slow down please

This morning Nadia heard a long skidding noise and then a huge bang. There had been an accident at the top of our street on the highway. Curious which way traffic would be blocked, we walked the 100 metres or so to the lights. The crumpled shell of a car sat squat and smoking across the road, its roof violently dislodged and scattered in pieces over 50 metres. The driver could only have been dead.

There is no place, surely, that we need to be going so fast or so carelessly towards that the few seconds saved will matter. Not even heaven.

Slow down and think about what's happening around you. Remember the heart that beats in your body and the blood that runs with such delicate fragility through your veins. Who are you leaving behind and what have you left undone?

cracked like a metal egg,
the car is silent in the still air.
elsewhere
grief is unravelling.

asashoryu retires

Our time in Japan meant inevitably that we picked up a lot of Japanese interests - viewing cherry blossoms, visiting temples and shrines, learning Japanese cooking and so forth. One of our new interests, which was ignited from almost our immediate arrival in 2001, was sumo wrestling. We got to know a lot about the rules, traditions, wrestling styles and wrestlers over the three or so years we lived there.

Asashoryu dominated the period to a large extent. A foreigner hailing from Mongolia, Asa won 25 tournaments or yushou, the third best record in sumo history at the top level. He was almost a permanent fixture on our TV on NHK at about 5.45 every day during a basho, the yokozuna prevailing against all comers. An upset victory by an opponent was sufficient for a frenzied tossing of cushions onto the doyo(ring) from the auditorium. But those defeats were rare.

Asashoryu was also a little unconventional by sumo standards. He offended some by breaking conventions, such as taking the prize money with his left rather than the preferred right hand. Or raising his arms in victory. He got into a couple of stoushes with fellow wrestlers and more recently, a gentleman at a nightclub. That proved to be the last straw and it is rumoured that the sport's officialdom were closing in on him.

He was brash, theatrical and very, very good, lately outdone only by his countryman and main rival, Hakuho. The field is now clear for the latter to step up and dominate sumo for some time to come.

rest at last

My father had an unhappy life from middle age onwards. Perhaps even before that, the seeds of his disappointment were sown. The man I knew as a young boy was often absent (at work, and 'seeing a man about a horse'), though I have fond memories of beach days at Nielsen Park and family holidays at Broadbeach on the Gold Coast. The man I knew as an adolescent was an alcoholic and a manic depressive who spiralled into breakdown. He had several attempts at suicide and drifted between menial jobs. It's hard to explain the affect this had on his five boys, but it was profound and has lasted to this day.

When I saw him (after many years) lying in the nursing home bed, dulled by morphine and unable to speak, then any lingering anger dissipated and I was immediately prayerful. I felt a little like a priest giving last rites, my monologue wandering through versions of the journey to come, though I also wanted to highlight the real achievements he had made in his life. Those achievements were genuine and quite impressive - fathering five boys, building a house, holding down an important job in a transport company - all growing out of quite humble origins in Newcastle. Whether I was up to the task I set out to do, I don't know. I tried my best to make his way out of this world as peaceful as possible.

Rest in peace Dad. At last.