In praise of Leunig

There's something about Michael Leunig, cartoonist extraordinaire, that I think is almost god-like. It's his whimsy, for sure, but also the insights he shares into the simple (but important) things in life. We often forget to notice simple things, but Leunig notices, and shares. For that I always seek out his wisdom, or it finds its way to me.

Leunig's biography tells of his education coming from not just a school, but also 'various factory gates, street corners, kitchen tables, paddocks, rubbish tips, quarries, loopholes, puddles and abattoirs in Melbourne’s industrial Western suburbs'. I love the wisdom found in a puddle. And a loophole.

If I were to list my childhood education in this way I'd include insights I've gained whilst floating around on pool lounges; looking into the big brown eyes of my labradore-kelpie; hanging out smoking in kmart cafeterias; shivering whilst waiting for the ball to come down to the shooters' end of a cold netball court; watching my dad sling a billy of tea around in a big loopy circle; and observing the homeless woman (known locally as 'Juicy Lucy') with trepidation and fear at the Parramatta train station bus stop.

These things we do, all of them, they shape us, they contribute to all that we are today. Especially the ones that zing us with living (and I'm pretty sure don't come from looking into a TV screen). These are the scarey things, the lonely things, the naughty things, the brave things. Leunig knows this and his magic pencils bring it to us.

As an ode to Leunig, I want to share a few of my favourites:

I'd also like to admit I don't know what the rules are with reproducing Leunig's work here. They are Leunig's works, his copyright and his IP. They are from his heart and have touched mine. I hope that sharing the love fills in any gaps in my knowledge of blog-cartoon-sharing-rules.

And if any one is interested in more Leunig, please do go to Michael Leunig's official website: http://www.leunig.com.au/

A wise old owl

A wise old owl sat in an oak.

The more he heard, the less he spoke.

The less he spoke, the more he heard.

The wise old owl was a wise old bird.

 

(I don't know who wrote this little verse, it wasn't me, but I think it's worth sharing)

Note to self: you will NEVER be this young again

Today is my husband's 40th birthday and it's got me thinking about age. Even though 40 seems like such a big number (and I was 40 a couple of years back now), this day, today, I realised that I am younger than I will ever be again.

It seems obvious, right? But I'm sure it's something we forget in our day-to-day scrabble through the density of life. 

I tend to look in the mirror nowadays and wonder who is this middle-aged woman looking back, especially because I feel the same inside as I've felt for 20-odd years.

But it's dawned on me that some day in the future I will look back at the photos of myself now, and probably notice how young and fresh-faced I was 'back then'. Haven't you done that with photos of your parents, or your grand-parents? 

I am at a line in the sand that I will never come back to. So I just wanted to say to any of you out there who, like me, have despaired when looking in the mirror: youth (and beauty) is all relative,and completely subject to reinterpretation in hindsight.

 So smile and enjoy now. Because you're worth it.

Who has a post-apocolyptic skill-set?

Every now and then my mind wanders to what it might be like in a post-apocolyptic world. Am I the only one? Just like in science fiction, I imagine the whole system we rely on for food, clothing and shelter has collapsed; infrastructure is destroyed; shops are looted; travel is only possible on foot; food is scarce. I know it's a horrendous thought, and I only entertain it to, well, to entertain myself. Like watching '28 days' or 'The Road'.

The way the thought experiment goes in my mind is, if we were to find ourselves living in post-apocalyptic world, what would we do? Say we woke up and our house was crumbling around us, buildings everywhere were destroyed, and only a few people had survived. What then? Would we seek out other survivors and band together? How would we be if there were more people than resources? Would we turn on one another? And then, would we have the skills to find food, clothing and deal with illnesses. These days we all have skillsets that pre-suppose infrastructure and a functioning economic and health system, so how would we go if we had to shift to survival mode?

Recently I've come to realise how little I know about my own environment (even with a zoology degree). I don't know which plants can be eaten and used for medicines. Is there a natural asthma treatment? I really don't know how to go about hunting and butchering a roo or a deer. Some people would find this easy (my husband included), me not so much. I hope my husband survives (for more reasons than your skills with dead things, honey).

The only skill I can claim to have that could possibly be useful (besides knowing how to use a mortar and pestle) is spinning yarn and knitting. I learnt to spin wool on a peddle-driven spinning wheel a few years ago, whilst living in darkest, coldest Alaska. I used the soft, warm under-fur of pre-historic looking, ice-age-surviving muskoxen (quiviot) and learnt to spin it into a heavenly soft brown, multi-ply yarn. I then knitted the yarn into the warmest scarves I have ever known. Even though I won't be harvesting quiviot, I imagine I could learn to spin any type of wool and I could be the town yarn-maker.

I also imagine the apocalypse survivors would start again with an economic system of exchange - once the dust had settled.  I hope the surviviors might include friendly folk who know how to make electricity, build a functioning fridge, melt down all the metal that can be scavanged and turn it into useful things. I know some pretty enterprising folk. I reckon the surviving women of my town would quickly set up an exchange arrangement: I can see a roster for child minding so a hunting party could bring back a carcass; I can see communal meal-cooking (hopefully the some of our local Megabatch women would be apocalypse survivors). I can barter my yarn for that all important asthma treatment.

So I'm not advocating preparing yourself for the apocalypse; I don't think we should be stock-piling canned food and building bunkers. And I especially don't think we should live in fear of such an unlikely event (or even live in fear of a likely event, but that's a whole 'nother story). That said, I think a little sharing and swapping within our communities never goes astray.

The processing of my inner-grrrrrrr

Today I'm cranky. My whole body is abuzz with crankiness. A bunch of things have happened that are culminating today in - well, just in 'grrrr!'. I won't go into the causes, but now I have to decide what to do about it.

Mostly I feel like having a gigantic adult tantrum and throwing stuff. I feel like firing off angry emails. I feel like burning bridges. I feel like it's my turn to be angry and self-indulgent. To make other people walk on egg-shells around me. But I know that's not really going to solve anything. And isn't a good look to the kids ('mummy wants you guys to learn to control your tempers, but don't watch while I let a whole wolf-pack of aggro off the leash').

Another option is to just keep my head low, ride it out and maybe the grrr will just pass. The problem with that option is that I'm on a knife-edge all day and any little thing could send me postal. That's not a good way to spend the day.

So what else? I often find writing helps me process, it's a way of letting go of whatever's in my head, so that's why I've turned to this blog. Welcome to the processing of my inner-grrr.

Here's how it's going: all the little and big things that are getting my goat have already happened, and can't un-happen. So, when I look at it with open eyes (and try to do it with an open heart), all I can really do is change my reaction to those things. Right now I'm still too cross and don't feel like opening my heart; but I'm going to take a deep breath (or 10, or 100 - the way I'm feeling it might take 100) and start by letting go of as much of the grrr as I can.

So if step one is to breathe. Step two is to let go of the reigns a little. Today I'm going to say 'yes, sure, why not?' when the kids ask for little things, things I would normally disallow: 'yeah, sure, you can watch TV today, have another ice-block, stay in your PJs all day. Why the hell not, hey? Let's all stay in our PJs today'.

Step three (and I'm working this out as I go) is to say 'no' a little. That sounds contradictory to step two, but it depends on what the questions are. If people are asking more from me than I feel I can give, today I'm going to say 'no, I'm sorry but I can't right now'. This feels like it stops the slings and arrows from coming in over my fortress walls. These three steps are already helping me feel a little lighter.

Step four: I really want to take some time to look at the stuff that got me to this point. Who knows, maybe I can learn a little. I'm not going to do that here, publicly, but I am going to pull out my diary and write it all down. I'm going to have a good ole rant. I don't know why it feels better to write it out, maybe it just gets it out of my head a little. And I feel like someone is listening: me. And that's all that really matters.

Step five: I'm giving myself permission to feel low today. Not every day can be an up day and I think it's important to be realistic about that. Is it possible that we are so pummelled with images of an ideal world, of happy, happy, joy, joy (in advertising and all around us), that we feel like we're not doing it right when the happy, happy isn't happening for us? We can't be up all the time - the up would loose it's up-ness without a down every so often.

So, the verdict is a bit of breathing, riding it out, processing, having a PJ day, saying yes and saying no, and letting that all be ok.

Ahhhh, I'm feeling a little better already - thank you blogosphere.