Revelations

Well I’ve actually impressed myself, which is quite a task. I have managed to pretty thoroughly get all my affairs in order, with the assistance of my ever-suffering husband.

We have a camp-trailer thing-o booked, two tents on loan, some air mattresses and extra bits and pieces on loan. Chickens all accounted for and dog with an indefinite baby-sitter. Care for cute-but-annoying kitten has fallen through, but I hope we can sort that over the weekend.

All services are booked for disconnection on Tuesday or Wednesday, storage is booked as is the truck to move everything out. Probably 70% of the house is packed into boxes and a lot of the furniture is starting to be disassembled.

We need to buy a few more mattresses, some chairs and portable toilet and camp shower. I’ve finally located the free camping grounds around the state and think we should be well enough equipped to go wherever the road may take us for as long as needs be.

I remember vividly going on a camping vacation when I was a child, I think I was in 4^th grade – I was probably around 9 or 10. We went from Cooma, near the Snowy Mountains in NSW, up through inland NSW. I remember Bourke, NSW and the evil emu that chased me at the caravan park. I am still to this very day, terrified of emus.

We went further north through Queensland, up to Mount Isa. West into the Northern Territory to Tennant Creek. Then South, through Alice Springs, Uluru, the Olgas, Kings Canyon, Standley Chasm – places most Australians never go and see because they opt to visit Fiji or Vanuatu instead. And what sites they’ve missed out on. This was 30 years ago, when Uluru was still Ayers Rock, and we climbed that monolith with pride which today makes me a little ill to admit.

This trip was my first encounter with our indigenous heritage – both the deeply beautiful and culturally significant side – and the more seedy side, which even decades later we are still trying to fix. I’m not sure where my intense love of indigenous culture stems from – but I think it was this camping trip – being mesmerized and almost hypnotized by the sound of the Didjeridu and clapping sticks.

I remember laying in a tent at night busting to go to the toilet and being able to hear dingoes howling and being absolutely scared shitless to even move the zipper on the tent a single inch. Because we all know that a nylon tent fly is all the protection you need from wild dogs, just ask Azaria.

We traveled down through South Australia to Coober Pedy. I remember arriving after dark and trying to hammer tent pegs into the solid rock ground. I remember the musty smell of the underground “buildings”.

All these amazing memories, all still as vivid as the day they occurred, still prevalent 30 years later. Sure, I still remember being bored out of my nut for hours on end driving, driving and more driving. I still remember Willie Nelson droning “On The Road Again” for the 400^th time and of course looking at my brother and wishing I was an only child, because, lets face it, when you spend that long in close confines with anyone, they start to drain your will to live, and two more different siblings you could never hope to meet.

I don’t think most of my kids comprehend the fact that they’re about to be plunged into a world without TV, or electricity for that matter. My kids are being raised in the age of virtual reality, where all you really need to get by is a high speed broadband connection and your social life is only a keyboard away.

Do I think this sudden reality check will harm them? No, I don’t. But I do understand the apprehension of those who are old enough to understand. I am, after all, best friends with a little blue bird, and understand the nervous twitch caused by the sight of an orange whale. (Something only Twitterers will understand)

Being a mother of a large family is isolating, not only for the fact that its hard to get out and do things when you have such a brood, but also the fact that no one really understands what’s involved in our day-to-day lives or the logistical nightmare of trying to organise a “holiday” or … schedule your own homelessness with a minimum of dismay. 

But I’ve found this week to be more isolating than probably any other time I can remember, bar one. People are busy, people are planning Christmas dinner, doing shopping, working out where everyone will sit, whether they have enough crockery and how to minimise the damage when Uncle Frank gets pissed and starts telling everyone what he really thinks.

People also don’t know what to say to someone who is about to embark on a new role as a homeless person… so they don’t say anything at all. An occasional “I wish I could do something” rapidly followed by complete and utter extinction of an entire social network. I’m fortunate to have internet access and that I will be able to serve out my homeless sentence in relative comfort, compared to some.

Can you imagine how isolated the long term homeless, single person feels? No one speaks to them, people cross the road to avoid walking past them for fear that they might put out their hand. It’s no wonder that suicide amongst homeless people (especially at Christmas) is at epidemic levels and that so many homeless people turn to drug & alcohol dependency to escape from their reality. I postulate that it’s not the homelessness that they are trying to escape but the pain of abandonment of their families, friends and of society in general.

I’d love to tell you about a homeless lady that lived by my parent’s house in Sydney, but I’ve taken up too much of your time. Go find your own homeless person, talk to them, and find out who they are. You don’t need to help them; you just need to treat them like normal human beings.