A Russell Sprout: Lu and University

About nine months ago I posted about our youngest Lu.

At that point she had caused me palpitations by telling me she was dropping out of school.

She eased my worries by telling me the rest of her plan, namely to sidestep her last two years of high school and enrol straight into a Bachelor of Science through open university.

Her plan was to work hard, get good results and enrol in a conventional university on the basis of that this year.

Well she is on track. She achieved a distinction average for the units she enrolled in last year.
On the basis of her results she’s achieved her target and has been offered a few places at Melbourne universities.

So at just 17 (her birthday is in November) she’s on Campus at Latrobe University this year. She’s still working towards a Bachelor of Science.

So with her friends facing their toughest year at school to qualify through their VCE for university entrance next year Lu is on her way with almost a third of her degree already under her belt.

I get all hot and bothered just watching this girl power along.

Cradle Mountain (and a rather odd habit)

Well my Uncle Harry tour guide hat goes back on tonight.
On our fourth day in Tassie we left the east coast and headed to the central highlands.
Our target Cradle Mountain.It was a wet and cool to cold (for summer) day.

We didn’t get to the Cradle Mountain National Park until after lunch.
The light was changing from minute to minute because of the time and the weather we weren’t very ambitious about walking. Over 300 days a year it is raining or cloudy here so the weather was pretty much what you’d expect.Deb and Lu did one walk of about half an hour return.

They followed a path around the east of Dove Lake to a high point known as Glacier Rock.
I dawdled a bit taking literally hundreds of photos.

Including this one of some scat on a rock. Yes it is what you think it is. ‘Scat’ is a polite naturalist’s way of saying ‘poo’ or ‘shit’.

I kept moving; the large rocky promontory (with the people on top) in the fore-ground is Glacier Rock.And to show how far I had got behind, the character in red on the top is Lu.
She (and Deb) waited at the top until I caught up.

I took this picccie of Lu from up there.Then she returned the favour.You will notice I was unshaven and well and truly in holiday mode.

Then for a moment we played duelling cameras.Then Deb and Lu headed back to the car because the afternoon turned freezing. I went on another walk around the west of the lake. Following a nicely formed trail
Again and again I saw
And
I counted no less than 17 piles of scat and more scat all carefully placed on the top of little rocks.

My destination this little boat house built to house rescue boats in the 1940s.So If you are like me (and maybe you aren’t) you want to know who was the obsessive creature who so carefully left these little markers of passing on all these rocks?

This cute fellow is the culprit. A wombat, they leave scat on rocks to mark their territory.

Alas the wombat piccie is not mine (this is from Wikipedia). They are very shy creatures, I have a couple of wombat photos but they are blurry piccies of a rapidly departing wombat rear end.

Odds and Ends

First of all thank you all for your supportive comments. Your gentle support means a lot to me.

Thank you.

Now I haven’t posted for the last few days because I have been busy.

Work is as crazy as ever, it has been somewhat easier now I have made a decision not to stay for the long term. Although I have to say I am kind of missing the people there even though I haven’t left yet.

I have been putting together an application for a job, something I’d actually really like to do. It’s a managing position looking after a couple of mental health programs in something called a Community Health Service. I’ve had similar jobs before so I think I’ll be in the running. It’s senior enough to have almost no client contact, but close enough to the community to keep a feel that I’m achieving something ‘real’. It feels right, the application process closes on Monday so wish me luck.

The other thing that is keeping me busy is my WIP. Unfortunately due to a minor computer problem I lost about ten hours work. I am usually absolutely paranoid about back ups. This time I was a bit slack so of course this was the time I had problems. That’ll teach me :-)

I’ve been threatening promising more posts about our Tassie trip but just haven’t had time to pick piccies to share from the (literally) thousands I brought back.

So instead I am going to inflict a section of my WIP on you. In case anyone is reading Veiled in Shadows on my other blog I will also post a chapter of that tomorrow.

I’m not sure how popular these chunks are because I seem to get almost no comments on them.
Anyway I enjoy posting them so here goes.

This is (as usual) a first draft although it was not typed today. It follows on from the last section where Ronnie and Valentina crashed into each other at a Berlin Airport.

Valentina Meshcova
Berlin 1948
As spring eased into summer and the weather warmed up I began taking Natasha a beach at Heddersee. Sunday was our day, just the two of us.

I had never managed to find out her German name, if she remembered herself she never said, so she was Natasha. I had thought briefly of calling her Raisa, but my Raisa had died at the hands of Germans so I was not sure.

Of course no trace of her mother was ever found so Natasha lived with me in my apartment as if she was my daughter. She was the first child at our orphanage and she had saved me as surely as I had saved her. So it was not surprising she was my favourite.

She was a serious seven year old, but she seemed happy enough. I thought she was very clever, but what mother does not think her child is special. She had learned Russian very rapidly, even quicker than most small children are with language. She still spoke German when she played with other children, but most people guessed she was Russian.

Before the airport I had stopped thinking about Ronnie every day. Now I knew how desperately I still loved him. I re-enacted every moment of that brief encounter again and again, always ending with his expression of hate.

How easy to live with a love who was gone for ever. How hard to be hated by one's desire.

Without Natasha and the focus of the other children I could never have managed the next few days. But eventually I began to feel something like normal again. Thoughts of Ronnie did not distort my thinking at every moment. The incident seemed to have caused no trouble for me either, neither my driver or aide seemed to have mentioned what had happened to anyone.

I lay on our blanket and watched Natasha as she played at the water's edge. She kept as close an eye on me as I did on her, she didn't mind playing on her own with someone watching, but being left alone held a terror for her. She was one child I never had to worry about wandering off.

Sunday was the busiest day at Heddersee with the residents of Berlin making the most of the weather. So I was not surprised when a woman spread a blanket next to mine. With my focus on Natasha, I did not pay much attention to her, I had an impression of long, milky white limbs and black hair.

A voice in German, 'Excuse me.'
I glanced over at her she was holding a bottle out in my direction, 'I don't suppose you could put a bit of this on my back could you?'
I looked at her more closely. She was beautiful, physically beautiful the way Raisa had been, so that people would notice when she entered a room. Tall, dark haired, pale skinned, striking grey eyes.
I knew her from somewhere, I was sure. Yet I had never seen her before, I was certain of that.

It was oil, thin and clear and with an odd earthy smell that was still pleasant and somehow familiar. She held her long black hair up on the back of her head as I rubbed the stuff into her back. How strange, to waste precious oil on the skin. But looking at her she was not by any stretch of the imagination poor. Her bathing suit was clearly tailored, not the home knitted thing most people made do with if they could get hold of something to knit. 'What is this stuff?'
'Coconut oil, it helps me cook myself.'
That explained the smell, dried coconut was something I knew from before the war. 'You will have to be careful, you are very pale. Half an hour, any longer and you will burn.'
'Alas, I have not had time to lie in the sun for years now.'
'I can see that.'

Natasha looked across to check I was still there. She frowned, almost alarmed when she saw my blanket empty. Then her smile when she saw I had not abandoned her. 'She's a pretty child, is she yours?'
It was not a question I had been asked before. 'I am not her mother, but yes she is mine.'
'I always wanted a daughter, but… the war.'

I glanced at her hands, there was a gold band, but on the left. Not married then, but presumably she had been engaged. It was awkward, but I asked the question anyway, I had not had a casual friendly conversation since Raisa was killed.

Before the end of the war I was driven by circumstance and after... well I was a Soviet officer and officers do not have nice conversations with their subordinates. I talked to children and gave or received instructions from other soldiers. 'Your fiancée?'

She laughed and held up her hand, the gold bright in the sun, 'Husband, we do it differently in the west. Here, the wedding ring is on the left. He was killed.'

I felt cold.

The hate, of Germans and Germany was never far away. She must have sensed it, 'Don't worry, he didn't fight against your Russian boys. He was a pilot, he died in France.'
'I'm sorry.' To my surprise I actually was sorry, I felt her grief. She wasn't just a German, she was a fellow human.
'Do you have someone?'

It was foolishness, madness to say anything to anyone. But perhaps after all this time I needed to reach out to someone more mature than a small girl. 'There, was a boy, an English sailor...'
She was curious now, 'Did he die?' she meant to seem casual, but I knew she really wanted the answer.
'No, he was sent away. The NKVD...I was arrested. They told me he was a spy and if I ever saw him again I would be shot.'

Her response took me entirely by surprise, 'Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be happy in the end.'

I did not have a moment to ask what she meant, Natasha came running across, all wet and excited. 'Valentina, I am hungry! Can we go and get some bratwurst?'
One thing that was still very German about Natasha was her love of sausage, of any kind. As if noticing the stranger for the first time she asked in her direct way, 'What is your name?'

The woman hesitated just a moment, 'My name is Penelope.'
'That is a funny name.'
She smiled, taking the childish criticism in her stride, 'Yes it is a funny name, it is a very old Greek name.'
'You aren't very old.'
'Compared to you I am ancient.'
'Valentina can we go now?'
I smiled at the stranger, 'Perhaps we will meet another time?'
'I shall look forward to it Valentina.'

Al at a Crossroad

Some days ago I mentioned I wanted to talk about something personal but I was distracted by events in Oz.

So tonight I want to go back to the personal.

You may know I have been working for some time managing a couple of charity programs that provide a number of services to homeless people in Melbourne.

In fact I have worked for a number of charities in disability services, mental health and homelessness for well over a decade.

I choose this work because it is immensely satisfying and personally rewarding.
At the same time it is challenging, frustrating, and dangerous.
I say dangerous because in Oz after the police, workers in social/human services are the most frequently assaulted profession.

Stress and burnout are occupational hazards. Yet I have stayed in this area for many years.

Why? Because I love my work. You see the worst aspects of our society, but again and again you see the absolute best of people.

Just two examples: a woman in her 80s who volunteered for 10 hours every week because she wanted to give something back and felt she was letting everyone down when her health prevented her continuing; and a homeless man who gave his coat to someone who was colder.

Having said all this I have decided I am not carrying on in my job.
Perhaps, I am after all this time burning out, but I spend too much time worrying about the worst. I have been assaulted 3 times in the past 10 years and have dealt with dozens if not hundreds of incidents which could have resulted in violence (more often directed at someone else but it is still stressful).
I find myself dwelling on how to support my team when something terrible happens. Don’t get me wrong, I am good at supporting people as they do this work and I enjoy being able to do this. I always have very low turn over rates in my teams, the key is making sure people are not only supported but feel supported.

Usually I am good at looking after myself through all this. I have a very simple philosophy, that in this work if you don’t help yourself you can’t help anyone else.
Using some mental tricks I generally leave work at work. And when I can’t I seek the appropriate support for myself. My self care regime usually works a treat.

But unusually when I came back from my holiday in Tasmania I wasn’t ready to go back to work. Now when I get to the end of a weekend I dread going back to work. This isn’t me, maybe this is burn out.

So where am I going? Well I am now looking for another job.

I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to go for but it certainly won’t be coal face in human services.

I hope I will find something related but in a more admin type role.

Time to recharge.
Now 'cause I need to cheer up a bit.

A native orchid in from Cradle Mountain National park Tasmania

Batterings and Crossroads II

First things first: I have heard from my Dad. He, my brother and my brother’s family are all safe and well.

As I said Dad is north of Cairns and was missed by the worst of the cyclone. He has had some large trees that he planted over twenty years ago blown down and other damage in his garden.
Conrad and his family live in Innisfail where many houses were destroyed. Their garden has been destroyed but fortunately their house survived intact.

Now it is Victoria’s turn.
This photo was taken from the Bureau of Meteorology and shows the remains of the storm. Yasi has been downgraded to a tropical low. It is the circular feature in the centre of Oz over the South Australia and Northern Territory border.

The remains of Yasi are about 2,500 kilometres (1,600 miles) from here. It no longer packs deadly winds itself. But it is still such a huge low pressure system that it is pulling in weather from all around the continent.

The huge stream of cloud coming in from the south east (about 5 O’clock) is covering the whole of Victoria.

It isn’t just a wisp of cloud it is a whole stream of dense clouds, much of it made up of Super-Cell Thunderstorms. We had more than our whole month’s average rainfall in just over 18 hours. And more is on the way.

The outcome: flash flooding all across the state and in particular right through Melbourne. Roads are cut everywhere and people have been evacuated from many areas.

We once again are fine (our house is nicely placed on a hill) but things are tough for a lot of other people.

Now to me. I haven’t talked about my personal stuff again. Once again I guess my thoughts have been overtaken by events. So you’ll just have to stay tuned.

Batterings and Crossroads

Poor Queensland (the state of my birth) has been copping another battering. As if the worst floods in 100 years weren’t bad enough Far North Queensland has just been hit by the biggest cyclone to hit Oz since 1919.

To give an idea of how big Cyclone Yasi has been the Brisbane Times has superimposed an image of it against a couple of familiar places in the world.

Yasi in comparison to EuropeAnd America
The only saving grace (and this is a huge one) is the centre of the storm missed major population centres. Places like Cairns and Townsville have a huge cleanup but they don’t have to be rebuilt.
It isn’t all good, smaller centres like Mission Beach, Tully and Cardwell have been pretty much flattened.
But as of this afternoon there were no reported deaths or serious injuries, so miracles do sometimes seem to happen.

Once again there is a personal dimension to this for me. My father lives north of Cairns and one of my brothers has a house at Innisfail which has also been damaged.
I haven’t heard from them since the storm hit and may not for a few days because the power and phones are down in most of the area. Dad is not likely to have suffered any material loss, but Conrad may have.
Remember though before you get too worried on our account “no deaths or serious injuries”.

Actually I was going to talk about something else of a personal nature tonight but I am whacked so it will have to wait till next time.

WIP, Struggles of different kinds

It seems I can’t help myself.
I am following my Valentina distraction in my WIP again.
She isn’t quite the only force in my writing at the moment though.

I have also been rewriting and shifting the perspective of a large chunk of what I have already written.
In my novel (as in the last) I write using multiple narrators. A fair portion is seen through the eyes of a woman who spends years living intimately with another. One has always been silent in terms of narration, the other verbally effusive. Now a change in plot (partly driven by Valentina) means I have to shift the speaker from one to the other.
It can be surprisingly hard to rewrite scenes from another viewpoint. I always want to stay true to the original, after all a character shared her story with me.
But no two witnesses ever see an event quite the same way so of course things come together differently.
It remains hard to draw the silent one in a partnership out.

Anyway today I have been following Valentina again. Three years have gone by since the end of the war and her rescue of the little girl in the ruins of Berlin. The Berlin Airlift is in full swing. Still in the Red Army, and with the Berlin wall still thirteen years in the future, Valentina plays tourist in West Berlin.

Once again this is a rough first draft.

Valentina Meshcova
Berlin 1948
The odds must have been vanishingly small.
I went to a UNICEF meeting in the American sector, as usual it was a near total waste of my time none of the proposals put forward were anything I could accept.
As I came out an airplane roared low overhead, for weeks now the whole city had shaken almost continuously with the sound of aircraft engines. The Berlin Airlift was in full swing.
A sudden desire seized me, I would take advantage of the remaining daylight and have a look at what must be a historical moment.

Stalin had decided to starve the city to force the Capitalists out. All of Berlin would be his.
The Americans in their usual way had refused to give in without a struggle.
American military security at the airport would not let me on to the airfield. I didn't argue although technically there was almost nowhere they were entitled to prevent a Soviet soldier going under the Four-Power Agreement that ruled the city.

Turned away from the field I went to the passenger terminal.
My aide remained in the Jeep, while my driver checked something under the hood.
It was one of life’s little ironies, half of the vehicles we were using in Berlin were American lend/lease vehicles left over from the war, while the British army was mostly using German Volkswagens.
Of course the Americans had plenty of their own to spare.

The terminal was crowded, a sea of military uniforms with the occasional civilian suit. My Red Army dress uniform attracted a lot of stares, most of them hostile. I ignored them, after all little is frightening after spending years under fire, or battling Soviet bureaucracy.

I stood in a large picture window at the front of the terminal and watched a continuous stream of transport aircraft landing and taxiing.
It was amazing. The capitalists' capacity was absolutely amazing. However this episode ended it would be remembered. No wonder they were largely able to shake off the effects of our blockade.

'Can we help you at all major?' The phrase from behind was in Russian, accented but good enough to impart sarcasm. I half turned toward the speaker, 'Bloody hell… Val.'
Only one person ever called me Val.
'Ronnie.'
He stood with his hand over his mouth, shocked, uncomprehending.
He was as handsome as ever, maybe even more so.
When we had been lovers he had been drawn and tired, now he was fit and healthy. Incongruously he was in an army uniform, although when I knew him he had been in the navy.

I stood frozen, I had drowned and buried Ronnie a thousand times in my mind, anything to make being so hopelessly parted from him more meaningful.
Then, finally, with the work at the orphanage I had almost stopped thinking of him. I had not forgotten him, I could never forget him, but he no longer haunted every dream.

How I still longed for him, and here he was, flesh and blood, in front of me.
His hand brushed a wisp of hair from my cheek, and he gently, ever so gently cupped my scarred cheek in his hand.
I closed my eyes and placed my hand over his nuzzling into his touch kissing his palm. I didn’t believe in heaven but this must be what it would be like.
‘Val…’

His eyes overflowing, he looked so tentative, as if I might turn to smoke and blow away.
‘Val, how… what?’
A wave of terror hit me. An agony of fear, he was my death.

My love and my death.

‘No, Ronnie, I can’t.'
I twisted and ducked under his hand.
I didn’t dare glance back, I couldn’t have kept going if I had seen his face. I pushed through the crowd. His voice plaintive behind me, ‘Val, wait, Valentina!’

My driver still had his head under the Jeep’s hood. As I clambered into the vehicle I shouted, ‘Get it going! We have to go!’
Alarmed, he dropped the hood. Ronnie appeared at my side while he was staring the engine. ‘Valentina what is happening? Val look at me…’
His face streaked with tears, crumbling, I trembled at his anguish. He reached for me, I fought his hands off. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘Val…’
The jeep’s engine roared into life, ‘Get off me!’ I hissed, ‘Leave me alone, you will get me shot! SMERSH are everywhere!’

Bewilderment, then understanding lit his face, followed by burning hate. He dropped my arms like I was on fire.
With a crash of gears the jeep roared forward. I looked once over my shoulder at his blazing eyes. Then I doubled up and did what no true Soviet Major would ever do, I sobbed uncontrollably.