Notes of Substance

Robert Munro Sublet 5.3.36-1.11-15 A few years ago, when dad was home alone facing what he felt at the time was a medical emergency, he began to write us an email. He thought his time was up. The subject line was: Time on, final quarter... As happened many times with dad, that time he defied the odds and got to play on! Dad was eternally optimistic about his situation when it came to medical issues. Maybe it was more pure stubbornness or defiance-he was never going gentle into that good night. He certainly wanted to rage rage against the dying of the light.  He never complained. He didn't bemoan his situation, nor moan about pain. At times he grimaced, as if he were trying to deal with a jolt of electricity to his limbs. Once I thought he was groaning about the antics of us kids, getting progressively noisier and more drunk as we downed another bottle of red. No, he wasn't annoyed at us, of course he never was! He was in pain, but sometimes we hadn't k

Somewhere between here and there, as we raced home to see him, Dad passed across the line. We were airborne. I was dreaming. In the dream, I framed objects in the foreground for a photo, then noticed that Dad's cheeky smiling eye loomed across the picture from the top corner. I awoke mid-flight. This was the time of his passing. I felt rested and calm. Thanks for all the steady care and love over the years to my beautiful father. I know he could hear me when we communicated on the phone from LA airport. He knew we were on our way back to see him. Xxoo Postscript: I hope there will be many more words I write about Arfur. These were the very first ones I formulated after landing and finding that we had not made it back in time.

'Please, someone, fucken help me! PLEASE! You're all ok, I'm fucken sick can someone please fucken help me??!' Pause. 'I'm gonna kill you all with a fucken 503, I'll take you all out. Can't someone please help me? I'm going insane.'  It's hard to know what to do when someone is unwell AND threatening violence. To be honest, I'm too scared to approach this man. I'm hoping I am not in his direct line of sight. Quick-how can I help him? Quick-look down, read my phone. He starts sobbing. His frame is shaking, shoulders loose and heavy. He is crying like a baby who needs consoling. He does need consoling. The tears are plopping off his face as he stands and turns. 'Which of you is gonna help me? Please! I can't handle the pain.' He is walking away from me and I am relieved for the distance. I feel if I waded into this it  could cause an explosion. Then a calm, younger man puts his hand on the man's shoulder, touches h

Chart Collective are mapping Melbourne stories via landscape and memories for their I Was Here project. They plan to make posters to put up in the CBD where the stories took place. They will be anonymous snapshots of our city. Asking us to stop and reflect on place, as they give voice to hidden histories. I wrote 300 words-it was meant to be 300 characters! Well, this is the long version. Maybe my short version will end up in Caledonian Lane, where I stopped for a pee and then made a very bad decision.   Losing it on Lonsdale It was one of those hot, hot nights in the city. Melbourne was burning up. Clubs and bars pumping, music thumping out into the grid. I had been drinking cans of beer at The Lounge on Swanston Street for hours. Full strength beers. This was before the days of light beers and Uber. The boy was in a band, a sweet boy with jet-black hair. He wasn’t the lead singer, the one with loud charisma; he was the bass player, he kept his head down. I remembe

The Victorian Government announced in August that it will  ban smoking in outdoor dining areas . Great stuff, and about time. Now, the City Of Melbourne has announced its smoke-free spaces in the CBD.  But what about the air in my back yard?! We're feeling the inner city pressure. Our neighbours smoke. All.The.Time. It's been four years since we could eat a meal outside. Our children have to  stop playing and  come in when the neighbours light up-which seems to be every five minutes. I can't even open the bedroom windows, as the smoke drifts straight in and stays. Ever since those smokin' dudes next door moved in! And I don't mean 'smokin' in a hot way. Our washing smells of smoke, the side of the house smells like a huge ashtray.  The winds from the sea push the smoke straight under our carport, where it hangs, dropping its toxic chemicals over time.  I recently found myself muttering 'Kill yourself, but stop killing us!' as I fled indoors.

Wattle fresh, wattle fleeting . It's funny how a flower can spring forth (spring, ha!) with barely a warning. One day I walked out my front door and my tiny garden of evergreens was drenched in golden flowers. Front garden fronds of gold, 2015 Officially we hit Spring today!   We have the spring rains to come, Father's Day, a significant family birthday (13 year old boy) and footy finals, though our teams have released us from duty this year. Sigh. These are the markers of this month in Melbourne. But today, it was the wattle which sent my reflections back to last Father's Day, when I took Dad a bunch of wattle from the garden, knowing how he loved the fragile flower. Drooping around the lillies, the wattle added whimsy to a somewhat sombre occasion. Wattle at mum and dad's, 2014 The Father's Day was a point of gathering, our first whole family gathering for years, with the traditional roast being served. Dad had passed the baton to the k

My little reflection on Punt Road was published today by The Punt Road Project . That's a treat. The project has been collecting stories, musing, ragings and reflections on that big north-south road which plays such a part in Melbourne's life.  The famous clock on the silo, 'high on the hill...' Punt Road as a lifeline, an escape. Anna's beautiful point of view. http://t.co/7Niq9QDSoZ — Punt Road Project (@PuntRoadProject) August 23, 2015 I gave it a bit of a push too: My piece on a road as a lifeline, published 2day by @PuntRoadProject Love the image-a heart cradled in a book http://t.co/GK3rXzCty2 — anna sublet (@subbie) August 23, 2015 Here's the text: Punt Road is not just a major arterial. For a time, it was for me a lifeline to my mind, an artery to my heart. It got my blood pumping, my mind whirring, my heart singing. I lived a decade in the north, but each month crossed town for a southside bookclub, born of bayside

A twisting strand It was October 2000, and I was in New York, contemplating working in Manhattan. I was sleeping on a saggy couch bed while attorneys checked out my visa. 'Brian' said I could do website maintenance and client accounts for his Lexington Avenue finance company. I walked the streets, feeding myself on Coke and trips to galleries. In the evenings, we ate late, danced in gymnasiums, did group art projects and drank in bars-what else would you do? At Deep Dish Cabaret: Punching & Drinking The thing is, I was 35, not 25. The idea of finding a cell-like room in a convent or sharing a floorspace with strangers was moderately appealing, as was, for a moment, the prospect of meeting new, interesting men with whom I could share some spice and romance.  At Deep Dish Cabaret, the boxing ring our stage. But...back home in Northcote, there was a little studio waiting. There were nasturtiums tumbling across the garden bed, and a patch full of ve

Working as a casual can be great: you get a higher base hourly rate to compensate for the fact that you get no sick leave or annual leave; you can mostly take holidays when you want them; and you can quit the job without having to give notice-yeah, right on! Until, of course, you find you really need that job. What rights does a casual have then? Precious few, it turns out. Look more closely and the benefits don't amount to much . Casuals have no guarantee of work from one week, or even one shift, to the next. Try organising a loan on that basis. Looking to pay off a car loan, rent a house or get a mortgage? Best to hook up with someone with a regular income if those are your aims. All this uncertainty and financial insecurity can make your life seem a bit out of control. It can't be good for the health. Come to think of it, the benefits of casual work may simply be that workers ostensibly have a greater degree of flexibility. You can make your working life fit a