I caught this line in the movie "Contagion". The rest of the movie reminded me of a bad head cold, totally stuffed up, yet this one line caught my attention. There are quite a few conversations in the ether regarding this rather cutting comment.
What about my blog? If my grammar is wrong, am I blogging or am I just a lonely TAG stuck in a corner offending those with a keen eye for the poor gerund and the misplaced apostrophe. I admit am a poor grammarian. I have asked Sandy to edit my words for me and find the errors of my ways. I abrogate all responsibility for the mechanical aspects of righting verb and nounal wrongs. If you find an error tell Sandy for she cares about such things with a passion almost as good as her photography and flowers.
The last comment on my blog ( the only one thus far) asked me to tell more of my story. Well, this blog is in truth all about me as I suspect all blogs are. All about the writer and the writer's voice exploding exponentially across the universe. A million tiny voices looking to be heard. I don't for one moment think this is a bad thing. After all, my voice is now securing its place in Babel. I shall continue with my story. Not in chronological order but in the order that memory and circumstance dictates.
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| WRAN RP Devlin W108685 |
Lets start with Sandy, for she is where I left off. I joined the Navy. That's me when I was in Sydney. I was a WRAN Radar Plotter at HMAS Watson.
I was not quite 18 when the photo was taken. I would have to say that the Navy was one of the shaping experiences of my life. Like some very weird social experiment a group of 17 - 21 year old were taken from small rural towns and city suburbs from all over the country and were placed in close confines for 6 weeks. If you survived the six weeks you went on to complete your designated course.
I enlisted as a Radio Operator and would have continued on with Sandy to go to more exotic places like Canberra or Singapore. Unfortunately, I could only type at 11 wpm 78% accuracy and take Morse code at a woeful 4 wpm (accuracy still a problem). Sandy who could type at 100 wpm, 98% accuracy, was a shoe in. I was a left foot. Even though my team tried to help me (Sandy did my typing test for me) I failed the course.
In the normal course of events that meant dismissal from the service. However, someone took pity on me and I was shipped of to HMAS Watson to train as a Radar Plotter. The pity should have been reserved for the poor people we trained.
Sandy has a few remaining photo's of me with her at HMAS Cerberus where we all did our basic training. I must have known her then. However, when we met 40 years later I had no idea who she was. I was just grateful to have someone to sit with who I was assured I knew quite well 40 years ago.
In July 1970 I joined the Navy. See the little person front row second from the right.? That's me. Anne Southern is on my right and Wendy Pedersen on my left. Sandy is in the middle row, fifth from the left.That was the beginning.
Forty years later Sandy, Wendy and I met up for a WRAN annual luncheon that Wendy talked me into.
What can I tell you about the first night in Cerberus?
Not much I am afraid. I can remember the train trip from Adelaide station to Melbourne. I met other recruits, Zita, the person I clearly remember. Sue must have come on board later at Mt Gambier. Anne must have been there and at least one other person. I cannot remember. What I do recall very clearly is standing on the station with my mother and my auntie Rhonda. I was wearing a thin double breasted khaki trench coat and I had the two green suitcases Mum had bought me for Christmas. I was cold and terrified. My aunt wanted to pick me up and take me home, her younger sister remained firm. I was going.
What I have left to recall are remnants of a cold, confusing and eventually interesting and challenging job. If only some one had told me about sex other than "Don't do it" or "keep your self pure". Unfortunately, there was a lot more to living out of home far away from the confines of a middle class morality. I was falling from the cultural mores of the 50's, by-passing the 60's, falling rapidly into the willing arms of the 70's. Too little too late I am afraid. Vietnam was still a force not to be ignored. It was a time, not our best and not its worst.
So when I met Sandy again I had no idea who she was, I could not recall her at all. Forty years was a long time.
Gradually, I remember bits and persons, and incorporated the memories of others. It was the reunion that helped me to re-connect. Now the reunion is another story for later on.
Back to Sandy, she of dubious memory, for like me she has no recollection of me. The new Sandy, the one I know, is a multi-layered interesting creature. She likes to think of herself as a cat. Indeed she has some interesting feline characteristics. She is at first meeting a little aloof, yet this reveals itself more as shyness rather than arrogance. The playful side of her bubbles up like an oasis in a desert. She is dry in humour and nourishing at the same time.
It's not for me to reveal her personal circumstances, they are hers to share not mine. However, I can reveal that she is a Blogger. Not an ordinary blogger, for she has a following and she has a very interesting site. It is a whole conversation about the flora and fauna she encounters in her back yard or on her ramblings. She writes about flowers, weeds, herbs, interesting fungi and birds and spiders. Her documentary includes photographs, science and her personal insights. "Snapshots of Beauty", I peeped into her followers blogs, again interesting and illuminating, other peoples lives hung out for all to see.
So back to the beginning, are blogs just graffiti with punctuation. I think not. If graffiti is the shout of one voice to the universe, "Here I am. I am the symbol"
The monosyllabic scream of a frustrated artisan. Albeit beautifully and athletically executed on the side of a train or bridge..
Blogging is a whole conversation. A picture, painted not on the side of a moving train, a picture, a story, a collage, that hangs in the very air we breathe. It is conversation with an artist at work. So much more than graffiti, so much more than punctuation. Blogging is an entry point into an others world, it deserves respect .
