23 more sleeps ..

This morning I woke to a newsy email from an ex colleague who is living in the Northern Territory spending time with her husband volunteering in the Kulumburu Community.
She wrote of the newly liveried Qantas aircraft that arrived last week in Broome to be blessed by the local Priest and the Aboriginal Community.

In the late 1990's I flew from Frankfurt to Bangkok on one of the first Aboriginal liveried aircraft 'Nalanji Dreaming'. I can still remember that little burst of excitement when finally arriving at the gate in the vast Frankfurt Airport to see 'Nalanji Dreaming' was our ride home. Well half way anyway! The flight to Frankfurt the week or so prior had been extremely turbulent and I was feeling a little apprehensive what the same route in reverse would produce. But when I saw that aircraft all fear evaporated. Lord knows why but for some reason I was absolutely sure that no calamity would dare befall this sacred aircraft. Lord knows why.
Bring on the sick bags, but we would reach our destination.

Lord knows why alright.
In 1978 I climbed Uluru. Not just once but 1 and 1/2 times. HIgh Achiever? Absolutely. Not.
I was on a school trip - though the word safari was the fashionable term back then.
In those days scaling the rock was not seen as a sign of disrespect or a lack of spirituality or a sure path to hell.
It was a right of passage.
The first time I went up I was very scared.
I'm really not so great with heights.

So down I came. Until a very nice boy told me that if I would like to try again he would climb with me.
And so climb we did.





And when we reached our destination it may have well been Everest such was the elation of victory.
Although when I look at this picture, the words 'like a Jesuit over a waterfall' often spring to mind.


In 1979 my Mum sent me to California for almost one year.
My Dad had died the previous year - in my last year of high school.
It had been a long time coming.Yesterday would have been his 81st birthday.
I didn't do so well that final year. Just sort of muddled through the best I could.

When I returned home from the U S of A, my Mum did not send me anywhere nearly as exciting this time around.
She sent me to 'Secretarial College'. EH! And I couldn't stand it.
It was just bloody ghastly.
One afternoon while catching the bus home an old primary school friend boarded.
She told me she was working for Westpac in their 'Data Processing Centre' in Woolloongabba. She was doing 'data processing'.
At that time Woolloongabba was a very indigenous suburb of Brisbane, though I am not entirely sure I knew the word indigenous back then.

As a small aside, only those who have ever worked in Woolloongabba can spell it really really fast.. double U, double O, double L, double O, N, G, A, double B,A !
It's quite an accomplishment! You really need to add a little flourish at the end.
Go on - try it! Fun hey!
But anyway, back to the story..

Well. I immediately wanted to do 'data processing' also.
It sounded very sophisticated.
And it would surely beat typing and shorthand...surely.
And if I had to have gone back to 'Secretarial College' with all those jumped up old harpy's for just one more day I would ..

I don't know but I just would.
You see the only thing my Mum didn't bank on when I returned from my little sabbatical in California was that I was now a teenager of the world. I had seen things, I had opinions.Yep. I did.
And my opinion of Secretarial School when I had been a guest of the Captain on the now retired Aircraft Carrier the USS Enterprise..Yes Captain - I had opinions.

So..what did I have to do to get a gig doing 'data processing?'
I had to go into the Commonwealth Employment Agency and ask for a form.
That's what I had to do.
Take it home, fill it out and do a little 'photo statting'. Oh and get permission from ones Mother as 'data processing' involved shift work. Yep. That's what I had to do.

So..next day back on the bus I go. I had to hand my application complete with photo statted school results etc etc to a Mr Smith. We had a short conversation, I told him my thoughts on being a sophisticated world traveller and the interview was over.

Thirty minutes later I arrived home.
My Mum had just received a phone call from said Mr Smith.
Mr Smith wanted to know why I had not applied to go to University, why I hadn't applied for this and why I hadn't applied for that. That if I wanted to attend the Australian National University in Canberra he would assist. My results in English and Art were outstanding, even though my Maths and Economics were appalling. He would assist in getting me that Aboriginal Scholarship and have me relocated to Canberra.
Where at that moment my Mum intervened with 'What? She's not an aboriginal...'
And he said, "What? Isn't she...'
And Mum said 'NO! She has just wasted 6 weeks of her life lying on the beach!'





So I have a tendency to tan well!
And you can get a lot of thinking done on the beach!
We have laughed for over 30 years at that story.

Almost as funny as a chaplain we dealt with recently who lives at 69 Luckie Street.
Oh God the mileage we are getting out of that one.

Though I do wonder where I would be had I studied English at Australia National University. Where I would have ended up.

And so I commenced at the Westpac Data Processing Centre, this unmarked complex on Ipswich Road which has a perfect view directly to the Princess Alexandra Hospital.
Of any view anywhere in the world this would have to have been my worst nightmare.
Maybe those 2 trips up The Rock had come back to haunt me after all.
The PA Hospital, as it is affectionately known in Brissy was where my Dad passed away the year prior.
It is without doubt my nemesis.
And where I have many a time gone boom crash pow into many a marble wall fainting away at any given or ungiven moment. I actually think those head injuries may be responsible for my sometimes random thoughts and overactive imagination!

You see I am squeamish! Very very squeamish.
I have felt the need to tell people my whole life that I am squeamish.
For their own good not mine!
So squeamish that if anyone is describing anything that entails (not entrails) the words blood, drip, tube, incision, hospital, you get it...there is a good chance that within a few minutes I  could very well be quite shockingly on the floor!
(I spend a fortune on lingerie as I live in constant fear the wrong person might catch a glimpse of my knickers!)
So whoever is regaling me with graphic detail - I need to warn them - or leave the conversation quickly.
This doesn't happen all the time.
In fact when faced with crisis I am impressively shocked into action.
I'm impressed anyway!
It's random.
But I always know.
When the mind suffers the body cries out.

The only people who understand this are my family and very close friends.
When my Mum recently had major surgery we were both very freaked out,
The morning I arrived in Qld to visit her at the hospital I was in a state.
In fact the whole flight up I was in a state. Oxygen mask - yes please!

When my oldest friend picked me up from Maroochydore Airport to take me to the hospital I asked her what I should expect.
Blood - check. Tubes - check. Bandages - check. Drip - check.
Oh God.
Hospital smell - NO. A small blessing!
So armed with knowledge in we went. I said "Donna I am just keeping my head down and following you. I don't want to see anything on the way. Let's just walk very fast and get to the room!"
And so we did.
And there was my beautiful Mother sitting up in a chair with all vestiges of scariness strategically concealed under a blanket.
After the flurry of hugs, kisses and tears she said, 'lie down in the bed'
And so I did. And boy did it feel safe.




That morning when my Mum had had her blood pressure taken it had been unnaturally high.
The surgeon asked her what was wrong as it had been perfect for days.
My Mum told him her daughter was arriving that day and etc etc etc!
God how embarrassing.
She also told the Sister. "Oh yes we have heard about you.."
For the next 5 days every moment I was at the hospital I was in the bed and Mum was sitting up. I learnt a lot about life in those 5 days.
Mum knew where I was meant to be.

December is here.
Three more weeks of school and the count down is on.
I am exhausted.
My colleagues are exhausted.
Term 4 is without doubt relentless.
I love my role, and I am very good at it.
I don't mind saying that.
Like I don't mind saying, "I am about to
faint".
It gives everyone a laugh.








When I pull into my most coveted designated car park every morning that says 'Principal's Assistant' I always wonder how I found my destination, here to this rather prestigious Grammar School - given I was a 'Secretarial College' drop out.
I really don't know.

But my Mum knew.
She knew where I was meant to be.
Even though we both had to bang our heads many times along the way.

It's 34' in Melbourne today. Wowee.
I am not working on my tan. Way too hot for my delicate skin!
For the next few weeks I am just working on me.
And my filing.
To finish what I started.
23 more sleeps.
BFN!