Street Talk: Thelma, The Best Neighbour I Never Had.

So I'm walking outside to put my rubbish in the bins and there's this lady standing at the bins and I was all "Ugh I'm going to have to acknowledge her" and I did, I acknowledged her and said hello. And she said hello. And I can't quite remember how or why we started talking about all the stuff we talked about but she told me her husband had a stroke last month (Rocco was here and watched as he was put into the ambulance and I told him it's rude to stare, come back inside.)

So Thelma tells me she's been living in the same block of flats as me for years but now she's packing up to move and go live with her daughter in Sydney and her husband can't talk, walk ... he's in hospital and may never get his faculties back again.

Faculty: "An inherent mental and physical power."

And I look right into Thelma's beautiful sad sad brown crying eyes and I said "I'm really, really so sorry Thelma. Life is just bullshit. We got to live it but we never know what's going to happen and it sucks. And I'm sorry. And my stepdad died and my brother died and we just get through the days as best we can and one day it'll all be over." And she HUGGED me so, so hard, ignoring all my swear words. And she meant her hug .. you know when somebody really means their hug? She meant it, and I gave her a meant hug back. And we both couldn't believe we'd never met each other before (possibly because I keep my head down and don't acknowledge people) .. and I wished her luck and she walked off.

A few days later I went to the florist and chose one pink tulip because I could only afford one but a flower is a flower, you don't need a whole bunch. One can suffice. Me and Roc knocked on Thelma's door, my lord I do not knock on peoples doors it is a foreign concept. She opened it, when I gave her the tulip she teared up again, apologising for crying and I said don't worry I been crying my whole life ... the Pacific Ocean? All my doing. I cried a whole fucken ocean of tears and I'm not finished yet.

Thelma invited us inside and showed us how her packing was going. Thelma told me she can't believe I gave her a tulip that day because she'd just come from the local hospital to be with her husband who was being transported down to a Sydney hospital and it was a hard day. She asked Rocco what his name is and spoke to him kindly. I love people who talk to my kids properly. She asked me what I did and I told her I was a writer than I got real vague about it because as soon as people google me I usually never hear from them again. Not that I care, but still. I liked her.

Thelma looked around and wanted to give me something back so she gave me this book.

She wrote her name and number in there even though you're not supposed to write on books? I thanked her and said goodbye.

That's not the end. A few days later I came out of my cave because I was fucken depressed as fuck and Thelma's standing there at the bins AGAIN and she told me to come back inside to her flat. So I did. And she gave me her old typewriter and told me to write, write, write. And in that few seconds she was my grandmother who always told me to write and this time, it was my turn to cry. I put the typewriter under my hoodie because I didn't want to get it wet from the rain and hugged her a meant hug and that's probably the last time I'll ever see Thelma.

So Thelma - we both know that's not your real name, your real name is much cooler but I never asked your permission to write about you. I hope you don't mind. I'm sending you a link .. I been writing for a while, online. Welcome to the Shitshow. That typewriter and book is among the most precious gifts anyone has ever given me. It was no accident that we met. I adore you. Good luck in the rest of your life - remember what I said. It's stupid, try not to take it seriously. I'm glad you're living with your daughter in a noisy house filled with your grandchildrens mess and laughter because we all need people and I swear to god you're one hell of a person. This is my Street Talk series which I started in 2013 with the intention of profiling a stranger every week but then my brother killed himself and everything turned to heartdust. I've interviewed then-Prime Minister Julia Gillard at Kirribilli House on the same day I interviewed Honey the Prostitute in Kings Cross. Honey was more interesting but Thelma? You are my favouritest Street Talk ever.

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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
16. Dream the Horse and Carriage Driver
17. Tamas the Hungarian Accordionist
18. The Dignified Trolley Ladies
19. Alex With The Studded Hot Pink Belt
20. Leaf The Fallen
21. Bel Of The Library
22. Jay And His Big Issue
23. Emma The Adult Shop Cashier
24. Teena, Saver Of Dogs
25. The Luna Park Face
26. Gary The Missing
27. Kristen at the Elephant Bean Cafe
28. Uncle Paul
29. Jess The Mama
30. The Two People At The Checkout
31. Alfie The Pourer
32. Breaking The Rules With Captain Starlight!
33. The Woman In Line At The Bakery A Few Weekends Ago
34. Dog The Dog
35. Julia Gillard The Person
36. Nancy The Badass
37. Bruce From The Psych Ward
38. Jeremy The Costumeless
39. The Women in the Morgue
40. The Lady Whose Name I Didn't Quite Catch.
41. Eden
42. William the Worldchanger

Parunting.

Smoking a fry ciggie at On a Roll

This guy is a modern-day sage. I called him a psychic and straight away he shoots back "No I'm not I'm the big guy!" because he thought I said side-kick. We always talk about what we dreamt the night before. He knows too much about everything just like all my other kids, mistakes were made. Mummybloggers, wait till your babies grow up to teenagers. Completely. Different. Universe.

However this guy is still young. Eight years old, almost nine .. he's the whole reason I started writing online to begin with and I documented his journey as an IVF 4-celled embryo to where he's at today.

                                           Where he's at today.

He's an extraordinary human, young enough for the world not to have fucked him over yet. It's a joy being around him. He makes me look at things differently. Recently he cottoned on to the fact that Uncle Cam left a suicide note. "CAN I READ IT MUM!" .. I said no way mate and he got so pissed off because he likes to know everything. About everything. "Why not? When can I read it? You have to let me read it one day." I told him I would but he's too young right now. He thought for a while and said "Jeez. Uncle Cam killed his self. I thought he was smart."

My mum came up and they bonded so hard it was awesome. He's *so* impressed at her footy tipping skills. And chicken soup. And the rubiks cube she bought him. They text each other, both emoji champions.

                                                         SCALPEL.

Rocco thoughtfully helped out in the doctors surgery yesterday when I got stitches taken out of my shoulder, putting on latex gloves, telling me don't worry it'll only be excruciating for a little while. (Exact words.)

These two are currently splayed on my living room floor watching Ferris Buellers Day Off together. Cousin Morgan is his new bestie and favourite holiday playdate. The three of us are planning on going to the Royal Easter Show tomorrow - I've always been the parent who takes the kids to the big fun places. They've already talked me into going into the haunted house - frankly I'm looking forward to seeing the cake decorating winners #old

                                          Nostrils Riley.

If anybody fucks with any of my kids, I fuck with them. It's my duty. My whole parenting career I've stuck up for all of my children and taught them how to stick up for themselves. I told off a lady in a supermarket once when she refused my stepson a sample yoghurt. I got up close in a bully's face in primary school and told him to lay off my kid or else. I've taught all the boys to be respectful to other people or else. They are. They're caring and empathetic and kind. I did that. Roc tells me all the things I've taught him about life so far and it blows me away how much he remembers. I'm an inappropriate unconventional mother with a penchant for answering my kids questions way too honestly. Can't help it. And kids always find out the truth anyway so I figure I'm just saving time.

We had to get the train to school recently which was basically the best thing that has ever happened to him in his life. He's frustrated he's the youngest but I tell him it's cool he'll be big soon enough, don't wish your days away sweetheart. At parent teacher/interview it was all glowing reports. His teacher is so happy with how he's doing even though he's the youngest in his class. He's excellent with words just like his mumma. (He writes raps with swear words holy shit they are AMAZING.) His first one was about his parents divorce, just wrote it out in five minutes and blew me away. He told the teacher that sometimes he comes to school feeling a lot of emotions and I explained he's had a pretty rough few years. The three of us all agreed he's doing so well.

After the teacher interview he did the pissbolt and his teacher turned and said how lucky Rocco was to have me. She said I was a really aware mother.

Out of all the adjectives in the world she used the word "aware." I thanked her and turned away .. she didn't see me cry.

Chased him down the street to the car trying to beat him but I never can because he ALWAYS wins in a fucking running race. And he always will.

We (Still) Don't Need Another Hero.

I checked back to what I was doing on this day exactly five years ago, had to hold my breath ... WINCING, prepared to meet some kind of painful memory. (Painful because it's a painful OR happy memory, if that even makes sense.)

It's not a painful memory, and in the midst of my Big Writing that I'm doing at the moment which I'll share here very soon, I just wanted to put this post up. Because five years ago today I'd just turned forty and found my superpower and was doing this, whereas tonight I'm eating a cheesy crust pizza after getting a huge whack of a skin cancer cut out of my shoulder (FOURTEEN STITCHES) ... and I'm watching my favourite show ever in the entire world. Shameless - my god this show just makes me feel ok and better and normal about my life choices and who I am. I may be crazy but I'm not Monica crazy.

So yes. Entire empires have fallen in five years but that's the thing about fallen empires .. they always get rebuilt. Especially my fallen empires.


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4TH APRIL 2012

We get to these places and the sweat drips down my back and it's uncomfortable and hot and kind of sucky. I have a stance here in Niger ... it's called the Dorky Pigeon-toed Stance. I do it when I am unsure. Like, I'm in Africa??

There is totally Hope here. Thank GOD ... because I was starting to arm myself up with nerves of steel and a metaphorical suit of armour. I can drop that.

I am ok - really. Some of you know me more than I know myself, keep telling me to be careful and protect my heart. (How *does* one protect their heart? Shut it off so it doesn't feel?) My blessed jetlag is saving my arse, giving me a buffer zone of haziness ... last night I skyped my boys which was cool. When I first got here I was all, my boys! How could I leave them how are they oh mah gawwwdd.

When I saw how the children here are living? My boys are FINE, man. They are wearing clean clothes, have clean water, food and friends and love and too many toys. They live like princes. Their cups overfloweth, and I am not worried one shred more about them.

The children here accept things their white western counterparts would not, which is both amazing and sad.

Every day we travel out into the field, watching and learning so, so much about what World Vision actually does here. About a two and a half hour trip each way in a jeep. I'm like ... seriously? But - it's bumpy and uncomfortable! SO worried I was getting sick because my lungs felt congested and my throat sore and dry ... but it's just breathing in all the dust. Africa is in me, like I am in it.
I watch Good deeds, manifested by Good people actually doing the hard work. And other Good people back home in their safe houses, donating and caring. It is all making a difference. I have seen it with my own dusty eyes. We need more help and more Good.

I believe that if you give of yourself in the world - your time, your energy, or of course your money ... the Spirit behind your motive for giving is more powerful than you think. When I see a bum in the street, I always give money. I don't question his motives ... what he does with the money is entirely up to him. (Or her. Being a bum is an equal opportunity employer.) They might be buying booze or drugs with it? So bloody what. I'm not going to stand there, weighing up the pros and frickin' cons. I can spare the gold dollar .. I'm not the one standing there begging. You think that person *likes* standing there asking for money? No. If you can give, you give. It should be some Universal Human law.

Which brings me to other ways you can help. Someone just left a comment saying they had pulled out photos of their two sponsored children and placed them on the fridge, in full view. YES. That.

You can also:

* Start a dialogue with your children about how people struggle in other parts of the world. When you open a dialogue, you open their eyes.

* Give gold coins to bums. Why? Because they are not robbing your house, they are begging instead. Kudos, man.

* Don't waste food.

* Care more. About everything. Wake the hell up, oh beautiful blinkered ones! Life is real!

* Touch feet with people you love.

A couple of years ago in Bali I got the word "redemption" tattooed on my arm. Being here makes me believe in redemption more.  For everyone.

That feet photo is one of my favourite photos I've ever taken. Some ladies were spread out before us on a mat, next to a translator. Their feet were all touching ... they were self-conscious and nervous, so doing this probably made them feel better. LOVE. IT.

I just sat here for TWO HOURS waiting for my video to upload and there was a communication error. Entirely too frustrating .. am having a first world problem in a third world country. Hey ... where's the second world? Did I miss one? AM SO IGNORANT. And all these other pics I wanted to upload aren't working but now I have to rush downstairs to start another Big Day. I keep making the people wait for me, because I am a bumbling, late fool. They are so gracious. Turning forty recently has made me accept that no matter how hard I try, I will never be as organised as most people. I'm down with that.

This BBC article HERE is one of the best written about what's going on in this country. Um, can somebody please read it and email me through some facts about it? Asking for a friend.

Lastly, I begged our World Vision Africa correspondent Adel to please take me to a supermarket so I could buy some junk food. Needed to dive naked into a vat of cheese and bacon balls .... to swim in a sea of doritos and prawn crackers and the carbiest carbs in the land.


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I used my head in this photo, for scale.

Told you I was ok.

PS I purposely kept the tone of this post light. There will be hard-hitting full-on ones coming up soon. Worried that people think I don't take this seriously ... worried about what the people coming to my blog for the first time will think of me. But, if we all worried about what people thought of us, we would be on our guards all the time and not get shit done, not say anything at all.

I'm off to get shit done, in a caring, bumbling, tattooed, redemptive way. Hope you're down with that.



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