'Once she was slim.' - A Tribute to the Victims of the U.S. Tornados, April 2011.

Once she was slim.


A short fiction.


Thinking about the phone conversation with her daughter she’d had not twenty minutes before, wondering if her advice had been taken onboard, even though she already knew the answer, there came a sound like a reversing truck.
A moving ‘disintegration’ if such a thing were possible. A noise that had no comparison in her seventy six years, though enough to charge her veins with adrenalin.
Before she could cross to the stream of daylight through the front window in search of answers and possible escape, she was rising from the floor and the roof twisted and the wall crumbled.
Gravity shifted and she was carried sideways and something hit her so hard that she almost didn’t feel it, an overwhelming numbness that left her with the knowledge that the right side of her body was now useless.
The light was shut out and she felt wet, soaking, as though having emerged from a pool, though she had not been in one for over a dozen years because of a child who had stared at her in her hair cap and goggles and at the lumps in her costume from her age and the reminders of her four children that had been left on her body and the boy’s stare was intrusive as though she were not a real person and just a thing of curiosity and more than likely repulsion but it was not his fault really as he was just a little one but it was enough to guarantee that she never went back to that pool or any other one as it was not a pleasant thing to have your body betray you even though you know it’s inevitable for all and was one of the more disappointing things in life as it’s the same body that was once universally adored and doesn’t that feel like a lifetime ago. Yet she knows that it’s not water that swirls around her but the debris of her shattered home and the wetness must be coming from her and it can only be the fluid of her life and she closes her mouth and her eyes to protect them and that’s all that she can do even though this is not real, cannot be real, and if it is, then perhaps this is what death feels like. A pain like piercing blades shoots through her chest and surely something has hit her in the dark and the reality of being so vulnerable scares her coupled with the noise like a jet plane hovering above and perhaps one has crashed into her home or more likely it’s the worst of nature or the finger of God as her punishment for having left her children’s father years before despite his consistent emotional cruelty and this is a mistake of sorts, a fatal one and she coughs and splutters and is rolling or flying and if that be true then whatever may come in the next few seconds will surely be the end.

As of May 3, 2011, 354 people were killed as a result of the tornado outbreak in the southern states of the U.S. in particular Alabama, from April 25 - 28. Many people are still missing.


Donate or help here:

http://www.redcross.org/


My Books

Next week,

A Poem, What's in Her Name.

Followed by one of the Greatest Written Films.

Soon, A Video Poem - Sun Drenched Rosy Days.


Until Then,

Count your blessings and enjoy life.
I know I will be.

=]

Japan Disaster: Rare Photos & Videos - Content Warning.

Pictures tell the story

I discovered photos much more distressing than these, though I do agree these are truly upsetting, but I did hold back. However I didn't shy away completely as I think it's important to grasp a tiny part of the human side of this tragedy and what actually happened rather than sweeping dramatic wave shots and simple numbers.

American Red Cross

Australian Red Cross

I honestly hope this is the end of these Disaster blogs for the rest of the year. Thoughts with everyone in Japan.

My Books

More Bad News, followed by a little Good...

Actually the good news came first but who wants to end on a downer? 

The Bad 

The day before I brought my partner home from hospital, my grandfather was diagnosed with a terminal illness and went into hospital. The day after I brought my partner home, I managed to speak to him on the phone and told him how I felt. He was 89, but sharp and good humoured to the end. He died a day later. 

My father and his brother rushed up (live 700kms away) but were unable to get there in time. However the funeral was rushed forward so that they could attend. My grandfather only wanted a simple service, but wants his ashes scattered in the Victorian Grampians (mountains), which will happen later. The three of us drove the 3 hours to the service then back to Sydney. This all during the week that my partner requires me for absolutely everything, as she is in a wheelchair. It's been a crazy week.

 

The Grampians 

My grandfather was healthy (up until the last few months) and of sound mind to the end. This is what I wrote and read out at his service. 

Every so often 

We are reminded of the shortness of Life 

And its fragility 

And when we witness the passing of someone dear 

we are humbled by its power 

For we are so tiny so innocent 

And at its mercy. 

We must be thankful for the days we see 

For the experiences we gather 

for the friendships we share 

for the family's we create 

They are precious 

For our time will come also 

and may we be as blessed and as loved as we have witnessed these past days 

With our dearly loved Stanley. 

His openness to the possibilities of Life were inspiring 

He was scared, yet he kept his humour 

Somehow 

Knowing what was to come. 

 He was blessed with the longevity of life 

And he knew this 

That's not to say it was all roses & laughter

 It was not without stress or strife 

But there were many great memories that he left behind 

If we remember him, it's usually with a smile 

As he was always smiling and quick with a quip or joke 

And that says volumes about the type of person he was. 

E E Cummings, who was a poet and playwright said, The most wasted of all days is one without laughter. 

Friedrich Nietzsche the German philsopher once said: And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.

And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh.

Stanley danced (in his own way) and laughed every day, and for that, his life was rich. His life was full. And that is as much as anyone could ask out of life.

(2005) The Good 

Just when I beleived that every literary submission I made was somehow sucked up into a cyber void, I finally had a story accepted for publication. It's for a regarded Anthology, only printed up once a year, and also a special 25th Anniversary edition, so I feel honoured. Honestly, it couldn't have come at a better time. I really needed some good news. I'll provide a link when it comes out if you're interested, which will be later in the year. Things are still very hectic at this end, but will endeavour to post once a week, and will try to get to your blogs when I can. 

Coming Soon, 

Greatest Written Films 

A Classic

https://www.anthonyjlangfordbooks.com/

Air Wars

The plane shudders, your stomach goes into your throat and you feel the emptiness beneath the carpet. You've seen those movies and those horrendous TV shows and you've prayed that it would never happen to you. But now you're actually in it. This is real. You could die.

On Saturday I had one of the most frightening experiences of my life.



I have been in other terrifying situations, including a Force Gale 5 trip in a ferry across the Bass Strait. It was so rough that people couldn't walk, all the decks were closed and the waves smashing against the hull echoed throughout the ship. We were nine hours late getting to Melbourne and suffered damage as captured by the media when we finally arrived.



This was much shorter, but just as scary, albeit packed into one crazy hour rather than twenty-two.

I left Sydney with my daypack and the sun behind me, embroiled in a new book. A recent flight had been smooth and I was looking forward to getting some solid, guilt-free reading done during the day. The plane climbed and we broke the cloud barrier, drama free.

We were due to arrive at Tullamarine at 2:35 pm. Approximately fifteen minutes from landing, having already descended, we were told that the airport had been hit by a big storm and that it might delay our arrival, but that the storm was fast moving and shouldn't be long. Great, I thought, as it had already been bumpy for the past fifteen minutes. I had tried to distract myself by talking to a elderly gentlemen next to me. He had lived a very interesting life, combating leprosy all over the world. Yet we both fell silent as the plane dipped into a roller-coaster pit and the frame shuddered as the aircraft heaved upwards. It brought a Woooaaao from the passengers, with that half excited, half scared look on their faces. I could see the stewardess, who was seated and strapped in also. She smiled at someone so I figured if she was smiling, everything must be alright.

But it only got worse. The clouds were dark, rushing past like coagulated marshmallow. Why couldn't we pull out of them? They seemed to be causing all the shaking. We were now in a cocktail shaker, up, down and side to side, seemingly all at once. The First Officer finally told us that there was a severe storm at the Airport and that we had been put into a holding pattern to wait it out. We would circle around until it was safe to land.



I sighed and tried to relax, but the plane wouldn't leave the cloud bank and part of our large circling path seemed to head directly into the storm. Our stomachs went into our throats and then back down again. I began burping, glad I hadn't eaten much. The passengers were silent though I could hear a child crying. I felt for the little tike, but I was preoccupied with my own fear. This was serious turbulence like I had never felt before. I have been flying for twenty five years and have landed in torrential rain and flown through storms with lightening filling the cabin and over mountains in Europe and around the world several times, but this was the worst I had ever had the misfortune to be apart of. The poor old guy next to me seized the paper bag and began heaving. I turned away, closing my eyes. It was all I could from throwing up myself.

It went on and on. A period of grace and it would start up again. Now the stewardess didn't look so thrilled. Okay, so now I'm really worried. I felt my body go cold. It was a strange, physical sensation that wasn't only in my head. The fear had manifested itself as a wave of icy water raging up my body. My heart was thumping and I could imagine having a heart attack. The plane rattled and groaned and I felt like I was in one of those disaster movies. I cursed those fucking Air Crash Programs. I swore, if I got through this, I wouldn't be on that return flight the next day, I'd be catching trains for the rest of my life.



Now roller-coasters can be fun, but you know you're safe and that they will end. I didn't know either of those things. After a while, you've had enough. It wasn't just a few minutes. It was sustained. The worst was not knowing what would happen. It's all fine in retrospect but at the time... It was all quiet from the cabin too, presumably busy with dealing with the conditions.

We all can imagine what we might do or feel in this situation, but I can say that 90% of my thoughts were about trying to control my fear and wishing I was somewhere else. I wasn't thinking about the things I had yet to achieve in life or of events gone by. In other words, no life flashing before my eyes. I did think of loved ones and how lucky I was to have them but generally I was preoccupied trying to fool myself into thinking everything was okay when I knew that it wasn't.

Eventually we were told that we were being diverted to Avalon, a small airport some fifteen minutes away, which I had been hoping all along as I wanted to be on the ground and worry about the rest later. When we burrowed out of the mucky sky and those wheels finally hit the tarmac, everyone clapped. Not surprisingly, some people wanted off, and I contemplated it too, but we weren't allowed to leave. We had to wait two and a half hours to refuel and then fly back. We eventually arrived four hours overdue. I could see why we couldn't land. There was water everywhere. Melbourne had been hit by a mini-cyclone, the 'storm of the century' causing millions of dollars of damage across the city. As bad as it was on the ground, I have to say it felt like we were in the worst position of all, trapped in a tube of metal in the devil's den. It was a hellish ride, one I'm not keen to repeat. We all have to go someday but no one wants to go out in a bloody plane. Perhaps we were not in any real danger, but tell that to my frayed and scattered nerves.



I had a few too many drinks that night and had to fly the next day, whereupon we encountered more turbulence as the plane flew back over the storm that still lingered around Victoria. I shook my head, grinned and wondered why I hadn't followed up on my promise and taken that bloody train.