Stanhope

Stanhope

This is a story about the house that I used to live in. I have mixed feelings about this house. It was not a great time in my life although the house itself was a very unique house that attracted me. It was built in 1910 which was the same year my maternal grandfather was born. The estate would have originally owned all the land on the hill back when Eltham was most definitely a country destination and not the edge of suburbia that it eventually became. The house had associations with many notable people across various artistic fields. This was interesting but it wasn’t what connected me to the property.

It was a rough diamond in need of gentle polishing when we found it. One evening before we moved in a friend and I drove slowly through the driveway, pausing at the residence to show him our new place. It was unique in that it could be accessed from the north and the south roads. This referenced its past as a larger estate, well known in the area.

It was night time and there were no lights on in the house. I already knew the previous tenants had vacated as the house was empty when we inspected and bought it a few weeks earlier. The large unconventional shape was almost foreboding on the dark evening. My friend and I stayed inside the car as it seemed the right thing to do.

I’m not sure how to describe what happened next.  Whilst I knew my friend couldn’t see him, I ‘saw’ an older man stoop to look into the front passenger side window to see who was in the car. His right hand was resting on the car’s roof. He was wearing a mid-brown woollen jumper with taupe slacks. Once he was satisfied that it was only me, he straightened up, turned and walked back towards the house. I wasn’t afraid and I actually wasn’t even surprised. We then continued our drive and I dropped my friend home without any fuss.

Later when we were all moved and settled in, there were times I would sense her in the house. Making some baked goods in the kitchen, she would watch over my shoulder – just to keep an eye on me. “Just watching, darlink. Just watching.” she would say in her strong Russian accent. Nina was short with her long hair pulled back in a bun. Always smartly attired, she enjoyed the company of me and my daughters. She was never able to have children but loved having them around. In fact, both of them loved the life and energy we brought to the house.

There was a spot in the living room where Clem would sit, drink his whiskey whilst reading. He loved his books. He had founded the literary journal Meanjin Quarterly which promoted Australian writing. Nina was the head of Russian studies at Melbourne University. Both scholars, when money got tight they would sell off parcels of land to help make ends meet. The house was basic when we inherited it with some beautiful work done by the architect Desbrowe Annear. When required, rooms were  extended in quite an ad hoc manner. Its rambling lay-out was endearing to me but infuriated my designer husband.

Nina became ill and with her strength ebbing day by day, she soon never left her bed. Clem would sit near her bedside reading as Nina dozed. She was grateful for the exciting lives full of love and laughter that she and Clem had shared. Sadly too soon, she passed away. Clem couldn’t cope with the great weight of sadness he felt at this enormous loss. He drank more and more whiskey from his favourite crystal low ball to help blur reality but upon waking each morning, the house was still cold and empty without her. Not long after, Clem moved out and died a few months later. His colour had been gradually draining out of him without his Nina around.

Our family moving in with all the noise and light that two young girls bring with them stirred Clem and Nina. The house that they had poured more than fifty years of their lives into was to be a home once more and they needed to know it was in good hands. I was unhappy not to have stayed there longer but you can never know what strange turns life is going to take. I’m grateful to have known Clem and Nina Christesen.

I'm not really into music

I’m not really into music.

This appears to be heresy to a lot of people. I am more likely to seek peace rather than the noise that I find music brings. In my life, I have found that unwanted sound drains me. From memory I followed the typical teenage path of sitting on bed, radio blaring alongside whilst scribbling out my homework .It was what I was supposed to do as a teenager. Only problem was that I found music very distracting. I still find music very distracting. I’m a simple person and can really only concentrate on one task at a time. Science is now backing me up on this, showing that we don’t really multi-task but our brains rapidly switch between activities.

 On occasion I’ve even gone as far as to describe myself as ‘musically dyslexic’. I have no knowledge of its vocabulary. I don’t recognise its constituent parts nor do I have any sense of the rules that help make these parts come together. I played recorder at Primary school. In grade 5, I recall my teacher, Mr Douglas, initiated a class sing-a-long to tunes streaming across the whole school via the loud speakers. I undertook the mandatory courses in secondary school but then dropped them as soon as they became elective. The idea of creating music astounds me. People who can do this are magical.

My two daughters can both play musical instruments and hold conversations between themselves about it that I can’t understand let alone partake in. I’ve attended many, many of their concerts and recitals over the years. They attend a school which offers many musical activities and the cool kids are the band’s percussionists. I just don’t enjoy it. It took me quite some years to fully accept that this doesn’t make me a bad person. I just don’t enjoy it and would rather be sitting in my car reading. These sentiments are best not shared amongst the other school parents. I did that once and the look of horror on her face as I admitted that is one that I shan’t easily forget. Secretly I think it was my audacity to voice what she deep down she may have felt herself at some point.

There’s even some music which actively gives me a headache. Surges in the soundtrack levels of a movie force me to cover my ears. I avoid videos on social media and when I do watch them I do so without sound. . The ‘doof doof’ of a persistent base is enough to make me reach for the off switch. My daughters are well trained in this. When on the odd occasion I’ve let them loose on the radio music choices, they know that if I get my hands on the radio it gets turned off so they change stations before I get the chance.

I’m not anti-music. I have a few friends who are musicians and I think they create awesome music. In fact, I’ve attended some pretty cool gigs and enjoyed the whole experience. The stage lights and the dark recesses, the people watching, the tasty beverages from the bar and the showmanship of the performers are a stimulating spectacular. I just wouldn’t want to do it every week. I even dated musicians and a sound engineer but unsurprisingly not for very long.

I will just point out for the record that I do like music when I have people over for dinner. It adds to the soundtrack of a dinner or a party. It fills in the gaps, provides a pleasant background and generally adds to the overall ambience of sitting around the table sharing food with those you care about. Not all music is suitable though. I have a few favourites and if I was more computer literate I’d know how to easily make various playlists on Google play for just such situations. I’m impatient and find the whole Google Play thing too slow. It’s much quicker for me to select a few CDs to insert into the multi stack CD player. Only problem with that is that I decluttered all my CDs after checking that the music was available on our streaming service. By decluttered, I do mean threw out. I agree that streaming is certainly the way most people will get their music, visual entertainment and even reading matter into the future. It’s just up to me to spend some time figuring out how it all works and learning the shortcuts to make it all happen quicker. I’m impatient; I recognise that.

So I’ve decluttered a large part of my music sources from my life and I’ve yet to really get a handle on music streaming  to make it quickly accessible to my impatient self, but it doesn’t really bother me because , as I’ve said, I’m not really into music.

All artworks my own.

Life is very very good.

So I know that I haven't posted in a while but I've been taking it really easy just eating and drinking and sleeping in and a spot of shopping the sales with my daughters - so yeah, all the good stuff in life.

My partner and I have a list of all the places we want to visit to eat or drink or other. He's new to Melbourne so we are enjoying our time exploring the city - him for the first time and me anew. I'm sure you all recall the "personalised tour" post..... I am actually a big fan of our special Melbourne weather. It also helps that I'm a jacket aficionado...(in joke there about our famous four seasons in one day Melbourne weather).

I generally have worked in hospitality and sales all my life so I'm not really used to having time off at this time of year. However, I could get used to it. When the biggest decision in your day is whether or not to have a nap, you know that life is good. As I sit here on a gorgeous sunny afternoon, having walked this morning and achieved enough housework to alleviate any guilt I can sip my chilled white wine knowing that I can either pick up my book or nod off for a while. 

Life is not only good. Life is very very good.