Month / October 2014

by jsetc

The ghost town of childhood

photo (58)

Yesterday was a day I didn’t see coming. Little did I know that on the way to the House of Raw Women I would find myself face to face with my childhood.

As I drove towards the said location I was hit with the familiarity of the things you stare at so long they become part of you. And then one day suddenly they are not part of you any more. Life goes on and you don’t have time to question why you parted from them, why you don’t miss them, how much they gave you and why you never said thank you.

The familiarity hit me so hard it grabbed me. It overcame me as I looked out the window and saw everything I once knew so well which now seemed strangely hollow. I kept driving as the tears streamed faster and faster out of my eyes at the sadness outside – at the sight of my childhood that had somehow become an empty scene on a movie set. Where did it go? Where did the people and the memories go? Where did the smells go?

The sounds of familiar voices? So much looked exactly the same – the houses, the streets, the shops and the style. Everything else was absent. Especially my mother.

I arrived at the place I had been aiming to get to and as I opened my car door and stood up I broke down and cried. I was here but where was I? Where am I now?

I managed to pull myself together and knock on the door of the House of Raw Women. Inside I had a fabulous time, the details of which you will find at the end of this post – please check it out!

About an hour later, as I sat draped in black satin, wearing red lipstick and rocking on a wooden horse my mind drifted outside to the house across the road. I fought back the tears as I realised where I was. I was standing in the middle of the ghost town of my childhood.

Across the road it was late one Saturday night. Two boys who hadn’t hit puberty yet were fast asleep as their babysitter watched television. She knew the family so well; their parents were the best of friends and she loved babysitting their children. She heard something at the window and went to look outside. She peered at the house across the road. The house was dark and it looked as if everyone inside was asleep. She gazed at the house one more time and then went to sit back on the couch again. She was fifteen years old. Little did she know.

Follow this URL to learn more about Raw Women and their latest Stay Campaign

http://rawwomen.com/

by jsetc

Simple pleasures

When does childhood leave you? Does it leave? How much notice do we get? If you could request it how much notice would you need?

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Is there an alert in your head that says ‘better enjoy this mud-squelching now, because next summer you’ll be way too busy to get to a dam. The summer after that you’ll be way too exhausted to even consider it. The summer after that will slip by without you even taking note of the changing seasons. And a few summers later, when you do find yourself staring into a dam you’ll be wondering about what else is lurking in the water, how clean it is, what happens if some of it is swallowed either by mistake or on purpose, why you didn’t think to bring a change of clothes for your children who are already sopping wet, how quickly you can jump in and save one of them, fully-clothed, if need be and whether leeches prevail in the area you’re standing in.’

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Adult and child. Rope puller and pullee. Giver and taker. Receiver and giver. Need and want. Do and say. Say and do. Mirror and face of time that trickled by. A puddle of water left under your feet that lets you remember when you used to jump without thinking, go without asking, live without resisting.

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Yesterday I was a child again. I watched my two children run, splash, explore, discover and bask. And even though my adult mind was racing at a faster pace than usual with all the could-be and might-be scenarios that an unknown body of water in the country can induce I let the rope go.

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I let it go limp. I even let it get wet and a tiny bit lost in the mud of the day. To be a child. I let myself remember as I watched them, soaking up every bit I could before little bodies grew cold and it was time to pull the rope back in.

by jsetc

Imagine

It’s been a while between posts. I’m almost ready to share what’s been happening in my head lately but until then this old piece will have to do.  It was John Lennon’s birthday yesterday. Before the date fades again for another year I decided to drag this old piece out, which was inspired by his memory. It was written so long ago, in another country and what feels like another lifetime ago. Re-reading it now, it’s still relevant. Sadly, not much has changed. So happy birthday John Lennon, 74 year-old that you would have been had our world not have been so fucked up. Let’s be reminded – today, tomorrow and again the next day –  to try and stop fucking things up any more than they have already been. Imagine away people x

I only managed to see about 15 minutes of the 11th memorial for Yitzhak Rabin’s murder. I had confused the starting time with the time of Aviv Geffen’s appearance…so made it just in time to watch him sing the same song he sang 11 years ago, minutes before Rabin’s death. The words came on as I made my way through the crowds. This year, the Clintons weren’t invited to speak. Neither were any politicians. They could come to participate, but not to take advantage of the crowd in order to spit meaningless promises at their audience, whose patience and energy were dwindling. As I moved towards the front of the stage I noticed the people around me. Last year, at the 10th anniversary of Rabin’s death, the city square was packed with 250,000 bodies; international journalists, people of all ages, cameras, banners, balloons, candles…this year it was as if only the real stayers came; only the ones who really meant it, with or without Bill Clinton’s speech. This year there was a lot more space to move around, and a chance to really see the faces of the people. As Aviv Geffen left the stage and a young girl came on to sing the national anthem, I realized that I had missed David Grossman’s keynote address. He is a well known left wing author, whose son was killed in Lebanon the day before the cease-fire… I realized I’d almost missed the most intense dose of peace and love available in this country. The presence of the people around me (singing the anthem) has been growing thinner and thinner with every year that passes. It is so hard to talk about peace here, to still believe that it may happen one day. But thank goodness for these people who still manage to find a way to believe. I looked around and understood that the future of this country depends on them; nothing else would make a bigger difference. The memorial ended. People kept standing. No one wanted to leave. The song that Rabin himself had sung at the peace concert 11 years ago came on in the background – Song of Peace. Everyone seemed to be in a sort of daze. They slowly started dispersing, miming the words of the song to themselves, as if in some weird kind of dream state. Then groups of people began moving faster and dancing to the music. It was over, for another year. Lots of people kept standing there, staring at the crowds, not wanting to go anywhere. And then there was what Alanis Morrisette may have described as an ironic moment (but I would just call it a strange coincidence)…Imagine by John Lennon came on. People quickly swapped the words they were mouthing for the words to Imagine. I was still taking it all in in the background. Suddenly, the CD started jumping. The words became muffled and twisted and broken. Then, just like that, the song died…just stopped!!! I burst out laughing, along with a woman who was standing next to me. She read my mind and said “It’s too hard to even imagine it anymore huh?” On that note I turned around and started walking home. I’d caught a glimpse of the peaceful people in this country at least. I’d get home to see how many people in Gaza had been killed over the weekend. I’d have to watch the once centrist government slowly but surely turning right wing again. I’d have to keep wandering what would happen next for the rest of the year…but I would have in my memory all those people who turned up in the cold and the rain to give peace a chance once again. And if David Grossman, who had lost his son to war, could still stand up there and plead for it…maybe, maybe – I thought – others could be convinced to do it too.

(2006)