Ms Fifikins

I suspect if I had a dollar for every post that started with me saying that I wanted to say something else then I would have enough for a few coffees!

You see I had wanted to post last Wednesday. Last Wednesday was 20 and 2- 20 years since Dad died and 2 years since my first date with MIML™.

And I suppose I didn’t really know what to say. Things have been ebbing along. Time. It no longer feels like yesterday that Dad died. Perhaps it sounds awful to some, but I don’t really miss him. It has been too long and part of my moving on with other aspects of my life has been to do away with ‘what ifs.’

Another ‘what if’ I want to banish is the what if I never went for that coffee with that gorgeous person who is now the man in my life. 2 years ago, but this feels like yesterday! The joy and happiness and tears and laughter we have shared gladdens my heart.

But do beware, never leave your facebook unlocked whilst you pop to the loo and/or put the kettle on and/or catch 5 minutes of Masterchef as MIML™ is likely to hijack it! I have not laughed so much in a long time. The chuckles are still there! Think I might serve him some prunes tomorrow night

I am a child of the 80s. At high school in the mid to late 80s I developed a social conscience. When I wasn’t at music rehearsals, I was at Amnesty International meetings or helping raise money for Community Aid Abroad (Oxfam) or Ronald McDonald House, or the local women’s shelter.

We’d have sweet stalls at recess- lots of hard toffees that you would hide in your dress pocket to finish at lunchtime, or coin chains down the corridors, or free dress days- we loved free dress days.

In Year 12, our VCE English theme was ‘Justice.’ We looked at tolerance, understanding, peace and, naturally, injustice. We spent a good half of the year looking at South Africa. We discussed apartheid and we cheered when Mandela was released. We watched all the South African protest films (I still have images of the Steve Biko film in my head) and we were angry. I was angry. I wanted change. I could see how wrong it was to have a country ruled by people that segregated people by the colour of their skin.

I remember cheering when sanctions were lifted from South African sporting sides- standing ovations at Olympic and Commonwealth Games opening ceremonies, cricket tours and of course rugby.

And Mandela was elected president. I followed this and was proud as a human being. But then reports started coming out of South Africa- crime and poverty. And I ignored it- the fight to end apartheid had been won. This was the new South Africa- the Rainbow Nation. Rainbows conjured up happiness and an end to rain. Hope and sunshine.

And I met the gorgeous MIML™. This amazing man who came to my country as he could not find work in his own. A refugee if you like. And again I found out more and more about today’s South Africa.

We visited the country last December and saw poverty. I was sneered at by black people because of the colour of my skin. And I head horror stories- the murder of (white) farmers ( at least 3,500 in the last 15 years) let alone other murders. A massive crime wave. An immense HIV problem. And a government that distinguishes people by not only the colour of their skin, but also their gender.

MIML™s grandparents, both hard working people their who lives unable to access social security because of the colour of their skin. MIML™s sister unemployed after seeing some horrendous things in her time in the Police Force. MIML™s parents both working hard living in a modest house, not sure how they will cope with retirement. Friends whose house was invaded when we were there- they were not harmed, but all their possessions stolen.

We heard of other sickening events- the torture of some people before they are murdered- penises cut off and watching their wives gang raped. The torture of children. So much hate.

And now in the last couple of weeks we read about the murder of a white nationalist. Yes, he was a twat, but no one deserves to be tortured and murdered. And the talk is of the white nationalists whilst black nationalists like Julius Malema chant to kill the Boers.

I can understand the hatred of black people who were segregated and downtrodden for so many years, but did I fight for this? Did the western world in the 80s fight to see what South Africa is doing to itself today? What can be done now? Shall we continue the circle and turn our anger to action? What action is needed? What can I do? I ask myself if blogging helps. I have a small readership and hope that perhaps this post may cause others to think about the situation in South Africa- to go and read more. To find some South African bloggers and read first hand what others are experiencing, be they black, white, purple, green or blue! Racism has no colour. It is just hatred. The hate has to stop.

MIML™s family don’t want to leave their country, yet we are planning to help them escape if/when it is needed. Perhaps reading blogs is subjective. Perhaps these are people overplaying what is happening? It is sad to think some are hoping the Soccer World Cup brings a violent head to it all so the world takes notice.

I have deliberately not added links in this article. There are some good bloggers out there. Google and ye shall find! I want to break the circle. I want to be able to take my kids back to visit the most beautiful country. I want people to learn from what has happened in Zimbabwe. I want the violence to stop. Imagine.

March Edible365s

Originally uploaded by fifikins

As part of my aim to photograph something every that that I eat…these are the things that went into my mouth in March. Perhaps not the healthiest of months. Will see what April brings!

This post is part of my 101 things in 1001 days list. It is also one that I have had planned for some time. I have two drafts in my drafts box, the first dating back over 12 months. Perhaps the reason I have taken so long to actually write it is that it is a hard topic for me to address and I don’t want to offend people. It is only in me telling myself that I really wanted to knock at least one thing off my project this weekend that I have decided this might as well be one of them!

There has been a fair bit of talk in the press over the last few days about the rise of atheism. It took me a long time to realise that I am an atheist. I suppose I should start at the beginning…

I grew up in an church-going Anglican household. By church-going, I mean every Sunday at least, including when we were on holidays. My parents were heavily involved in the church and weekends were spent at church working bees, or baking for a mission cake stall, of servers practice or church youth group etc.

Our circle of friends consisted mainly of church people. We socialised with church people. We went on holidays with church people. Yes, there were others, but the ties were not as strong. Or that’s how it seemed to me.

Throughout my teenage years I was involved in the church. I was indoctrinated with the high church anglicanism of my parents. This was church done properly- doing church was almost more important than being church. Conservative music and liturgical views were held.

Then I went to college and had a choral scholarship to the choir. I also sang in a choir at one of these high anglican bastions of the proper way to do things churches. The music was beautiful. Again, I helped out with working bees. Again, I was involved. I also met a theological student at this time and we were married after going out for 16 months or so. It was a huge affair- the talk of the college. A grand romance that had everyone talking. I was 19 when we became engaged, 20 when we married. The thought of being the vicar’s wife was exciting. I had grown up in a church community and I was going to carry on in one.

We moved to country South Australia. To a parish quite the opposite of what my experience had been. The music was interesting. The liturgy made me cringe and I hated every moment of it. On top of that my husband was a curate and the priest in charge didn’t want a curate, let alone his wife.

After 18 months we moved to another place where my husband was in charge. Well sort of. He took over from a bloke who had just been convicted of indecently assaulting the grandson of one of the prominent parishioners. Except no one was meant to know. But it was ok, because the priest before him was an alcoholic who no one liked. Here I settled into life as a vicar’s wife. I helped with cake stalls, I produced pew sheets and orders of service. I supported my husband like a dutiful wife.

And things fell apart. We moved to Adelaide where my husband had no job and was told he wouldn’t be given a job because of his conservative views. Here we joined a parish that at first I was very sceptical of. Again, it was not the liturgy or music I was used to. But here I found a community that appeared to be more cohesive and actually seemed to focus on the god thing a bit.

Then my close friend died. She had taught me so much in the church. She had shown me feminist theology and ideology. It made sense. It put me at odds with my husband.We had been pregnant at the same time. Her daughter was one month older than my son who had just celebrated his first birthday. I dwelt on fairness for a while, or the lack thereof. I heard people talk about her being with god and being in a better place. It was god’s doing. In god’s plan.

Finally a move up here where again I was the vicar’s wife. It was a disaster. Probably more about power than faith. Then he got sick and things really fell apart. When we left the parish I stopped going to church. These people had hurt me and my family and really seemed to be at odds with the christian message of love. I won’t even start to address the hierarchy that was more about power and authority than spreading any sort of news be it good or not!

After my marriage ended I started thinking about faith. Yes, in the past I had read my bible and ‘prayed’ whatever prayer may be. I knew the lord’s prayer, the apostles creed and the 10 commandments. I thought I had followed the teachings of the church until I realised there really were none- it was every person for themselves. Some people knew that women shouldn’t be ordained, yet there were ordained women! I was told homosexuality was a sin and I needed to love the sinner, hate the sin. Or something like that. It all seemed totally fucked up.

I realised that I didn’t really have faith. It didn’t make sense. Just like Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny. It was too convenient having a religion or a creed based on a figure who supposedly was born of a virgin, died and came back to life, yet wasn’t a zombie! I think it’s easier to believe in rabbits delivering chocolate goodies and fairies taking teeth to make houses than that which christianity spreads as gospel. It just doesn’t make sense and I know that’s where the faith bit is meant to come in- but faith? I could have faith that I would create world peace or end poverty but that is not faith. Faith is based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof. Whatever. Some of my best friends have faith. Some are still heavily involved in the church.

For me, I need to live my life respecting others and having them treat me the way I want to be treated. I don’t go around proselytising my atheism. Nothing pisses me off more than people trying to portray themselves holier than thou with their faith, yet in practice they don’t espouse these values. I am all for the values religions seem to teach, however there is such a chasm of teaching and living or doing. I appreciate art and music inspired by religion. But I know there is no god. I have no anger to my past. It is just that, the past. The scales have lifted from my eyes!