js31 here and there with hankyu

At the risk of alienating the reader(that happened Day 1 - ed.) I want to shout the praises of the Hankyu Railway. Serving the greater Kansai conurbation, comprising Kyoto-Osaka-Kobe, it's a company that is immediately identifiable by its gorgeous burgundy carriages. Its also cheaper than the JR services that often run (vaguely) parallel on some lines.

We took Hankyu whenever we could, especially from Takarasuka into Osaka, or to Kyoto. The trains were smooth, clean, charming really, and I am indebted to the conductor who always appeared to be pinching his nose when he announced 'sugi wa Juso'. I loved to do impersonations and Japanese friends always got the gag. Or kindly, pretended to.

Summer hols

We have had a fairly busy time of the summer, what with camping and house minding and a big Christmas dinner. There was also Nadia's huge 30th birthday party, complete with karaoke box. During this time we also had the company of our homestay guest, Mio.

The week in North Bondi minding our relatives house was a mixed bag. I was able to retrace old pathways from my earliest years, spent in Bondi, Rose Bay and Vaucluse.. The old family house in Chris Bang Crescent is overgrown with 'shrubs' that my father planted forty years ago. What used to be a bamboo forest and wild valley out the back is now a huge apartment complex. The little hole in the wall sweet shop(at the top end of Vaucluse) run by the very old gentleman who seemed to dislike children is now a beauty salon. But Soos bakery on Old South Head Rd is still there, and I bought a big bag of rolls on the way home It's such a strange feeling going back to those old haunts. Sad, dislocating, sweet. and possessive of a strange evocative air.

One day we took the Rose Bay ferry into Circular Quay. Tom was very excited, though apprehensive that a particular kind of fish(whose symbol was at the wharf side) might be lurking in the waters beneath. And he has a thing about the wind too.

Nevertheless, we survived the journey and Mio kindly took this snap along the way.

whither?

Yesterday, after some months of procrastination, I enrolled in a course to become a counsellor. It is predominately a correspondence course with 10 days of practical workshops in Sydney. I've always liked the role of counsellor, especially when I was a teacher, and I do have a penchant for motivating people. So if I study and work hard at gaining the skills and knowledge that this course promises, maybe I can find a place in the industry. I really want to find a post-teaching career which stimulates and challenges me and that helps others.

Anyway, I've taken the plunge, or is it just the first few baby steps?

Homestay Mio

I think I mentioned before, but we had an idea (before leaving Japan) that running a homestay for Japanese people might be a good idea after the new house was finished. Nadia set up a homepage and I made up some business cards. The homestay was not designed to make money - just to cover costs. What we really wanted was to keep our links with Japan as strong as possible.

Mio was our first real homestay guest and she came over from Osaka at the beginning of December, staying for six weeks. That's a long time in homestay parlance (the average being a week or two) and she came at a time when she was thinking a lot about settling down, getting married and giving up her carefree existence. I think that these considerations coloured her experience to a considerable degree and perhaps she didn't enjoy herself as much as she might had her mindset been different.

We did some pretty fun things though. We took her camping down at Kangaroo Valley (no kangaroos, just cows!), spent a week in Bondi and did the tourist trail in a number of places. But I think she never really got into the swing of things, being a little homesick and somewhat lovesick too. I guess that's life.

On her last day with us, we took this shot. She seemed happy enough that morning and that's how we would like to remember her. We hope that this big year is a real blessing for her.

young david

Everyone who meets Tom thinks he looks 'just like his mother'. I had a feeling that somehow this wasn't quite true, so I searched for an old photo of myself, taken at 18 months. Of course I have no recollection of the time or place or persons, those details being long forgotten or buried deep within. But I had remembered the photo was once in a frame in my childhood room and I had this strange inkling that Tom and I looked uncannily alike.

Sure enough, when I put the photo up on the wall for casual perusal everyone actually thought it was a photo of Tom, though they were puzzled by the age and dog-earedness of the snap.

So there you go, one up for heredity.