RIP SuperSpud

He"s been dead over a week now.

You may not have met Spud, but he was one of the best . . .  Words fail me. He was a good dog. A true and noble companion.

I have put away his bed and toys, where they won't catch my eye and jolt me with grief. It's still hard coming home to find him not here. I keep looking for him, forgetting he's not there to pat or care for, praise and prattle to. "What dya think Spud?  Time for a walk?" Just one last walk.  Please. 

I'm glad it was quick. On Wednesday's visit, about the new lump in Spud's throat, the vet booked him in for Friday. Australia Day was my last day with my loyal companion. He stood over food, unable to eat or drink, now, his tongue suddenly distorted in his mouth. He was in pain. On Friday we learned it was bad and aggressive.  Nothing could have been done.

We were all with him when the vet gave him the overdose. He was being caressed and praised by his loved ones; Ben was going to give him something to take away the pain and he lost consciousness. He must have wondered why we were all so sad.

And it made me remember how final, how unfixable, death is. Whether it is a dog, or a person, or a species, or a planet. And as I have resolved (in the course of this painful week) to clean up my lifestyle and get the most out of what is left to me, I also resolved to scream out into the void again - despite feeling naked and open to ridicule or abuse for doing so - the cause for which I enlisted Spud's help at the end of last year.  As a tribute to my sorely missed friend.

The video that starred Spud is no longer on YouTube, but he is now the hero of a novel - Tipping Point.

"I have a dream!" And it's a big one, like Martin Luther King's. I don't believe I have the stature of Reverend King. However I do believe that "from little things big things grow". It is the small kindnesses we do for others that give the most to the world and make us all strong. I'm asking you to help make big things happen. Lots and lots of little people like you and me, including some who are prepared to "big up" and step forward to help organise what must be done as we face a crisis bigger than war. A natural disaster of our own making.

As Spud fell from our arms I wanted to scream out to Ben, "No! I've changed my mind.  I don't want him to die!"

I pray that our home; this wonder-full planet, this life of diversity, challenge and joy; these peoples of such courage: that we are not beyond the point of no return.

Please read the blog. Tell your friends to read it.  Tell the world.

Spud's dead!

Drought and flooding rain

Of course, there will be people who will see Cyclone Yasi, the floods in Queensland and the floods in Victoria as just another one of those extreme weather events , rather than a sign of global warming.  But have they noticed the extreme weather events in the Northern hemisphere (not to mention the flooding in Brazil recently)?

There have been intense cold weather events in many places, storms and flooding in others.  And the last ten years have been the warmest on record.

Our survival depends on the weather.  As it becomes more extreme, food production will continue to suffer.

We must begin to restore the environment.  We must reduce the impact of human activity (which surely should include efforts to control and reduce our population).

We just have to hope that it's not too late to save ourselves and our children's future!

SOS! Floods . . .

Here in Victoria, townships have been inundated and evacuated.  Vast areas in Queensland have been flooded and eighteen confirmed dead so far.

In Brazil three days of mourning have been declared for the six hundred who have died.

It's not going to get better.  We have to accept the fact of climate change.  And the sooner we accept responsibility, the sooner we can act.  The most important change is in the choices we make. 

Stop consuming.  Do you really need a new one, or will the old one do?

Reduce, re-use, re-cycle.

Stop breeding.  Sorry; but it has to be said.

And governments, get your act together.  Start behaving with foresight instead of fear for the next election.

Would it be so hard to make interest-free loans that allow people to install solar panels or wind power that could feed into the grid?  Replacing street lights with self-contained solar units that would power them for a night would make a huge difference to ongoing power use. 

What are people doing up at three in the morning anyway?  Our lifestyle is too lavish and self-indulgent in the West.  Travel is not a right.  Clean water and reliable sustenance are basic human rights - but the majority of our world's population do not currently have access to them.

"How can you sleep when your beds are burning?"

The greatest opposition to changes in areas such as power generation will be the people who have the most to lose.  All right - it won't be as profitable, but the CEOs had better suck it up.  The workers should not be asked to share too much of the burden.  After all, the bosses have been getting fat on their hired sweat for long enough to bankrupt our environment.  Time they paid the piper.  The people united, will never be defeated!

But I'd prefer to see the changes achieved sensibly - through good sense and courage.  Not through conflict: or in desperation, too late and in pain.

S. O. S.  Save our souls.  An antiquated distress code.  Now, though, we must SOS - Save our Selves.  And the beautiful world around us.

The Consumer Lie

I'm not the first person to say that consumerism is a large part of the problem.

We are part of a generation that has been groomed to believe that aspiring to wealth is an appropriate and socially beneficial expectation.  After all, a healthy economy relies on people's effort to improve their material well-being.  The more we spend the more money circulating in the economy to ensure jobs for others.

Trouble is, at the moment that money seems to be finding it's way into the pockets of the already wealthy, rather than going to create more jobs.  While the developing world starves, in the "West" we have an epidemic of obesity.  We've been sold a lie.

The younger we are the worse the damage.  Young people today are groomed to make their own decisions as consumers younger every year.  Body image issues abound, and many are confused.  After all, the latest device will make us happy, won't it? 

Money can't buy happiness, can it?  But for some reason, as a community, we accept that every-one has the right to act freely, to buy and to be what they want.  Even if the long-term effect on our world is dire.

Why hasn't the impact of rampant consumerism been brought into the public forum more strongly?  You don't think the way business controls the media has any influence, do you?

We must learn to think for ourselves and act for ourselves.  We've already waited too long.  It's a bit scary - but I believe we can do it.

Our Choices

The following story was written in two parts, but the initial inspiration comes from a novel I wrote twenty years ago when I decided that if I was going to be a novellist, I should practice.  Annie was not the main character of the novel, but she was the "me" persona who tried to be a good friend to my heroine.  The following story began with an attempt, about five years ago, to imagine Annie's future (if the events in the novel had not turned out so well).  The ending that the story currently has, grew from a scenario that I wrote in a flash of unexpected inspiration, and which developed into a more optimistic alternate future for Annie.

Our Choice . . .

            If not for the tomatoes, Annie would not have noticed.  She did not often venture into these lower levels of their survival bunker.  Now, unwanted, adrenaline kicked in.  Her heart raced in a chest that could not breathe – the air in the tunnels was too close.

            She tried to take a deep, calming breath, ignoring the nightmarish, constricting tube around her.  Could she be wrong?

            Their conversation the other day was clear in her memory.

            “How did you learn to swim, Annie?”

            Holly knew how much she loved the beach.

            “They gave us lessons in public pools.  But eventually they had to close the pools.  There was still the beach, though.  If you were careful.”

            Peter ignored her moment of melancholy.

            “What did people do if they didn’t know how to swim?  Could they still go in the water?”  Such a harmless question.

            She had talked of fun on lilos and rubber tubes in muddy rivers.  And the gastro afterwards.  “You could use anything that would float.”  Life preservers, chunks of wood.

            And then they had dragged out of her the basics – how to float, treading water, survival stroke – the easy bits.

            She cursed.  Why else would someone have taken the bubble insulation from the hydroponics storage locker?  Stupid children!

            She heard them as soon as she opened the hatch.  Peter was panicking, calling out and splashing.  On the inspection deck, Holly was holding a long-handled scrubber out to him.

            “Peter!” Annie called.  “Lie on your back and stop struggling!  Take a breath of air.  You’ll be safe!  I’ll get you out!”

            She eased herself into the water as Peter fought for control of himself.  He tried to lie back, but could not let any of his head relax back into the water.  He was too afraid and the sheets of plastic bubbles tangled his limbs as he thrashed again in fear.

            Annie took the long pole from Holly, able to just reach Peter from her lower perch.  He clutched at the pole, almost dragging it from her.  With something to hold he calmed a little.

            “Now please lay back and float, Peter.  It’s all right to put the back of your head into the water.  You have to.  You will be safe.  Just hold the pole in front of you.”

            Gently Annie drew him towards the scaffolding that supported her.  He did not need to be told to grip the pipes.  He stayed there, breathing properly again, while Annie untangled the insulation sheets from around him.

            “I am too old for this.   “When I’m Sixty-Four” does not mention rescuing teenagers who want to drown themselves.”

            She sat on the decking with Holly and Peter until the shaking began to subside.

            “Well,” she finally said.  “I guess we’d better go tell every-one you’ve been swimming in the back-up water supply.”

            “What a bloody stupid thing to do!”

            “Thanks for stating the obvious, Bruce.”

            Annie faced him, Holly behind her, comforting Peter, shivering in a blanket.  “The kids should go home.  We’ll find Zeke and decide on the proper consequences.”

            “Consequences!”  Rage and frustration moulded his face.  “We all suffer for their consequences.  What if the water is contaminated?”

            “Bruce!  We’ll talk about this when the kids have gone.  We’re the council executive.  Once we find Zeke . . . “

“Ah!  What’s the bloody difference!  Consequences don’t matter any more.”  He rose from his chair, pleading.  “They should be told.”

            “No, Bruce.  Not now.  We need a calm decision.  Just wait until we can talk.”

            The teenagers’ parents arrived, stalling the conversation.  Bruce turned to face the wall while Jacinta fussed over Holly, and Peter was whisked away by Tran and Shara.

            “Thanks Annie.”  Holly stepped forward to hug Annie.  “I don’t think I could have rescued Peter.  Thank-you.”

            “I’m glad I got there soon enough.  You rest.  We’ll talk tomorrow.”

            “You have to get this in perspective,” Annie began to explain to Bruce, as she shut the hatch and turned to face him.  Head in hands, he had slumped over the desk.

            “It’s too much.  I just don’t think I can keep doing this.”

            “This isn’t so bad, Bruce.  Peter is safe.  We can filter the water.  We have to decide on some sort of consequences.  Maybe put him in charge of water purity . . . permanently . . .”

            “It’s not that . . . it’s the lie.  Every day . . . lying.  They should be told.”

            “We’ve had this conversation before, Bruce.  You agreed with Zeke and I.  The few others who know, or have realized, all agree.

            “Bruce,” her voice pleaded gently, “there has to be hope.”

            “But there isn’t.”

            There was no answer to him.  Annie knew he was right.  Should they live to her age, Peter or Holly might die with no-one to mourn them.  Adam and Eve in reverse.

“Maybe,” she replied, “but that’s not the point.  Do you want those children to have to suffer the knowledge of their own doomed futures the way you do – the way we all do.”  Annie sat in the padded chair by the filing cabinet.  Exhaustion overtook her as the adrenaline wore off.

            “It’s been a long day, Bruce.  Maybe we should talk about this in the morning.”

            There was a sharp rap at the hatch, which opened and Zeke joined them.  “Well,” he said.  “I’ve brought potato peel vodka and the last of my real coffee beans.  Which is it to be?”

            When she returned to her quarters, Annie wrapped a blanket about herself and began writing in her journal.

            I want to wake up in the morning, when light is seeping into the world.  Birds are piping and chattering their morning gossip, welcoming a new day.

            Maybe it is still possible.  There always has to be hope.

            If it hadn’t been for those tomatoes giving me such trouble, Peter might have drowned.  I don’t even like these tomatoes.  I remember tomatoes, tiny ones, picked sweet and juicy under open skies.  I remember the smell of earth in the air.  I remember the ocean, beaches  . . . such beautiful places.       

            I want to wake in the morning, light oozing into the world, and hear birds piping and chattering their morning gossip.  It’s the birds I miss the most.

            The children don’t remember birds.

           

            I never expected to be a grandmother, but I’ve worked with other people’s children, laughed with them, taught them, cherished them.  I thought there would always be children.

            But they cannot survive in our survival pod.  They die.  And are no longer conceived.

            Sometimes I feel guilt for my own emotions.  In the midst of global disaster I have the temerity to feel sorry for myself.  “I want to go for a walk in a forest,” I whine.  “I miss the birds.”  My grief for what I have lost seems self-indulgent.

            I can’t protect myself from despair.  I go through the motions . . .  believing it to be futile.  All the while afraid that if I allow my students to see my pain I will have betrayed them.

            Every-one deserves to have hope.

           

            Annie knew there was some desperate hope.  A vague background whisper.  The cataclysmic pollution that had destroyed all life in the ocean and disrupted the planet’s oxygen cycle had been neutralized.  And now a team may have managed to establish a viable colony of phytoplankton (cultured from specimens that survived in a laboratory) in the Atlantic waters.  If they continued to survive . . .

            “There’s the rub,” thought Annie vaguely, flexing her hand, strained by heroics.  Eventually it might work.  Normal oxygen levels would gradually build up.  But it would take time.  Thirty years or more.

            There were survival shelters like theirs, arks where plants and animals were treasured and guarded, in the hope that one day they would return to live unaided on the surface of their world.

            But there were problems with breeding for some of the species . . .

            It wasn’t just that she was too old to hope to see the saving of the world.  It was the children.  The few remaining teenagers, those who’d survived the “danger phase”, were possibly the last generation of mankind.

            “This is the way the world ends, this is the way the world ends,” Annie muttered to herself.  “Not with a bang but a whimper.”

            The shelter she lived in was a good one.  It had been set up to observe conditions on the south-east coast of Australia in an area where people had no longer survived in great numbers.  Drought and bushfires had driven them away, or killed them.

            And when the air turned bad, the isolation of the observation post had protected them from the horror.  Annie could remember the tales of shelters surrounded by mobs, trying to break in.  Sometimes succeeding.

            Or shelters that took in too many people, and perished.

            “But can we survive?”  Annie looked at the walls around her.  Precious scraps, photos, pictures, treasured objects littered them.

            It was still a prison underneath the trimmings.  She could not leave – she could not survive outside the shelter.  None of them could.

            And other shelters, mourning in their words, sent messages describing the sterility of their population.

            “How could they let this happen!” Annie cried, focussing her anger on people she could never reach.  The people of the early twenty-first century, fifty years ago, when they could have saved the world.

Why didn’t they . . . we . . . just stop.  But we didn’t.  We kept living like there was no tomorrow, blaming our democratic bad decisions.

            We had Al Gore come and tell us to get our act together.  We had the technology, for Christ’s sake!

And there's another thing.  God. 

How could an all-powerful being allow this to happen – allow us to do this?

I don’t want to believe there is a God.  Unfortunately I can't believe there isn't one either.  I'm left in a frenzy of doubt, aware of the mess in the world, wanting to shout into the storm, my arms raised to the heavens. 

            "Just what the **** do you think you're doing!"  I plead, facing the windswept landscape, devoid of deity.

            The Judeao-Christian God made us as gods, in control of our own destiny.  If there is such a Being, their shoulders are bowed with grief for what we have done to this Paradise that was created for us with such savage tenderness.

           

            Annie was always telling her students, “One good thing about life is that you get fresh mornings to start again.”  After a sleepless night, Annie looked at the photo of a wide blue beach that was above her desk.  She knew she would never walk there again and pushed her tears back into her soul – maybe there would be time for tears later.

            This morning, after breakfast, they would explain to the whole community that, for any-one who lived here, there could be no fresh start.  Their home would be their tomb. 

            There was no hope.

            *     *     *     *     *

            Annie gasped.  The nightmare had gripped her like a vice.  She struggled to breathe as though she still ran through metal corridors.  The dream was over but the terror persisted now that she was awake, overwhelming her with a sense of despair.  It was the dream of a doomed future that she had often had when she was younger and fighting to save the world. 

In last night’s version she was older, but it was just a dream, wasn’t it?  The environment was healthy now.  The world was (mostly) a better place, where few had to fear for their future.  Why did she experience this feeling of panic, as if she had barely survived being drowned?

            She tried to calm herself, rising and walking to the beach, where she breathed deeply and immersed herself in a moving meditation, giving thanks for the beauty that surrounded her.

            “And just what do you think you’re doing there, Miss?”

            Annie was standing ankle deep in the ocean, the dying waves washing between her toes.  She had been staring out towards the horizon.

            “What are you doing here, Jacko?”  She turned slightly to face him, realizing that the reason the wind didn’t blow him away was that he was too thin to offer any resistance.  “I’d have thought this was too early in the day for you.”

            “Well, I had to take a slash and thought I’d look at the beach before I went back to bed.  For ff….  Sorry, Miss.”  He grinned and spoke deliberately.  “For goodness’ sake, Miss.  I watched you for a full minute before I came down here.  You’ve been staring out to sea and kind of waving your arms around.  Are you gonna swim out to sea and never come back, or have you just gone mad?”

            Annie laughed.  “Both attractive options,” she said.  “Isn’t the sunrise beautiful?”  She turned her gaze back to the ocean, tracking a seagull that hovered above the swell.

            “Bit breezy, though.”  He hesitated.  “Seriously, Miss, what are you doing?”

            “Can you handle the truth?”

            “I think so.”

            Annie turned to face the youth as he balanced on the beach, trying to avoid tumbling into adulthood.

            “I’m praying.”

            “Praying?”  He almost brayed his words, controlling his laughter.  “I didn’t think you were the religious type.  Have you been sent a vision from above, or are we back to you going mad again?”

            It was Annie’s turn to laugh.

            “So what’s your religion, Miss?  You Catholic, Buddhist or Moslem?”

            “Sorry mate; none of the above.”

            “Well, come on then.  ‘Fess up.”

            “You know, as your teacher in a secular system, I’m not supposed to put forward my own beliefs in case I unduly influence the tender minds in my care.”

            Now Jacko laughed.  “Since when has anything you’ve said ever changed my mind?”

            “Point taken.”  Annie gazed towards the sea.  “However, just how much fun do you intend having with my spiritual convictions?”

            A look of melodramatic shock appeared on the young man’s face.  “I am deeply hurt,” he maintained.  “How could you believe such a thing of me?”

            “Dunno Jacko.  Maybe it’s something to do with the plastic wrap on the toilet in the teachers’ cabin yesterday . . .”

            “Do you have proof that I was involved?”

            “Or it could just be all those practical jokes in class this year.”  Annie shrugged at Jacko.  “Although, if I may say so, the false emergency announcement was rather well done.”

            “Thank you, Miss.  I was rather pleased with that one.”

            “So . . . you’re admitting it was you?”

            “I think you’re getting off the topic a bit here, Miss.  Though I shouldn’t be surprised.  Your lack of focus in class this year . . .” Annie shook her head, smiling at his accusation.  “So what do you believe?”

            “Well,” Annie always found it difficult to resist an invitation to honest discussion, “the short version is that this complex system that we sometimes call Mother Earth gave rise to life, life which eventually led to the two of us standing here on this beach, way too early in the morning on this last day of the Year Twelve Camp. 

“I can’t believe in heaven and hell, all that Christian stuff, you know, life after death.  Who knows, maybe there is a god?  But what I do know is that this planet gave us life and we have to care for it as it has cared for us.”

            “Ah.”  The interjection was definite.  Annie had been catalogued and placed.  “So you’re a tree-hugger.”

            Annie laughed.  “I suppose so.  But before you dismiss me, remember what the “tree-huggers” have done for you.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You do watch TV, don’t you?”

            “What?  All those ‘Less is More’ ads?  ‘Live simply that others may simply live’?  All that boring stuff?”

            “Boring?  Maybe, but it saved your life.  And it wasn’t boring when the changes were starting to happen.  It was scary, frustrating, at times even exhilarating, but it wasn’t boring.”

            “You talk as if you were there, Miss.”

            “I was.  For part of it, anyway.”  Annie thought for a moment.  “Did you listen in your Science classes?  How much do you know about the history of the impact that human beings have had on this planet?”

            “Oh, I listened to my other teachers.”  He couldn’t resist the jibe.  “Greedy people persuaded other people to use too many resources, just so that they could make money.  Resources dwindled, pollution increased.  Global warming threatened to destroy ecosystems, leading to widespread disaster, disruption of climate systems and the food chain, permanent damage that could have made the planet uninhabitable.  But then,” he paused and struck an heroic pose, “the tree-huggers saved the day!  Back, you greedy capitalists.  You shall not prevail.  Consumerism is a sin which we cannot tolerate.  Begone!”

            Annie chuckled and applauded.  “You seem to have some grasp of the basics.”

            “I suppose.  But you were there, Miss, seeing as how old you are.  What was it like?”

            Annie smiled.  She was getting old.  “It was an amazing time to be alive.  And it was people who did it.  I have seen such changes in the last fifty years.”  But how could she explain that to this lanky adolescent who grew up in a world of clean air, social justice, sustainable industry, controlled population, widespread political stability and a natural environment that was nurtured rather than thoughtlessly exploited? 

How could any-one explain that people’s choices could easily have led to the nightmare that had woken Annie so early and led her to this beach for comfort?  “The people of the world faced a desperate situation,” said Annie.

“And together, we created hope for the future.”

“So . . . how did you do that?”

“Well, . . .”

The People United, Will Never be Defeated!

Thirty years ago I marched with "People for Nuclear Disarmament".  There are still nuclear weapons in the world, but at least most people believe it's wrong.  Does that make it better?

As I marched through the city streets, shoppers and businessmen would stop and watch, bemused by the disturbance.  In all my life I have never since found anything I have believed more than the soul of thirty thousand people chanting - "The People, united, will never be defeated!"

And that's what it will take to save the world.  We can't just sit around and wait for governments to "fix" things.

In times of war, people have accepted sacrifice - rationing and community endeavour have been necessary, and the experience has tended to be one that strengthens those who experience it.

Every-one has to do what they can.  Do you really need a new phone/TV/car/dress?  (Ooh! That hurts!  I love my collection of skarves.)  We must reduce, reuse, recycle.  Conserve water.  Stop building such wasteful large houses.  "Live simply, that others may simply live."

"But no!" I hear you cry.  "Economic downturn!" 

Yes.  Sorry.  Did you miss the bit about sacrifice?  The greedy bastards in charge of the companies will probably be okay, but the workers may suffer.  It's wrong.  But then there are a lot of things in the world that are wrong.

Destroying the environment that gives us life is wrong too.  But the greedy bastards who have industrialized our world to line their own pockets aren't going to stop because we ask them nicely.

The really sad thing is that there is enough to go around, provided we're all prepared to live modestly.  Last I heard 10% of the population had 90% of the resources.  And of that 10%, the top 10% controlled most of the wealth.

For goodness sake!  How many private jets do you need?

So since no-one else is going to do it, you have to.  Yes . . . you!

Think about it.  I know you can find a way to use less.  To take better care of your environment and the people around you.

I'm depending on you. 

And when we all work together . . .

The People, united, will never be defeated.

I want to survive!

I want the world to survive, don't you?  But sometimes, when I look around, I get scared.  Governments that should act are stalling, more worried about the next election than they are about the future.

But what can we do?  I have always believed that "the people united, will never be defeated", and this is my way of sending my hopes for the future out into the world. 

Perhaps I can help create change . . .  but then pessimism sets in.  How can one person tapping at a keyboard make a difference?