“One of the Lions has passed” Vale Robert Redford

Back in 2014 I was lucky enough to be in the same room as Robert Redford, and I wrote about the experience, it was the only time in my life I have literally lost my mind to fandom. Today I awoke to the news he had died, aged 89 and surrounded by loved ones in Utah. 

I am profoundly saddened by this news - not because I knew him or was a close loved one, but because he was an icon of a time, and marked history with his art that we attached to our own life moments. 

The Way We Were is one of those epics that embody the hopes and dreams of those that are misfits but brilliant and normally overlooked by the world, and we wait for someone bright enough to notice we are worth the trouble, and Robert Redford's character Hubbell was that for me.

Out of Africa was another seminal moment in time. Meryl Streep was the hero but was only met in strength again by Robert Redford's characterisation of her lover Denys. She wrote today "rest in peace my lovely friend."

Then the inspiring "All the Presidents Men", celebrating the journalists that revealed the watergate scandal that toppled a president

These characters, the quiet strength, the ability to look past the obvious to find something kind, deep and real, were who Robert Redford was for me. A giant, that understood with grace his power and didn't abuse it, but used it to make the world a better place. 

He is a counter point to the celebrity of late, all glitz, hubris and narcissism. A good human first and foremost, with looks and talent that made him a star. Lucky for sure, but his response to that luck is what made me cry this morning, for a man I almost met once, for a man that shaped a generation, we will miss you. 

Thank you for what you gave us Hubbell, Denys, Sundance and Bob. 

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My boys no more

I recall Mia Freedman writing about her boys, and at every stage of their lives she felt like she was losing a big love as they grew into the next version of themselves. I nearly met her last year when a recruiter offered me a role that would inevitably mean I would have needed to step into her shoes as she stepped back from her other precious baby, Mamamia. As much as I thought it would be too much, so did she and I didn’t score the interview, someone with tenured magazine experience rightly did. But I would have liked to meet her, I think we would either instantly hated each other seeing the flaws we detest in ourselves clearly in the other, or be drawn together in empathy for being more emotional about this life than the Sydney delusionists like to deal with. 

My boys are now young men, more than a head taller than me and my husband at 14 and 16. This site was a dedication to them, a log of their childhood and our family’s misadventures. It is hard to believe this adventure that, at times, felt like it was dragging on forever, is nearing its end. I can now see myself saying goodbye to them at an airport more clearly than I can remember the long nights feeding and reading novels on my phone from 3-5am.

Like my older neighbour Jackie said to me “Don’t wish the time away, it goes by in a heartbeat.” And like parents before and after me I never quite understood, until now when it has nearly passed, and indeed in what feels like a blurred flash. 

I am still working as hard as ever and I am feeling the regret already, if only I had spent more time with them, if only, if only, if only. All is not lost though, not yet. My 16 year old is becoming this deep, calm and interesting human that is suddenly interested in novels, not just sport! So we are discussing literary greats and novelists that I love. I have dusted off my library searching through the bookcase for old penguin classics I have scattered amongst modern favourites like Khaled Hosseini, Margaret Atwood and Liane Moriarty. 

My youngest is going through the “my parents suck” phase so he’s not as vocal, but I can still sneak in big hug while he watches his phone over my shoulder, or a kiss goodnight as he moves his playstation headphones off one ear. He is also playing guitar and I sometimes hear my favourite foo fighters riffs resonating through his often closed door. He is learning ‘Come Alive” I hear because of me. 

One thing (I think) I am proud of is both are still very honest with us, so honest I sometimes squirm! I am hearing about all their exploits and new “interests” if you know what I mean. Our dinners out have become hilarious and known for Mum asking questions she shouldn’t and finding out more than what she bargained for. It often ends in hushed voices and everyone laughing either from embarrassment or bewilderment, but these nights are so precious right now and the best fun.

It is a new phase and they are definitely feeling a lot less like my boys, but while I miss their innocence and naivety, I can’t help but watch on with wonder as they form into adults, with their own opinions and ways that are wholly separate from Mum and Dad. I know there will be another phase soon and this one will be gone as quickly as the last. Luckily I can bottle some of this pure joy here, so I don’t forget who they were and are becoming.  

As is the case with every parent, we’ve not been perfect, but all I can hope for is that we’ve done enough to set them up for a long life of learning and love. 

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The Last Anniversary adaptation brings all womens’ hopes and dreams into one beautiful series

Liane Moriarty is a genius in my eyes. She bottles the fears and dreams we all have into the most intriguing characters that seem to be a reflection of every woman I know. I read The Last Anniversary a few years ago now and loved it along side The Husband’s secret, What Alice Forgot and Big Little Lies of course amongst many others. I love the familiar surroundings, the parts the Australian landscape plays in her stories, the leafy north shore in What Alice Forgot, the northern beaches in Big Little Lies and of course Scribbly Gum island in The Last Anniversary inspired by Danger Island on the Hawkesbury river, north of Sydney. 

All mean something special to this Sydney born-and-bred reader of the same vintage as Liane herself. But I wonder if we share the same experience of Danger Island. I was only 15 when I went there for the first time. I had all the hopes and dreams of a fun, exciting and successful life in front of me. My short stay on this island seemed to only confirm all this with certainty when a very tall and confident 17 year old boy, likely illegal by today’s laws, made a play for me. Passionate kisses and promises ensued, and the start of my first big love began at this strange little place with one corner store and an irregular ferry or tinny to the mainland. 

Watching The Last Anniversary come to life today in a new series on Binge / Foxtel brought my own teenage dreams back to me as I watched the characters faces, their own unrealised hopes, and shocking losses etched around their tired eyes. The two sisters at the centre of the story, Connie and Rose, are beautifully captured by Angela Punch McGregor and Miranda Richardson. And Sophie, who’s “not as I planned it” life is intercepted by her one-time connection with the elder sister, is both empathetically real and pitiful all at once with Teresa Palmer’s skilful characterisation.

The first episode can’t go by without mention of the intrigue and emotion created by Claude Scott-Mitchell’s imaginings of Grace, Connie’s grand-daughter. My own bewilderment at child-birth and loss sprang into my eyes as I watched these women struggle with three different dimensions of being or not being a mother. I didn’t even know why I was crying as nothing bad was happening but such is the power Moriarty in creating characters that represent all of us so accurately, and all the stages of our lives all at once in one beautifully told story. 

I don’t want to give away the mystery or even ruin episode one for you, I just want to celebrate that another beautiful production of a Liane Moriarty novel is with us to enjoy. I only met her once and shared with her that I’d wished I’d written more, and she signed my book “tell your story, Liane”. Thank you for writing Liane, and for continuing to inspire me to do the same. 

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Come Alive Come Alive

I bought many FooFighters albums, the last one was in 2007, seven years before I began working for Pandora, a place that made albums a distant memory as it generated made-for-you playlists from your favourite songs. Through my latest streaming app, I got introduced to a song off an album I own. Hilarious right. A song that turned out to be Taylor Hawkins' favourite and is now mine too. I didn't think 'The Pretender' could be toppled and have no idea how I missed this song the first time around, but 15 years later here we are. 

The song is Come Alive. 

There is a unique power to it that drags you from the present into a dreamlike overview of your existence. I've only flown twice in my dreams but this song gives me that feeling where I am above myself looking across my life from my childhood, to now and into the future of old age and ending. 

It is not for the fainthearted and if you are one that prefers to stay in the happy delusion of the everyday, it's a song to downright avoid. It is powerful stuff and it hurts. But for it's beauty I can't resist it. It draws me in, like a portal to an all-seeing dimension and it gets me as close to transcendental as I'll likely ever get. Of course the one thing we all don't want to see or face is our own ending, our own inability to imagine the day we no longer see the sky or those we love. It is unfathomable and more than distressing...but it is this life.

It is said that Dave Grohl wrote this about the birth of his daughter, which makes sense. But as I saw the pure frenetic and wild spirit of Taylor Hawkins stilled forever last year, I can't help but feel that it has transformed into a cry from Dave to bring Taylor back, who lost more than a drummer in that moment, but also his best friend. It reminds me of how I feel when I think of my friend Kim who died and I know I still think of why and how it could have happened that she was lost at such a young age. If only we could play God and make those we love come alive again. The repetition and the build only make the desperation for life over death to be true... please! 

If only. Instead my only comfort is we continue in a bizarro way in our children, parts of us turning up, surprisingly, in a mannerism or a turn of phrase, us but not really - like a riff stolen and placed in a new arrangement. A whole new unique human remixed from two others. 

Shane Hawkins performed with Foo Fighters soon after his Father's death

We are lucky we have Taylor's words, voice and music recorded for all to enjoy and for him to endure for us, but for him and for Kim I am broken that they can't hear our voices anymore, see our faces or wrap us in their arms. Come Alive Come Alive Come Alive!

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