Pondering at the Park

It's a warm spring day in Kansas City and I am lying under a tall tree in Jacob L. Loose Park.

With my line of sight little higher than the lush green lawn I see the city from a new perspective. The lawn seems like a metropolis of grass edifices trembling in the comforting breeze. They seem to dwarf the actual skyscrapers that serve as their back-drop. And as I look up toward the hazy blue sky, my view of the light is filtered by the skinny boughs of the tree that shades me. It is obvious that the winter has only recently passed, but the naked branches are starting to show signs of new life springing up in the form of butter-coloured blossoms.

My bag serves as a pillow and the wind is leafing through the pages of the magazine resting on my tummy. That rustling sound and the threat if it blowing away all together keep me present in this moment.

The guy on my iPod is singing about God being a dad who wants to take care of his little ones: us. Somehow lying here, amongst everything I've just described makes it a little easier to believe that. He surely didn't create all this to do me harm...

Humility

“Life is a long lesson in humility” – James Matthew Barrie

What is humility? And how can I have more of it? Those are two questions I have often pondered over the years. Everybody likes a humble person and they like to hypothesise about what it means to really be humble. Some say it is making a right estimate of yourself (Charles Spurgeon), others say it is the foundation for all other virtues (St Augustine).

I agree with those guys… and yet there’s something so elusive about humility. If you think you are humble it is likely that you aren’t, so how can you ever know?

I don’t know… and this blog really doesn’t have any answers… I’ve just felt humbled lately by certain happenings in my life and though it isn’t a fun experience, I am acutely aware that I don’t want to lose this consciousness of how fallible, fragile and faulty I am as a human being. Not in the sense that I am sitting around hating myself, but in the sense that, just now, more than ever, the desire to judge others, get offended or indulge in the delusion of self-righteousness has somewhat faded away; and I’ve only just realised how much it was there to start with. From this place, it’s much easier to love and respect other fallible, fragile and faulty people…

I’m not saying that I’m suddenly living in a posture of newfound humility. What I am saying is, I’ve just discovered how much I need it.

The Weather

“Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.” – John Ruskin

What a load of rubbish.

Obviously John Ruskin never lived in South Shields where winds blow so hard that little old ladies are bowled over by them and present themselves in tatters to the Emergency Department where I work. They come in with injuries that range from skin abrasions to fractures. That’s right Ruskin, fractures! Winds so strong that just one gust can leave you brushing the knots out of your hair for extended periods and even able-bodied 28-year-olds struggle to remain upright.

And snow, exhilarating? I’ll concede that I was awed by my first experience of falling snow this winter. The trees were pretty, wearing their snow-caps, and the soccer fields covered in white powder had undergone a fascinating transformation; but snow is inconvenient. Public transport becomes chaos. You can’t leave the house at times, and most of all… IT IS SO COLD!!!

“Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative,” said Oscar Wilde, but even though he would condemn my choice of topic, I am going to continue!

I think that people talk about the weather because it really does have consequences for our everyday lives. I’ve realized that more than ever since moving to England. My whole lifestyle has had to change. In Australia I would go – even in winter – and sit outdoors in a piazza with my hot chocolate and a good book to have my relax time. I would take walks through city gardens or duck in and out of quirky stationary shops and book stores.

Here in the freezing cold climes of northern England I often feel house-bound. Every time I venture out for too long I contract a cold or at least a sore throat for the next day or two. I’m just not built for this kind of climate! I am rugged up in my 14 layers of clothes while the Newcastle girls traipse around in short-sleeve tops and impractically sheer stockings at the first sign of a double-digit temperature… The weather is dictating my life and I don’t like it.

I do believe it is well documented that people are generally happier in summer and warmer climates… and it’s got to be true! Now I understand why the English drink so much beer and eat so many potatoes. What else is there to do?

Let Me Lend You The Rhodora

“I’m writing this sitting in the kitchen sink.”

That’s the opening line of Cassandra’s journal (or as it is better known: the novel, I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith). I just finished reading that book. As I lie here procrastinating the preparation of my dinner and listening to Luciano Pavarotti, that quote floated into my mind. I love it because a kitchen sink is such a mundane thing, but when there is someone sitting in it, writing, it becomes irresistibly quirky and interesting.

The contrast between the kitchen sink image and the live recording of Pavarotti is creating quite a fascinating confusion of artistic expression in my head. On the one hand, there’s the off-beat, poetry-reading Cassandra writing in the sink and on the other is one of the most beautiful operatic voices belting out an Italian aria. I imagine Cassandra with her tatty clothes and alternative perspectives, living in a dank, broken-down castle and somehow it’s just as beautiful as the image of Pavarotti singing to an elegantly dressed crowd in a stunningly preserved 18^th century concert hall. I love that about art.

Listening to Luciano’s live performance reminded me of a time I attended a free concert at the music school in Siena. It was free because all of the performers were students, but of course they were all brilliant because you can’t get into that school unless you’re good! The room was magnificent; the kind I would imagine they held grand balls in during the 18^th & 19^th centuries. The walls were white with ornate cornices and golden gilding. I soaked them in as the exquisite violin and piano filled my ears… you know when you just feel beauty? There’s nothing else like it. You forget to take breaths and just allow everything you see and hear to absorb into your senses; hoping that you will be able to take in enough to remember it forever.

I think beauty is something that human beings need to survive. True beauty. Something that makes you marvel. Without it we forget that life is worth living. I’m sure you can all think back to a moment when you saw a gorgeous skyline, talked to a kind soul or heard a moving piece of music. Didn’t you feel… alive? I strongly encourage purposeful pursuit of beautiful things. It’s good for you! If you can’t think of anything like that right now, let me lend you a poem that always does it for me when I need a hit of beauty…

THE RHODORA

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,

I found a fresh Rhodora in the Woods,

Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,

To please the desert and the sluggish brook,

The purple petals, fallen in the pool,

Made the black water with their beauty gay;

Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,

And court the flower that cheapens his array.

Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why

This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,

Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,

Then Beauty is its own excuse of being

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!

I never thought to ask, I never knew:

But, in my simple ignorance, suppose

The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

The Man Who Smelled Like Peanuts

I read somewhere that many of Charles Dickens’ peripheral characters were inspired by the odd people he observed on his train travels. Here in England I often think about that when I’m riding the trains and imagine the people around me as characters in a novel. It’s not too hard to do either because trains are always full of eccentric and obnoxious people just begging to be satirised.

At the moment I’m living in South Shields… a small town twenty minutes from Newcastle (the ‘cool’ city of the north). There really isn’t anything very remarkable about South Shields in the winter. It’s cold, bleak and everything closes early. However, it is a coastal town and I’m assured that it’s quite a charming little place in the summer. I can’t say I’m convinced that summers here are a worthwhile affair, but for these guys 24 degrees Celsius is a really big deal, so I smile and nod (I know… I’m an Australian-summer snob).

Apart from all that, the people here are the highlight. They have musical accents that I sometimes can’t understand and they are all SO NICE! From what I can see the north of England is one of the most amicable parts of the world. People are friendly, helpful and open. I love that. It makes my dinky accommodation and unfulfilling job almost worth it.

South Shields is linked to Newcastle by the Metro (Newcastle’s version of the tube). It’s an attempt at modernisation that would have me convinced if it weren’t for the fact that it only runs until about 11:30pm (even on weekends) and the carriages always smell like urine. No I’m not exaggerating; every carriage, every day, smells like urine. I’m not sure what’s going on there…

Anyway, one day last week a different smell wafted through my carriage. A 60-something-year-old gentleman decided to sit himself next to me with his newspaper and his flat cap. As he did, I smelled peanuts. It took me a couple of seconds to realise that (a) there were no actual peanuts in sight; and (b) there truly was a man sitting next to me who smelled like them. I mean REALLY smelled like them. In fact, that day, there may have actually been a giant peanut riding the Metro disguised as a Geordie.

What’s a Geordie? An inhabitant of Newcastle. They’ve all got nicknames up here depending on where they’re from or which politically incorrect category of social hierarchy they fit into.

I don’t know why the peanut man made such an impression on me but for some bizarre reason, he will pop up in my memory whenever I think of Newcastle! I guess maybe I felt a bit like Charles Dickens might have; sniffing this man and deciding to write him into a story as the eccentric do-gooder who baffles his beneficiaries with nonsensical one-liners (while emitting various legume-family odours). And for the first time since I got here, I felt like I was really living in England.

Thanks Dickens…

And Just Like That, It Was Gone…

I’m speaking, of course, of 2010. I spent nearly two years saving and planning for 2010. The big 2010: the year I was going to do Europe!! Well I’ve been living the plan and spending the money and the year has somehow out-run me! I can’t believe I’ve lived here for eight months now. I feel like I haven’t even started yet.

So what have I been up to? Since the last time I wrote, the definite highlight has been going to the West End production of Les Misérables. Seeing that show in London’s west end was the only thing I really had my heart set on doing while in England and now I can tick that one off the list! It was beautiful… and the guy who played Jean Valjean was brilliant. Of course, as always, nothing could ever compare to the book but I’m really glad I went.

Then, after a couple of months in London with the freezing temperatures and heaviest snowfall for twenty years, I returned to Italy to spend some time with friends over Christmas and New Year’s. Besides, would you believe, I am STILL waiting on my registration with the Health Professionals Council. I lodged the application in June. They told me it would take four months… We are now two days away from January… Bureaucracy really is the Achilles heel of a well-functioning society. And let me tell you, England’s red tape could wrap the Earth up like a Christmas present and still have enough ribbon left for a couple of the other planets who might be jealous.

Anyway, I’m really looking forward to getting back to England and finding a job and an apartment. I’m getting over living out of a suitcase and constantly having to calculate how many kilos I’ve added to it! I keep having to leave things behind with random people or mail things back to myself so my suitcase stays at optimum flying weight!

Getting back to this year… Every December, I sort of think about the year to come, and get a sense of what I want that year to be about. I saw 2010 as a Fresh Start. Over 2008/9 many things in my life changed and this year was about starting again with new perspective, new purpose and a clean slate. I wanted to clear all my previous assumptions and preconceived ideas off the table and see the world, my life, the universe, and eternity with completely fresh eyes. I can honestly say, that now – in December! – I finally feel like the fresh start is here. I feel a shift in my thinking and perspective. I feel like I’m seeing the world with new eyes. It’s really liberating…!

And next year? Maybe I’ll tell you about it once next year actually arrives… stay tuned!

Pleasant Surprises

As you may have gathered from my last post I have experienced a few… let’s say… adjustment issues following my move to England. I mean, when a supermarket shelf full of pasta can reduce you to tears, something is wrong!

Over the past few weeks, however, I have taken some time to reflect upon my new surroundings. I’ve been in England for over a month now and I must admit that I had quite a number of preconceived ideas about this place that have turned out to be untrue.

First rule of travel: Don’t take people’s word for it. Go with a blank canvas and an open mind. See for yourself.

FALLACY #1: NO-ONE WILL BE NICE TO YOU IN LONDON

Ever since I can remember, I’ve heard people saying how unfriendly people are in this big, impersonal city; how the tube (underground train network) is the headquarters of rudeness and that no one in this town would even tip out the dregs of their Evian on you if you were on fire. Well. I’m sure that like everywhere on Earth, London has its rude and boorish types, but my experience to date has been quite the opposite of what I was told to expect. Let me tell you some heart-warming public transport stories!!

The Suitcase

As always I was carting around the big suitcase filled with all my worldly possessions. Hey when you're away from home for a year and a suitcase is all you've got - it's big ok! While Paddington Bear was one of my childhood heroes, it is not my goal in life to emulate him. The suitcase is more like a thorn in my side than a romantic travel icon.

So I was training it from St. Alban’s to Kent with a change at London Bridge. I got off at platform 5 and lugged the heavy suitcase UP a flight of stairs, and then down again to platform 1. Well I took too long doing that because just as I stepped onto the platform, the doors shut and my train departed… of course. So I asked a lady standing on the platform a couple of futile questions in the hopes that she knew the information I would need to go back upstairs to find out. “I’ll go have a check for you,” she said, dashing up the steps. She returned moments later and sympathetically informed me that the next train was leaving from platform 5. I’D JUST COME FROM THERE!! RRRRR!!

I was psyching myself up for another round of weight-lifting when a concerned older woman approached me: “You’re not going back up the stairs are you?”

“Yes I’m afraid I have to.”

“But you know, if you walk to the other end of the platform, there’s a ramp!”

“Oh thank you soooooooooo much!!!”

Wasn’t that nice of both of them?

Two points to England! However, I do have to score Italy highly in this area also because, over there, my suitcase and I have never approached a flight of stairs without some nice Italian man offering to carry it for me. That doesn’t happen here. I don’t think it’s because people aren’t as helpful; I think that there is a fear of intruding or giving the impression that they are a swindler hoping to take off with your stuff. The English are nothing if not exceedingly POLITE. Also, the litigation culture here is ca-razy and perhaps there is an unwritten rule that no-one risks putting out their back and consequently no-one risks being sued!

The Gentlemen

England was the birthplace of the Gentleman and from time to time this history manifests itself in even the most unlikely of places. It’s so refreshing to get on a train while some nice man stands aside to let you step in first. I’ve also noticed that English gentlemen do no walk through a door before a lady even if the door is already open and they happen to reach it first. They stand aside and wait till the lady has gone through. It’s so lovely! There are many other little examples, but suffice to say, chivalry is not dead!

FALLACY #2: THE ENGLISH ARE AS WARM AS THEIR WINTERS

I think it’s fair to say that there is a stereotype out there that British culture is lacking somewhat in emotion and warmth. The Italians had no qualms about pitying me as I left their vivacious, passionate, hospitable culture for "colder climes"!

English culture can be quite polite, reserved and subdued in the way people relate to each other… however I don’t believe that that equates to a lack of feeling. You know what I think? If affection, passion and ardour do not bubble over, they don’t disappear; they simply bore down into the depths of the heart. I haven’t been here very long, but I can already see that the English character has many qualities I admire very much. Adjectives like noble, decent, courteous and respectful are not often hailed as the height of adulation, but I think these virtues are indicators of an underlying substance of great worth. I look forward to finding out what is actually underneath the surface.

I mean what makes a man say this:

“God Almighty has set before me two great objects, the suppression of the slave trade and the reformation of manners.” (William Wilberforce, abolitionist, politician, author and all-round amazing human being).

Now Wilberforce is one of my heroes, but I think this statement is hilarious! Only an Englishman would say such a thing! But I love it. I love it and I’m determined to find out what makes this culture tick.