Street Talk: Dream The Horse And Carriage Driver.

Today's Street Talk is brought to you by the gorgeous Twitchy from twitchy corner. She's an absolute gem of a lady with a heart of gold; a mum to two kids, she's doing her bit to spread autism awareness and acceptance. She translates that into 'wanting to see more laughter and kindness in the world'. Thanks Twitchy for today's post - I for one, loved it. Peace. Linda x

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This Street Talk turned out to be a bit of an adventure. Dream was my second interview for the day as my first interview didn’t head down a road I could’ve predicted. I chanced upon an intriguing and receptive character at a tram stop in colourful St. Kilda. The chat began well enough to the point I just hopped on the tram to finish the interview. But it quickly morphed into an awesome partial expose on the seedy underbelly of the St. Kilda crime and drug-dealing scene! Informative as that was, my interviewee was identifiable; not apparently as savvy to the blog concept as first indicated. I had to do the right thing. As we parted ways, I found myself with an unusable interview but now in the Melbourne CBD. 

From the Tram Window. This is all I can show you from Interview One.

This is how I discovered Dream, standing at her post opposite the Town Hall on the corner of Collins and Swanston, with her fairytale horse-drawn carriage.

How long have you been doing this and how did you get your start?

I’ve been working with the horses and carriages two years now. I used to work in retail nearby. There was a French girl who was doing this. I was interested so I met her and asked how she got the job. She said she used to work on farms in France and that she just walked up to the boss on the street asking for a position. That made me think and the more I thought about it, the more I really wanted to do it too! But I had no experience. None at all. It didn’t stop me. I still wanted it.

(A tourist interrupts to ask for directions to the nearest post office. Dream cheerily assists.)

I asked the boss and I was honest. He asked me if I had worked with, or ridden horses before. PFFFT! (She gestures with a swipe.) In Thailand, I rode elephants, not horses!! (She laughs.) I had his attention. I told him I will work hard, so please train me, I will do it for free. He agreed and said it would take five to six months. I kept my full time retail job and trained seven to eight hours every Saturday and Sunday, learning all parts of the job. I worked seven days a week the whole time! But I’m so happy I did.

Tell me about your work day.

A work day is about ten or eleven hours, up to thirteen on a weekend. I start at the yards to feed, clean, groom and harness the horses before coming here to take rides. (Rides are not charged per person, they are per carriage.)

I meet the boss who’s interested in what we are doing; I explain and thank him for Dream’s time. At this point a council officer issues a traffic infringement notice for Dream’s carriage. Being third in a row, it’s over the line. Dream’s boss is not happy. He leans over and says under his breath: ”Tell ‘em the Council’s trying to get rid of us.”

Do you have favourite horses and do you work with the same ones or rotate them? (I stroke one, her sides are surprisingly soft, more like felt than hair).

Yes, Laura is famous for her softness! We do rotate them, but I love Laura and Dougie here, they were the first pair I worked with.

Can you tell me a little bit more about yourself from your time before this job?

In Thailand I worked at a free tourist magazine for the Japanese, sourcing pictures.  I came to Australia four years ago with my Australian partner. Unfortunately it did not work out. I hoped to find employment in similar Japanese work but here you have to be fluent and I am not. So I waitressed, worked at Crown Casino, then I got my retail job. I thought about going back to Thailand but I already had my permanent residency and I really wanted this job. If it hadn’t worked out I would’ve gone back. But two years later, here I am, and loving it!

As I take my shot, Laura ruffles her big, plumed head into her petite handler who laughs, obscured by pink horsefeathers. I take another shot, thank Dream and say goodbye.

Oh Horsefeathers!

Beautiful Dream. With Dougie and Laura

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Friday Street Talk is an unfolding art project. I'm so grateful and blown away that people say yes to talking with me, trusting me with some snippets of who they are. 

Previous Street talks:

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy 
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader

14. Jo the Podiatrist

15. Casey the Uni Student

What Elton John's Passionate Piano Playing Teaches Us At The 2001 Grammies

I hope you know I ripped ALL of your pictures off the wall.

I played Stan the other day and Max was all oh yeah, Stan, wait, who's that other guy?

So I had the pleasure of explaining how certain things can happen when true artists hold their egos in check and truly collaborate. When you get to a certain level you want to push more and see how high you get, how important it is to take lots of risks.

Max fully understood. I told hom to take risks. One of the best parenting moments I ever had. 

Street Talk: Casey The Uni Student.

Today's Street Talk is brought to you by the gorgeous Stacey from Veggie Mama. She's a beautiful woman; married to a super cool guy, they have two gorgeous baby girls, she's a vegetarian and such a soft soul. Thanks Stacey for today's post. Peace. Linda x

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I've always found going up to strangers and talking to them really rather difficult. It was one of the things I struggled with the most as a journalist. It's no easy feat to find a random person and get them to open up to you, but the more I did it the more I realised people were friendlier than I gave them credit for. It never got any easier though, I just got better at ignoring the anxiety. For this Street Talk I seriously considered chickening out - finding someone I already knew and interviewing them. But that's just silly. Eden wouldn't chicken out.

Casey is 22 years old. I spot her sitting under the shade of the library as I make my way around looking for someone to chat to. Her smooth, unlined face was peering into a laptop screen and I knew it was her to whom I had to speak. I am surrounded by young people at my work, and I find them endlessly fascinating - they are right on that brink of adulthood before all the love, loss, mistakes, joy and heartbreak that await them. They're fired up, they're having fun, they're often hungover. They work hard and they play hard. They've got plans and goals and all the time in the world to achieve them. I was looking for the youngest face in the crowd.

I ask what she's studying and if she knows what she wants to do when she graduates. A Bachelor of Business she tells me, with a major in International Business. She doesn't know what she wants to do with that degree, what kind of job she wants to do.

"It's gotta be pretty useful though, lots of businesses are international now."

But when I tell her this interview is for a blog, her eyes light up. She herself has a blog, a Tumblr where she deconstructs the characters of television programs in her spare time. She has a small bunch of friends that she chats to about it online and she is passionate about delving into the psychology of characterisation and how that is portrayed on screen. I ask why she doesn't study in this area and she said she tried, but being graded took a lot of the shine off the joy she got from doing it purely out of interest. There's a difference between doing it, and doing it because you have to, she tells me.

Casey is going to take some time off after uni, and live in Canada for a year. She's working hard now to save enough money to go at the end of next semester. She said she and her best friend travelled to North America last year for six months, and when she stepped foot in Vancouver she knew she didn't want to leave. Travel is her number-one love and she tells me tales of where she's been and where she wants to go.

"Travel is like, my thing, you know? I want to revisit Europe, I want to go to Scotland and Ireland. I'm so fascinated by ancient history, it was the only thing in school that I was really interested in."

I ask her what she would study if she was free to choose anything in the world. Straight up, she says: "English. Studying characterisation in books and on tv and in movies. I would love that." She then tells me that theatrical makeup is something she'd like to pursue, if it didn't have such a shallow pool of available jobs. She's into fantasy, both books and movies, and when I offer "like Lord of the Rings?" she doesn't laugh at my narrow knowledge, she just nods enthusiastically. She gets a lot of recommendations from her brother, who likes the genre, so she finds she reads a lot of books geared for a male audience.

Would she like to write a book? I ask. The short answer is no. The long answer is a recommendation - to read The Wheel of Time, a series of 15 epic fantasy novels by Robert Jordan. Her genuine thrill at the complexity and detail of the world created solely for a set of fiction books is contagious – I dutifully write down the title. But it’s also an explanation: if writing this deeply is what is required to publish a book, then she doesn’t have the time or the willpower.

Given she’s studying something she will easily find a job in, rather that what makes her heart sing, I asked her what is her definition of success.

“Just enjoying life. I wouldn’t base success on what you do, but how much you enjoy it. I feel that uni isn’t what people make it out to be, that if you don’t do it you’re stupid. I just want to be happy, I don’t think it’s important to be worried about reaching certain levels to become an adult.”

I ask if she feels like an adult yet and she half-grimaces, so I continue: “Still mostly feel like a kid?”

“Still a bit like a kid, yeah. I haven’t moved out of home, I mean I buy my own groceries, but even the groceries show how much of a kid I am. Last time I just bought celery, carrot sticks and a carton of Pepsi Max.”

But when she does feel adult enough she’d like a husband. Not too sure on children herself just yet, but she’d love a house full of pets.

“Yeah, lots of animals, dogs everywhere.”

I see her looking at her watch, she has a group meeting for an assignment in a couple of minutes and I don’t want to keep her any longer. Just as I’m about to leave, she tells me her dad hates travel.

“He thinks it’s such a waste of money, that I’m wasting my money going overseas. I mean, he’ll travel in Australia, but he won’t go anywhere else.

Last year he went to Bali and I was so surprised. I asked him why he went, and he just said because his friend wanted to go, but he wouldn’t go back.

I’m addicted, imagine not going to Rome and seeing the ancient architecture of it, the Colosseum? He just doesn’t understand the point of it.”

Her pretty face is earnestly confused. To her, travel is as necessary as breathing and she is mystified as to why anyone wouldn’t go if they had the chance. I nod, amused at her enthusiasm and tell her I agree. Old people can be so stuffy.

::

Friday Street Talk is an unfolding art project. I'm so grateful and blown away that people say yes to talking with me, trusting me with some snippets of who they are. 

Previous Street talks:

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy 
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader

14. Jo the Podiatrist

There's a Buddha In There. And A Chair As Well.

Hi all, Eden has asked me to post this up for her - it's her brilliance, not mine. She is feeling the love from you all - thank you everyone so much. Peace. Linda x

Years ago Dave and I found some gorgeous authentic green club chairs with a matching lounge, complete with wooden rim. Out of the whole of Australia, we discovered the setting was less than a ten minute drive away. Meant to be, obviously!

They suited our house so well, and so beautifully. Until our children came along, and then even more children, plus some unexpected ring-ins. We coped like we always do, tag-teamin!

Like locusts, however, the kids destroyed every good thing in their path. The club setting was not spared. Taking it in turns to hold onto the backs of the green and wooden chairs and sproinging up and down like a freaking trampoline. The springs buckled and they soon grew more uncomfortable to sit in.

Oh the fury of watching our shit get demolished. We soon gave up, and just identified daily with our captors.

Rocco is the kid who will 'accidentally' bash a hole in his bedroom wall to post devon and ham in there, in the middle of a muggy summer. NOM. He slowly destroyed one of the green club chairs. Lightly pulled and tugged the stuffing out of one of the arms. None of us ever saw him do it. But we all knew it was him. Dave was beyond furious. 'WE JUST CAN'T HAVE ANY GOOD THINGS FOR FUCK'S SAKE'.

Dave kept asking me where his iron-on transfer was that he bought in Mexico. Told him I had no idea and... wouldn't an iron-on Mexican transfer ruin the club-ness of the club chair? Dave said it was already ruined. Guess he had a point.

Dave did finally find his patch. Turns out it wasn't an iron-on patch though. Phoebe saw his frustration, "I've got an iron-on one dad!". Dave ironed it onto that once magnificent chair.

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Words cannot convey the mirth that I feel when I walk past and see that miss-matched Buddha patch on what was once a pristine green club lounge chair. It's hilarious, absurd, out-of-place. I'm sure it's symbolic of so many things but I always tend to laugh too hard to understand exactly what. To not take shit so seriously? To forget so much about favourite possessions? Or the fierce determination of a little boy who will always, always, push the envelope.

Heaven help us all when he becomes an adult.

Street Talk : Jo the Podiatrist.

Eden has asked me to keep Street Talk going, it's a project that she holds very close to her heart. I hope I can do it justice. Peace. Linda

I walk into Jo's office, and I'm immediately struck by how young, bright and cheerful she is. Her bubbly personality just doesn't match the stereotype I had in my head for a 'Foot doctor'. She's 28, comes from the Central Coast, and has her own Podiatry practice, Rose Bay Podiatry. She's married, but has no kids yet, she says she's waiting to grow up herself first. Listening to her though, I reckon she's a very mature, determined and wise old soul...

So Jo, why feet?

Well I always wanted to get into the medical field, and Podiatry was a 4 year degree which meant I could study and then start working in the field much faster than training to become a doctor. I completed my degree in 2007 and I now have my own practice. I really love the diagnostic aspect of it. Podiatry is the end of the road for alot of patients as they may have been to a GP, a Physio and possibly had other treatments along the way. 

What's the best part of the job?

It's hard to pick just one aspect, there's so many good things! I love being my own boss, I get to meet really inspiring people and I get great job satisfaction as I usually see the end results/outcome for my patients. People come back and say thanks and they are so grateful for the treatments I've provided - especially if they've been in alot of pain. I see all walks of life - such a variety of people come through the door. I also love helping people become more aware of their feet, and how they came to have the problems they presented to me with.

What's the worst part of the job?

Most of my patients are elderly, and I've seen many of them decline in their health over the years of me treating them. It's hard sometimes to see patients who were once quite lively, independent and relatively healthy gradually (or sometimes rapidly) decline health-wise and end up in nursing homes or pass away. Some patients I've treated for years, built up a lovely rapport with, end up forgetting who I am. It's a constant reality check really, I'm so young yet I spend alot of my working hours with elderly patients - I can get quite close to them.

Surely you must need a bad sense of smell in your line of field?

Oh it definitely helps to have NO sense of smell!. It's not a glamorous job, and there's a certain stigma attached to 'working with feet' but I don't care about that. You have to have a genuine love for it to do it, I think that most of the great Podiatrists out there are genuine people - you just couldn't do this job if you didn't love it.

She goes about her work with such efficiency, picking away at my stubborn 23 year old plantar wart whilst keeping up the banter. She's very good at keeping my mind off the discomfort I'm feeling during the treatment. I ask her what's the best piece of advice she's ever been given.

It's actually a quote that someone told me once "Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people" Eleanor Roosevelt.

My treatment complete, Jo walks me out and I see an elderly gent stooped in a chair in the waiting room. She greets him warmly and asks him about his wife as she gently guides him into her room.

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Friday Street Talk is an unfolding art project. I'm so grateful and blown away that people say yes to talking with me, trusting me with some snippets of who they are. 

Previous Street talks:

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy 
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader

Antilamentation

I'm posting this on Eden's behalf today. This poem was emailed to Eden recently by her beautiful friend Mary. Mary is an amazingly talented photographer and is pretty handy at the written word too; her blog and photography can be found here.

Thanks Mary.

Peace.

Linda x

Antilamentation

By Dorianne Laux

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook, not
the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication, not
the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don’t regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the living room couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the window.
Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied of expectation.
Relax. Don’t bother remembering any of it. Let’s stop here,
under the lit sign on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.

Why I Went On Meet The Press.

I celebrated Easter Sunday last week by appearing on Meet the Press with fellow-blogger and good friend, Kim Berry from All Consuming.


The quality of the video is not great. I can't afford decent videotaping staff on my bloggers wage.

There's a few things at play here, concurrently. (See the exact moment I saw my double chin on the monitor at 1minute 23 seconds.)

The question I get asked a lot is, WHY would the Prime Minister reach out to people in the online space. (We're getting close to, actually - why would she NOT?)

I'm not a soft touch. I'm a swinging voter. The 2013 Federal Election will go down in history as one of the most polarising of all time. Who do you hate more, Gillard or Abbott? Both people provoke such emotion in people. Julia Gillard is loathed and admired at the same time. My toe dipped into the political water recently has made one thing very clear: people go CRAZY when it comes to politics. I never realised how many disenfranchised men out there had such huge mummy issues. I think it's incredibly unfair that Gillard gets routinely annihilated in the media. And where's Tony Abbott in all of this? Tony, you won't answer my calls ..... what do you mean when you say, "Abortions should be rare." Like a steak? What IS your stance on women's bodies? Will my body be my own, if you are elected in September? Enquiring minds need to know.

My grandfather Squizzy always said never talk politics or sport at the dinner table. He was also a complete Aussie larrakin. He fought for this country, and was a prisoner of war in a German camp TWICE because he escaped. He was traumatised when he came back from the war, and went on to have a big family with my grandmother. Six children, my mother the eldest, really hard times for them all. Australia is such a beautiful, lucky, amazing country. We don't know how good we have it - in India they don't have enough toilets. Armed men roam countries of Africa like it's the most normal thing in the world. And Syria, man ..... who gives a shit about Syria at this point?

I want good government. I want a leader that I can trust. Is that too much to ask? Why are we all so jaded? Could it be that Prime Minister Julia Gillard is changing and evolving as a leader, one who is making the right decisions for Australia on the world stage? I'm busy raising the next generation. I'm also worried about what recent Centrelink changes mean to single parents. I worry about climate change, my mental health, my kids schools, my husband staying in remission from cancer. I think a lot of politicians bank on the average Aussie being dumb and too busy wrapped up in their own lives to really care about who gets elected in September. I care. Plenty of people around me care. Rupert Murdoch is not playing fair and it feels like everything is staged and rigged. Fuck Rupert.

So that's why I went on Meet the Press .... to represent the online space, the bloggers, the mothers. Same with Kim. Seriously, Kim and I are actually two fruitcakes. But we are real, we care, we found ourselves in this weird position, so we just kept saying yes.

I got called stupid a lot as a kid so I have real issues around people thinking I am. I'm not stupid. Neither are tens, hundreds of thousands of Aussies out there.

So stop treating us like we are.

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EDITED: "And this is why you shouldn't" (IF that is their real name) .... has left a brilliant comment below, in regards to why the PM has reached out to bloggers. Articulated stuff that I haven't. Would love to hear peoples views, disagreements, thoughts. (And I really hope people can stay civil!)

(Saying "Fuck Rupert" isn't very civil. I'm just cranky at the thought of tabloid newspapers ruining democracy.)

PS Also, I don't actually receive a bloggers wage. Neither does Kim.

My Son Was Sitting In His Classroom.

I sat outside the classroom and watched my son. He's only eleven.

Millions of parents watch their kids every day. But I'm not millions I'm one and he's mine and the way the tendrils curl around his ears when his hair gets too long is so gorgeous that I want to punch something. What is that?

My son sat between his best mate Zac and a girl with long blonde hair. My son was wearing a bright green watch. Nobody in his class knew how that very morning he'd stood in the kitchen at home and announced that his watch was, in fact, waterproof.

"No. I mean, water resistant. Hang on - what's the difference again mum?"

I told him the difference between waterproof and water resistant like one day I hope to tell him the difference between sex and drugs, god and the devil; love and fear.

This world's gonna make sure he gets his heart broken and his hat tooken. In the meantime I watch him swing on his chair in class just like I used to swing on my chair in class.

With my bare mind I willed him to look up at me. Eleven years ago he brought forth sobriety and grace from the underworld. Lately I'm faltering but he still tells me his dreams. He ignores the blonde girl and looks straight up, straight through me. Threw me.

And laughs.

Later we walk through the autumn day and he picks me a purple flower, carefully arranges it in the dusty Jarritos bottle. Fills it to near overflowing and the excess water spills out onto the tablecloth.

I never did a thing to deserve such a flower. That's how grace works.