ANZAC Day 2017

I have returned from a very local Dawn Service. I love the service – a gathering of neighbours, local schoolkids and their families, the congregation of St Mary’s.

Highlights this year – we sang the New Zealand National anthem! Such a beautiful, musical anthem, we were led by a tall, handsome  young Maori from the local badass high school. My partner (who would dress entirely in Aussie flag themed attire if he could), sang along beautifully as well.

A wish for the future – that the ceremony would mention the role of women and families, and the impact of war on the community. There are plenty of soldiers in my family, including an ANZAC and a youngest son who died in Sandakan. Also a member of the Czech resistance and another youngest son – a Ukrainian who perished, location unknown, in WW2. My Grandfathers both suffered from Post Traumatic Shock, one became an alcoholic and caused no end of trouble for my Gran. The other was an overzealous disciplinarian, I remember when he died, trying to make a connection with my Dad but unable to make the necessary amends.

And the mothers! Anna Honcharova who spent her whole life waiting for Pavel to return. Did he die of the cold? Of injuries or illness? Of hunger? Was he one of the severely injured who was too ashamed to return home? Where was he?

And dear Eileen Evangeline Chase Morris McGregor – her darling Robbie died at Sandakan, nearly at the end of WWII. She was such a tough old stick, but would tear up whenever she remembered him, how they sent parcels of food to him via the Red Cross, but that it never reached him.

I wish we could hear more stories and poems from these perspectives on ANZAC Day.

Kholo creek

above Kholo creek
a pink mountain, pink grassy heads swaying gently against the setting sun.

beside Kholo creek
an imprint of her hand in the cold, wet clay.

lost in the night
three childhoods, his parents’ pride, & little sister’s fierce love.

Eleven

I had a friend with 11 fingers.
The 11th, a tiny pinkie that curled and stretched in perfect imitation of the one beside. A marvel.
But she told me that every new doctor, dentist and sometimes strangers on the bus would offer to her mum to reduce her to ten.

via Daily Prompt: Ten

from keep your goddam hands to yourself to empathy

The terrible sexual assaults in Cologne are reminding me of some experiences I have had, so I thought to do a nonviolent communication exercise on one incident here. Two things to note: 1. This isn’t a serious incident, but if reading such things causes you upset, please don’t read further. 2. I am not saying that this exercise will make everything better for people who have experienced sexual assault or sexism. No. I do find that doing this exercise creates a safe mental space for me to think about a situation, about how to address it in a powerful way. And I also experience a sense of peace, these are the potential benefits I am suggesting. Continue reading “from keep your goddam hands to yourself to empathy”

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