Notes of Substance

Around a campfire many years ago, our mates asked each other “what is something you’d really like to do in your life?” Some said making a film, others said climbing a mountain and one said they wanted to write a book. My partner delivered this clanger: “I’d like to come up with a fair tax system.” (In retrospect, good on him!) I was quiet, then confessed, “I’d like to sing on stage.” A few months ago, the reality of our tenuous hold on life hit me and churned me back out into the world with a new sense of hunger for creativity and connection. It had been a routine test, leading to hospital time and treatment, and I emerged from the shock of it wanting to grasp life, claim my space and find my voice.  When I was offered a place in Melbourne Indie Voices Choir for term 3, I waited all of three seconds before signing up. I had been on their waitlist for a while. Work, study and family had got in the way. Maybe other things had got in the way too; some things I hadn’t recognis...

I went to kick the footy the other night with my daughter. She really wanted to do kick-to-kick with her brother, but he’s injured, and has been now for five years. He’s never looked at the photo of the moment his shoulder popped from its joint, the picture snapped by the team photographer just before the siren sounded. An opposition player had slammed into him, running in the opposite direction. My kid swore–’fuck’–and went white. Time stopped as I ran towards him. In shock we walked from the field, his shoulder dislocated, and made our way to the club rooms. In the cramped toilet block he said he thought he might vomit. He was so very, very white. He has never played club football again.  So as we walk to the school oval, my girl says ‘I wish my brother could kick the footy with me. When he’s going to be able to kick the footy? By summer?’ Yes, maybe by summer we say. We avoid the crowd at the school park and find some empty asphalt. I line up, drop the ball to my foot,...