Hope (*) is a thread that exists in our lives. It has been there since the day we took our first breaths. It has existed alongside us as we built our lives. It exists now in the shattered reality of brokenness. Though we are broken, hope remains strong. In our weakness Hope rises as an unbroken thread stretching out into our uncertain (*) future (*), beckoning us to follow and explore the potential that lies dormant and hidden by our pain. Hope waits. Ready for us to reach out and grasp its firm hand. The question is not if hope exists within our brokenness. The real question is if we are willing and able to allow ourselves to stretch out of our brokenness, our preconceived attitudes, and self imposed assumptions and grasp hold of the only hope that exists, the only hope for our brokenness, our humanity and very existence. There is hope and healing and a future no matter what our circumstances. It is true. I have seen it. There are many others that have shared in it as well and testify of its existence and power and potential. Lift your eyes out of the brokenness and glimpse it, it is before you. You are not alone.
You are not without HOPE.
via A Message To The Broken (*) by Doug Miller (*).
An amazing piece of writing. All the more so, if you know the motivation (*) behind it.
A Rainbow always brings Hope - Alexandria (Sun 09 Mar 2014)
Hope is a thread that exists in our lives. It has been there since the day we took our first breaths. It has existed alongside us as we built our lives. It exists now in the shattered reality of brokenness. Though we are broken, hope remains strong. In our weakness Hope rises as an unbroken thread stretching out into our uncertainfuture, beckoning us to follow and explore the potential that lies dormant and hidden by our pain. Hope waits. Ready for us to reach out and grasp its firm hand. The question is not if hope exists within our brokenness. The real question is if we are willing and able to allow ourselves to stretch out of our brokenness, our preconceived attitudes, and self imposed assumptions and grasp hold of the only hope that exists, the only hope for our brokenness, our humanity and very existence. There is hope and healing and a future no matter what our circumstances. It is true. I have seen it. There are many others that have shared in it as well and testify of its existence and power and potential. Lift your eyes out of the brokenness and glimpse it, it is before you. You are not alone.
Geoff, Tony (Mouse) and Joanne – Inspire Award 2012 / PD’s Award Night - AB Hotel / Glebe (Sat 21 Jul 2012)
Inspire Award 2012 - Pacific Dragons - Tony "Mouse" Pound (Sat 21 Jul 2012)
A few words (*) and a short video (*) after Tony "Mouse" Pound was presented with the 2012 Inspire Award ..
Joanne and I would like to thank Pacific Dragons (*) for Honouring Jenny’s Memory (*) with the Annual Presentation of the Inspire Award (*) – this being the 3rd time it has been presented since she left us (*) on Tue 30 Jun 2009.
We congratulate Tony Pound ("Mouse") the 2012 Inspire Award Recipient.
We know Jenny would be smiling from above and would no doubt be wondering, like the rest of us here "How’s Mouse's Mother's Chooks" are.
We also like the direction of the award has taken.
Being an Annual Award it becomes something of an Anniversary for Joanne and I to celebrate and remember Jenny's life, as the Club and its Members recognise the Achievements of one it's member - Mouse for the 2011/2012 season.
We hope it is also an opportunity for all of us to remember and honour those that have been close to us and have influenced our own lives but are no longer with us.
We also hope it is a time to acknowledge those close to us who are facing their own challenges in life. We hope Jenny's life can be an example as to how to live a fulfilling life with a life-threatening illness as well as provide some hope, belief and inspiration to face the challenges and changes that lay ahead.
So, as it is with all Anniversaries, it is a time reflect on the year just passed and to celebrate on what has been achieved and so tonight we celebrate Mouse's Achievements since coming to the club two seasons ago.
I think, more importantly, for Anniversaries, it is a time to look to the future and set new goals.
This can be challenging as often the path is full of obstacles as well as self-doubts. It almost always requires change, which can be step into the unknown. This is all risky business and the fear of failure and making mistakes can quickly put a stop to all good intentions.
I think those people who inspire us often overcome these obstacles and fears, with the common theme in all of their actions, being the word Belief (*), which is something Jenny had plenty of.
Belief gives us a purpose and intent as we strive towards a goal.
A photographer I follow recently wrote [Alex Coghe (*)] about belief in the context of photography, but it can be applied to all aspects of our lives. It is succinct and goes:
"If you believe, you are stronger and the light will reward you."
Basedy on my own life experiences I know this to be true [A longer version here (*)].
We congratulate you all on another great year with Pacific Dragons.
Finally, we thank you and the Club for the Amazing Experiences that are created for us and we share together. For you see as Seth Godin wrote:
"The experiences we create [and share] are the moments that define us."
We look forward to the season ahead and we hope you are having ..
"The Time of Your Life."
We Remember Jenny - The Time of Your Life..
Remembering Jenny - Time of Your Life / Greenday - Youtube (Sat 21 Jul 2012)
Live Long and Prosper .. Geoff and Joanne (Sat 21 Jul 2012)
Postscript (Mon 23 Jul 2012): I wanted to add the following quote (*) into the video but did not have the time to work out. So here it is ..
Give me the courage, tenacity & positivity to change that which I can... (with a smile on my face!) (15 Jun 2009)
Give me the serenity, humility & tolerance to accept that which I cannot... (16 Jun 2009)
And give me the wisdom, humbleness & strength to know the difference. (17 Jun 2009)
As an athlete, I’ve sometimes struggled with where on that hope (*)-expectation (*) spectrum I should gauge my confidence (*).
Of course, I believe in myself (*), and I know I can win. Without getting too philosophical, I’ve wondered how close I can get to I should win, without crossing that threshold.
I have never believed in destiny (*). I don’t believe that anyone is “supposed” to win. That’s why we compete. That’s the beauty of sport, there is no supposition.
Athletes need to be comfortable with the reality that it is their actions that will determine the outcome.
Hope isn’t enough for me either. It implies that I should simply have faith in some predestined result.
via Hope, Pressure and Expectation: Finding a Winning Combination (*) by Adam Van Koverden (*).
Just brilliant writing. Have thought about hope (*), expectation (*) and destiny (*) a lot here. Adam has captured this better than one I have read before. One last extract from Adam's pivotal post (*) to follow ..
There seemed to be so much hope as I took this photo.
For me, it was the hope that we could take her home (she had negotiated it to be Wed, so Jo and I could go to our Aus Dragon Boat training session that Tue night) and care for her until she quietly left us, like Jenny and Jo had done with Margaret, their mother, 10 years earlier.
It was not meant to be and it is amazing how quickly things can change and how you need to accept, adapt and let go to the circumstances which we are confronted with as we move through life.
It is in these moments that I came to fully understand the following words from Paulo Coehlo's novel, The Fifth Mountain (which I would read 6 months later):
Fear reaches only to the point where the unavoidable begins; from there on, it loses its meaning. And all we have left is the hope that we are making the right decision.
A story for another day.
For now, I remember Jenny and the final week of her life, that she spent in Intensive Care Unit of St George Private Hospital, before she left us on Tue 30 Jun 2009.
Postscript
Amazingly, about an hour after posting the above (maybe about the time Jenny's heart failed two years earlier), a post titled Regrets came through from Paulo Coelho. It is based on this post:
It touchs on the time I had hoped for at home with Jenny and things we might have been able to talk about.
In the end, she left us very suddenly (and with much trauma - unlike her Mothers passing which was very peaceful and serene, if you can understand that) and we were not able to say goodbye.
I carry some of the regrets Bronnie mentions, but in the end I would like to think we lived a good life that allowed us to make the most of the time we had together.
The Cancer made us better people and we did live life to full - Do what you can, when you can. I would say. For Jenny, it was Don't Wonder 'What If?'. Every time we parted, I would say I love you and often many times in between.
One thing I know for sure, it is that through Jenny's life and passing, I have become a better person - I feel guilty about this in many ways, but at the same time I draw some comfort.
Five One Hundredths of a Second - 500m Premier Opens Final - AusDBF Nats / Penrith (Fri 19 Apr 2013)
Once, twice or, maybe three times (if you are fortunate enough and willing to take the risks) in a paddling career you do something unbelievable. Something you just can’ t explain, though sometimes it worth giving it a try. Here goes ..
You are happy you have made the major final. You know you are up against strong teams. The favourite, the team directly on your left, you have not beaten in three years. In fact you have not been within a boat length, over 500m, for the last two years. Against the odds, and your failing self-confidence, you still somehow believe that we can still get across the line first. To be part of of something great. There is always hope at the start. It is a chance to create who you want to be. You don't get your hopes up too high, as you have been disappointed in the past. You don't think about all of this too much at this point. The focus is putting your best race on the water and seeing how it compares to the others when you have all crossed the line. You are not overly nervous, but you are excited and proud to be there. A supportive and encouraging tap on the knee for those around you. Remember it is a 30 stroke start. Just focus on the first 3 strokes and take it one by one from there. Clean water. Hand out of the water. Blade buried. Make sure you feel and stay connected with the water with every stroke. The starter aligns us and we ready. "Paddlers, are you ready, attention please" .... the gun does not fire for some reason. This has happened a few time before over the years. Keep your focus, no distractions. We will be away soon. Refocus, lets do it again - 30 Start, first 3, deep and clean - feel the water. "Paddlers, are you ready, attention please" ... "GO". You Go on the "G". 1-2-3, up, up, .. 10, up, up, .. 20, up, up, ..7,..30, reach, reach, hinge, hinge. The boat is up and running and there is something there. We are hingeing and driving through the stroke. The boat is more than running, it is been driven through the stroke like it has felt in training over last few weeks, except this time it is race intensity, not level 4, Remember this Geoff, Remember this moment. We are there next to them, where usually they pull away here, but we talked about staying connected. Give it everything to the 250m and refocus. Somehow, we are sttil there at the 250m. Refocus and reinvent yourself, I think. Drive, Drive is the call, We are still there, connected. You have a 6th sense (and good hearing) and you know without looking that our drummers are side by side. Passing the 200m start hut and the little red lane marker buoy. There is something uplifting in our Sweep's voice - "you are doing it". The lane buoys turn to red - we are 100m out. We have done everything our training has given our bodies - it's amazing to find that something extra that the sport scientists say should not be there. Mentally, prepare for the lift home. This is the most crucial part of the race - they are probably a nose ahead. We are going to have to do something amazing - something the other teams have pulled on us often over the years. "do it for the gold (or was it girls?)" is the call. We lift. We lift. The rate comes up a touch and the boat becomes light as we surge forward with every stroke - narrowing the margin. It is all clear as day, those last few strokes. You give it everything you've got when there is nothing to give. You cross the line, you hear the finish horn blast away in succussion. You look across and you know you have done it. The look in your competitors faces tell you that they know you have also done it and you take a few quiet moments to take it all in, while some of the others around you show their elation more jubilantly. Gasping for air, you touch the same knees as you did before the start. This time the "ritual" tap is to acknowledge your team mates efforts and the fact that you have done something that does not happen that often in a paddling career. "Three cheers for the other crews" is the call from our Drummer - three "hip hip". and a breathless "hooray". We bring the boats in and we all get off. Back slaps and hugs all around. Not even a second thought who won that one as you make your way through the other 180 or so paddlers you have just competed against. You smile and for some reason laugh. This kind of win does not happen that often - "take it in", "take it in" you say to yourself. You see many familiar faces as you walk through the line. They are happy for you. Many you have experienced some amazing experiences around the world in Australian Campaigns past and you hope that the journey with them will continue. Somewhere along the way you hear that we did it by five one hundredths of a second. You know the course well and you smile that you can pick such a small amount of time moments after crossing the line. What a race. You think to yourself, "it's not that we won it, it is how we won it" – it's just not what was expected by many (including yourself) and that is the beauty of dragon boat racing - the randomness and uncertainty to some extent. The boat has never felt like that out of the start and into the transition. You think to yourself, you have never paddled like that before. You feel fortunate that you took the risk to be there, you did the training, the testing, you've put yourself on the line time and time again. You have been crushed by the ramifications of defeat and oddly enough, those one or two other once in a life time victories . At the end of the day you know that it is worth the sacrifices you make to do what you have done, do and hope to do. Maybe this is not the end, but a new beginning ..
I will leave this unedited. It’s just a stream of thought that came out of my subconscious in the last 20 mins. Hope it makes sense and it will be fun to read, many year’s into the future.
Five One Hundredths of a Second - 500m Premier Opens Final - AusDBF Nats / Penrith (Fri 19 Apr 2013)
Trying to be the best in the world is innately audacious. That’s what makes these competitions so insanely exciting. Our athletes are willing to put themselves on the line, and do the most admirable thing. Try. They will sweat, bleed, gasp and cry, to try and get our maple flag up on the top spot and have them play our national anthem.
When our athletes win, it won’t be fate (*) or a fulfillment of any destiny (*). The Canadian Olympic team has what it takes and they give their everything, everyday. They’ll win because they tried, and were the best.
So, I’m making a pledge. I am dispensing with any predestined expectation (*) and prediction (*), but I’m going to do a heck of a lot more than hope (*). I’m putting my confidence (*) in them. And I hope that helps.
via Hope, Pressure and Expectation: Finding a Winning Combination (*) by Adam Van Koeverden (*).
A post (*) I will read again and again. It gives so much clarity to everything around trying to do something.
Hope impacts our internal narrative acting like the aperture of a camera’s lens controlling the amount of light reaching the film. It makes us more resourceful, fuels our resilience and strengthens our resolve. We might not have the ability to alter the scene but we can change our perspective.
True contentment is felt when we recognize all of the many moments of grace and providence which lead us to come full circle and fulfill our intention. We are at peace because we're given meaning to our experience, no matter how painful the journey was in getting there.
For some it takes courage to fall in love. A Heart is exposed and trusted to another and the world. For others it is the easiest thing in the world. Some are better at finding it than others. I hope you have the courage to fall in love if and when the chance arises.
This is a work in progress. It has been in my head for a long time now, but it has been hard to write. Hopefully, it will make sense. I expect to modify it a bit over the next few weeks, but at least it is a start.
A few months before Jenny died, I read Lance Armstrong's book entitled "Its not about the bike". Jenny had been given a copy by a long time friend, Mena, not long after the book was first published here in Australia (sometime around 2002/3 I am guessing). She read the book quickly and I know she got a lot from the pages. For some reason I did not read the book until early May 2009.
Geoff, Jenny, Mena, Steve and Joanne - Natation DB Titles - Kawana / Qld - Sat 25 Apr 2009 (picasa)
I bought my own copy so that I could read the book that meant so much to Jenny. I think I was motivated by the fact the Jenny was progressing to the final stages of her Cancer (at least that is reluctantly what I quietly started to think - she had just been diagnosed with multiple tumors in her liver on the 11 Mar 2009 - not a very promising situation). I thought I might find something in the pages to understand her and our situation.
I read the book, intermittently over a few weeks, at my local coffee shop before work and on the train to work. There was lots of the book that resonated with me, particularly his encounters with cancer. One part in particular struck a chord with me. It was about a half through, where he writes about what he felt during chemotherapy following neurosurgery to remove a beign brain tumor.
What is stronger, fear or hope? It's an interesting question, and perhaps even an important one. Initially, I was very fearful and without much hope, but as I sat there and absorbed the full extent of my illness, I refused to let the fear completely blot out my optimism. Something told me that fear should never fully rule the heart, and I decided not to be afraid.
I wanted to live, but whether I would or not was a mystery, and in the midst of confronting that fact, even at that moment, I was beginning to sense that to stare into the heart of such a fearful mystery wasn't a bad thing. To be afraid is a priceless education. Once you have been that scared, you know more about your frailty than most people, and I think that changes a man. I was brought low, and there was nothing to take refuge in but the philosophical: this disease would force me to ask more of myself as person than I ever had before, and to seek out a different ethic.
A couple of days earlier, I had received an e-mail from a military guy stationed in Asia. He was a fellow cancer patient, and he wanted to tell me something.
"You don't know it yet," he wrote, "but we're the lucky ones."
I'd said aloud, "This guy's a nut."
What on earth could he mean?
When I read this, I stored it away in my mind, eagerly awaiting Lance's own answer to this question - lucky .. What on earth could he mean?. It would come quietly on the last page of the book.
"You don't know it yet, but we're the lucky ones," my fellow cancer patient had written.
I will always carry the lesson of cancer with me, and feel that I'm a member of the cancer community. I believe I have an obligation to make something better out of my life than before, and to help my fellow human beings who are dealing with the disease. It's a community of shared experience. Anyone who has heard the words You have cancer and thought, "Oh, my God, I'm going to die," is a member of it. If you've ever belonged, you never leave.
Jenny had often indicated that she felt lucky (I think in both aspects - that of surviving an aggressive cancer and oddly enough, having had had cancer). She said this in the Australian Story Episode, "In the Pink":
'I don't understand how things work out, and why things work out the way they do. I feel like I've been lucky. I don't understand how cancer works, I don't know why I've been blessed the way I have been.'
'I feel I am so lucky and have a wonderful life. I have had some great opportunities through breast cancer to meet some very inspiring people. Geoff and Jo have been a constant source of support for me. Breast cancer has totally changed my life but for the best.'
Relay for Life 2007 - Jenny - Survivor Representative - Sylvania Waters - Sat 28 Apr 2007 (picasa)
The Rainbow Connection - Phil, John, Marj, Jenny, Liz, Noel - Phil passed away shortly after this photo was taken - he often spoke to Jenny about how luck seemed to play a big part in how things worked out, but sometimes you make you own luck - Rely for Life 2003 - Sylvania Waters - Sat 31 May 2003 - (picasa)
As Jenny's International Dragon Boating Career started, she came to the attention of the Media and in the first Newspaper Article she featured in, she was even compared to Lance Armstrong:
Don Iverson, Director of the Health and Productivity Research Center at the University of Wollongong, said that Ms Petterson could be compared to Lance Armstrong, who won the Tour de France after fighting testicular cancer.
'It's almost superhuman,' he said.
Cancer wont slow rowing champion - Sydney Sun Herald - 2 May 2004
She was a little embarrassed by the comparison, but Jo and I were very proud of Jenny and her achievements in her treatment, her sport and her life as breast cancer survivor.
Geoff, Jenny, Grace, Lynn, Betty, Thomas, Grant, Joanne and David - Relay for Life 2007 - Jenny - Survivor Representative - Sylvania Waters - Sat 28 Apr 2007 (picasa)
After Jenny's passing, I had an encounter in the Intensive Care Unit where Jenny left us. Joanne and I had gone back to thank the staff at the St George Hospital and to pickup some scans that had been lost in Jenny's move from the Level 1 to ICU. We spoke to the head ICU nurses (they were between shifts) and we knew both of them from Jenny's time in ICU (and I was well known to them as I had fainted in ICU on Jenny's second day in ICU after the neurosurgery). We talked a little and I mentioned that Jenny did consider herself lucky to have had cancer - as she said herself - it had changed her life for the better. One the nurses questioned this statement and she made me feel a little uneasy for saying what I had said. She could not believe anyone with cancer could consider themselves lucky. Maybe, she had seen too much of the cold harsh reality of cancer in that ICU. Maybe she was right. It did not seem too lucky now that Jenny was gone?
This conversation stuck in my mind for a long time, and I started to question many things. It was not until I came across the following blog post by Doug Miller that I found some peace. Here was a man who had recently been diagnosed with Cancer. He was articulate and in many ways his post offers so much more than Lance's writings on Cancer and Luck. This is probably the most moving piece of writing I have read in my life. I don't have cancer, but I have lived a shared life with it and it's consequences. I can truly emphasise. Here it is. My heart is with you Doug ..
Doug Miller - Colorado Trail San Juan Mountains - 1994 - A Single Path - (blog)
[..] a friend [..] pointed me to Lance Armstrong's book entitled "Its not about the bike" I picked up a copy and quickly read through it. I liked it.
It had a bit much detail focusing on cycling, but that was an aspect of the man that could obviously not be separated from the larger reality of his battle with cancer.
There were portions though that left my mind spinning. Armstrong's description of his diagnosis and the roller coaster of emotions that ensued was painfully raw and hit the mark with a clarity and similarity I could not deny. I myself am walking those darkened and fearful paths as I write these very words.
Out of all the pages a couple simple statements that he made resonated with me in a powerful way.
Armstrong tells of a letter that he received. It was from a man he had never met before. He himself had battled cancer. He wrote Armstrong to acknowledge his support and positive thoughts. As he finished the letter he made a strange statement that confused Armstrong. He wrote, "you probably do not understand this right now, but we are the lucky ones".
What? How is anyone with cancer lucky? It is devastating. It not only has the potential to steal your life, but also has the destructive potential to steal your Hope. Those words are haunting. Lucky? We are the lucky ones. This brotherhood of suffering is somehow lucky..........blessed?
It is diametrically opposed to any sort of sane thinking that those outside of this brotherhood would agree with. It actually is an almost dangerous statement. As if you say it as you are waking off a cliff without a safety net. A statement such as that redefines everything. Life. Death. And even Hope.
But as I walk this path, and simultaneously encounter life in all its beauty and harshness, I find myself agreeing. "We are the lucky ones". I am lucky. I say those words with a part of me screaming, "how dare you, how can you say that". But it is true. The perspective that cancer gives to life is unbelievable. It has the power to refine you. Your thoughts. Your direction. Your focus.
It is as if you look at life for the first time. Everything is different. Nothing is the same. Everything is turned on edge, revealing a freshness and an urgency that is not seen outside of cancer. If this clarity does exist in our normal lives, it is missed. Overshadowed by the busyness of life. By worthless and empty pursuits.
Another quote from Armstrong's book was this: "Cancer is not about dying, it is about living" What a statement.
Most would argue against it. But those that walk this path find it to be true. Life after diagnosis becomes "alive". It becomes real. It is as if you can grasp it with your own hands, breath it in, consume it.
Oh if I could have had this view earlier in life. I knew that it existed. I sensed it. I chased it. Through the mountains. Through relationships. In the woods and fields of my youth. It was a whisper in the words of poets. And a reflection on the horizon as the sun slipped out of view. But i did not catch it until cancer became my reference. My reality.
We who are members of this brotherhood and sisterhood of suffering are the lucky ones, because now we can truly live. And Love. And Hope. And I dare to say Dream. They are painful dreams, haunted with the shadows of uncertainty, but they are vivid dreams. Passionate dreams. Dreams that leave your heart aching, your soul longing. We are released from the fear of death. Our finite lives are bared.
We come face to face with our mortality and realize that life is looking back at us. Raw and uncertain. But ALIVE none the less. There were days before cancer that I despaired. At times despising my life. But now I am hungry to live. I long to live. Whether that time be long or short, I hold tight to life and all of its glorious agony.
Memories of Jenny - The Time of Your Life (youtube)
As many of you will know, I have another obsession in my life beyond paddling - Photography.
I started out buying a small digital camera for our Dec 2000 trip to the Cook Islands to visit Jenny and Jo's Meditation teacher, Barbara, who had moved there to help setup a refuge for women . We didn’t know a thing about paddling back then.
I had bought the camera hoping I would be able to capture our memories. It was a tiny digital camera by today’s standards, 1 Mega Pixel and it cost $1600 duty free and a 64 MB compact flash memory cost more than $300.
I did not flinch and I thought it was all worth it, as my credit card was swiped at Ted’s Pitt Street Camera Store the day before we flew out. 15 years later I can tell you here that it was one of the best things I ever did.
My motivation for the camera came from that fact that Jenny had 11 tumours in her lungs and I did not really know how long we would have together. In the end we had just over 9 years of married life. Given Jenny’s condition, a miracle really ..
We were married on 30th April of that Sydney Olympic year and we honeymooned on Lord Howe Island for 10 glorious days in May 2000. Jenny had a film camera and she took many photos.
On our return flight to Sydney, I remember a conversation we had at the Departure Terminal with an older couple from Whyalla who congratulated us on our marriage. We had briefly met them at dinner at one of the small restaurants on the Island.
They told us they had been married for many years and the trip to Lord Howe Island was a way of creating another experience in life and expanding their memories. Better than [running a busy business or] sitting at home and watching the Telly, they said.
This conversation and piece of simple worldly wisdom has stuck with me and I remind myself of it constantly. It was my main motivation to buy that small expensive digital camera for our December 2000 trip to the Cook Islands.
I took many photos that trip to Cook Islands, even of the Outrigger Canoes on the shore of Muri Lagoon - we had no idea what they were – who would guess our future.
Shortly after our return, Jenny and Jo found Dragon Boating. And over the ensuing years many experiences and memories were created, dutifully captured by our cameras.
I documented the many dragon boat campaigns here and abroad, and ensuing holidays that followed each event.
In the process of this documenting I came to realise the power of photography, not only its visual power, but its ability to record our experiences and remind us of things we have done and who we were. We were doing selfies before the term was even invented. We called them “Holdouts” and I think this might be the main cause of Jo’s shoulder injury.
In those last few weeks at St George Hospital in Jun 2009, I captured the last moments of our lives together. They are the best I ever made.
After Jenny’s passing, It took me a while to pick up a camera again. I had lost my purpose and will. I was hurting and numb all at once but paddled through for a year or two – it helped a lot to be busy and in the company of friends. New experiences were created and I even smiled [for] a little [while].
Lost in the enormity of what had happened so quickly, though it was not a surprise, I found my first moments of comfort and hope, when I decided to start looking at some of the photos from our lives together. It made me cry, but it also made me smile. I was so happy that I had this archive of bits and bytes to remind me of Jenny, Joanne, myself and who we were.
It was only after Jo told me to organise my photos and my Mum said I should start making photos again, that I started to move forward. I was completely broken but I took up their advice and kept myself busy again, organising and photographing again. I am still broken but I live with it better now, it is part of me and who I will always be, but I am happy, optimistic, naïve and creating more experiences.
So I guess what I am trying to say is that we have to go out there and make our memories through the experiences we create for ourselves.
In our lives we have loss, grief and bereavement. It is a part of living. You make a choice when it knocks on your door. And we have chosen to live in the Afterglow of our loss of Jenny – to remember and honour and be guided and inspired. Accept it and live with it and make the most of it, even let it inspire and motivate you. And that is what Jo and I have done, I would like to think.
“Believe in Hope” as the graffiti’ed wall in Cleveland Street said for a few weeks in July 2015.
Believe in Hope - Cleveland Street / Chippendale (Wed 29 Jul 2015)
Seven year ago today.
We remember Jenny. She (as they all do) lives on through our memories.
I read the following extract to Jenny twice while she was in Hospital in June 2009. The first time was two days after the surgery to remove a 4cm brain tumor. She listened intently - like a small child being read a fairy tale - while I struggled to remain composed, as I read it to her.
Jenny - St George Private Hospital - Sun 22 Jun 2009 (picasa)
The second time was in the Intensive Care Unit at St George following her "heart failure" episode 6 days earlier (Tue 23 Jun 2009) – a day before she left us on the 30 Jun 2009 at 9:16am. I think and hope she heard me. This little story for me is the essence of the Book, a book she treasured, and ultimately it reads as a "prophecy" for what would unfold in Prague in late August 2009 for Joanne and myself - hope this makes sense .. Geoff
Jenny, Joanne and Geoff - St George ICU - Sun 28 Jun 2009 (picasa)
IT’S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE – LANCE ARMSTRONG
If there is a defining characteristic of a man as opposed to a boy, maybe it's patience. In 1995, I finally gained an understanding of the demanding nature of the Tour [de France] and all of its extraordinary tests and dangers. I finished it, and I finished strong, winning a stage in the closing days. But the knowledge came at too high a price, and I would just as soon not have learned it the way I did.
Late in the race, our Motorola teammate, Fabio Casartelli, the 1992 Olympic champion, was killed on a high-speed descent. On a descent, you ride single file, and if one rider goes down, it can cause a terrible chain reaction. Fabio didn't crash alone; 20 riders went down with him. But he hit a curb with the back of his head and fractured his neck and skull.
I went by too fast to see much. A lot of riders were down, and everybody was crouched around someone lying on the ground, but you see that sort of thing a lot in the Tour. It was only a while later that I learned via the team radio what had happened: Fabio was dead. When they tell you something like that, you almost don't believe it.
It was one of the longest days of my life. Fabio was not only the young hope of Italian cycling, he was a new husband and a new father. His baby was just a month old.
Jenny and Geoff - Cape Leveque - 9 May 2001 (picasa)
We had to keep riding, to finish the stage even though we were distraught and sick with shock. I had known Fabio since I first started racing internationally in '91. He lived right outside of Como where I kept my apartment, and we had competed against each other at the Barcelona Olympics in '92, when he won the gold medal. He was a very relaxed, fun-loving man, a little goofy, a joker. Some of the top Italians were more serious, or macho, but Fabio wasn't like that. He was all sweetness.
That night we had a Motorola team meeting to discuss whether we should keep riding or not. We were split. Half of us wanted to quit and go home and cry with our families and friends, and half of us wanted to keep riding in honor of Fabio. Personally, I wanted to stop; I simply didn't think I had the heart to ride a bike. It was the first time I had encountered death, and genuine grief, and I didn't know how to handle it. But then Fabio's wife came to see us, and she said she wanted us to keep riding, because she felt that was what Fabio would have wanted. So we sat in the grass behind the hotel, said a few prayers, and decided to stay in.
Me and my Shadow - "an early start for the first day of the rest of my life" - 7am Wed 01 Jul 2009 (picasa)
The next day the peloton rode in honor of Fabio, and gave our team a ceremonial stage victory. It was another long, terrible day— eight hours on the bike, with everybody grieving. The peloton did not race. Instead we rode in quiet formation. It was virtually a funeral procession, and at last our team rode across the finish line, while, behind us, Fabio's bike was mounted atop the support car with a black ribbon.
The following morning we began the race again in earnest, and rode into Bordeaux. Next was a stage into Limoges, and that night, Och came around to our rooms and told the team that Fabio had had two goals in the Tour: he wanted to finish the race, and he especially wanted to try to win the stage into Limoges. As soon as Och stopped speaking I knew that if Limoges was the stage Fabio had wanted to win for himself, now I wanted to win it for him, and that I was going to finish the race.
About halfway through the next day's stage, I found myself grouped with 25 guys at the front - Indurain was in the yellow leader's jersey, riding at the back. I did what came most naturally to me: I attacked.
The problem was, I attacked too early, as usual. I went with 25 miles still to go, and on a downhill portion. Two things you never do: attack early, and on a downhill. But I went so fast on that downhill that I had a 30-second lead in a finger-snap. The other riders were completely taken aback. I could feel them wondering, What's he thinking?
What was I thinking? I had looked back, and saw guys were riding along, with no particular ambition. It was a hot day, and there was no incentive to pull hard, everyone was just trying to get closer to the finish line where the tactics would play out. I glanced back, and one guy was taking a sip of water. I glanced back again. Another guy was fixing his hat. So I took off. Peoooo. I was gone.
When you have 15 other guys back there from 15 different teams, they'll never get organized. They'll look at each other and say: You pull. No, you pull! So I went, and I went faster than I'd ever ridden. It was a tactical punch in the face, and it had nothing to do with strength or ability; everything depended on the initial shock and separation. It was insane, but it worked.
IDBF Senior Mixed 500m Final - 200m to go - "The Break" - "It was insane, but it worked" – Prague/Racice - Day 4 - 29 Aug 2009
Nobody got within 55 seconds of me again. The team support car kept coming up and giving me reports. Henny Kuiper, our team director, would say, "You're thirty seconds up." Then a few minutes later he'd come alongside again and say, "You're forty-five seconds up."
When he came up the third or fourth time, I said, "Henny, don't come up here anymore. I'm not getting caught."
"Okay, okay, okay," he said, and faded behind my wheel.
I didn't get caught.
I won by a minute, and I didn't feel a moment's pain. Instead I felt something spiritual; I know that I rode with a higher purpose that day. Even though I had charged too early, I never suffered after I broke away. I would like to think that was Fabio's experience too; he simply broke away and separated from the world. There is no doubt in my mind that there were two riders on that bike. Fabio was with me.
Senior Mixed 500m Final - "Instead I felt something spiritual; I know that I rode with a higher purpose that day." Lance A - "Don't Wonder 'What If?'" Jenny P – Prague/Racice - Day 4 - 29 Aug 2009
I felt an emotion at the finish line that I've never experienced again. I felt I was winning for Fabio and his family and his baby, and for the mourning country of Italy. As I came across the line I glanced upward and I pointed to the heavens, to Fabio.
World Champs - Australian Senior Mixed 500m Team - "As I came across the line I glanced upward and I pointed to the heavens" Lance A – Prague/Racice - Day 4 - 29 Aug 2009
After the Tour, Och had a memorial built for Fabio. He commissioned a sculptor from Como to execute a work in white Carrara marble. The team flew in from all over the world, and we gathered at the top of the mountain for the placement of the memorial and the dedication ceremony. The memorial had a sundial on it that shone on three dates and times: his birthday, the day he won the Olympic Games, and the day he died.
Geoff and Joanne at Fabio’s Memorial - we stumbled upon it by complete accident – Col de Portet d'Aspet - Thu 24 Sep 2009 [1] (picasa)
I had learned what it means to ride the Tour de France. It's not about the bike. It's a metaphor for life, not only the longest race in the world but also the most exalting and heartbreaking and potentially tragic. It poses every conceivable element to the rider, and more: cold, heat, mountains, plains, ruts, flat tires, high winds, unspeakably bad luck, unthinkable beauty, yawning senselessness, and above all a great, deep self-questioning. During our lives we're faced with so many different elements as well, we experience so many setbacks, and fight such a hand-to-hand battle with failure, head down in the rain, just trying to stay upright and to have a little hope. The Tour is not just a bike race, not at all. It is a test. It tests you physically, it tests you mentally, and it even tests you morally.
I understood that now. There were no shortcuts, I realized. It took years of racing to build up the mind and body and character, until a rider had logged hundreds of races and thousands of miles of road. I wouldn't be able to win a Tour de France until I had enough iron in my legs, and lungs, and brain, and heart. Until I was a man. Fabio had been a man. I was still trying to get there.
[1] I would like to think the two shadows on the “Wings” of the Memorial represent the spirit of Jenny and her life as a twin with Joanne.. There we are, Joanne and I, counterpoised by the twin shadows of the Joanne and Jenny. Jenny overlooks us and is there with us, Always.
Jenny - "looking out over us - she inspires and guides us from above" - Geoff E - Wolfe Creek Crater, WA - 22 May 2001"
The following three quotes are about the past and future, and how we might relate them to each other (if that makes any sense). There is some good advice in all three quotes and I thought that I put them here for future reference, so that they will become part of my past :-). Here they are:
As you pursue your goals in life, that is to say your future, pursue your past. Let it be your guide. Insist on having a past and then you will have a future. Ken Burns - 2004 Commencement Yale Class Day Speech (as pdf)
With the past in mind I thought I would dig into archive.org and drag out something from my past (it might explain the where eljeiffel came from). Here it is:
Today is Indepedence Day in the USA which celebrates the 223rd birthday, being founded on 4 Jul 1776, with the signing of the Declaration of Independence. This also represents a time of reflection for myself with elj.com (Eiffel Liberty).
It is two years ago since I registered elj.com. The name Eiffel Liberty was easy to come up with. It represented a vision and a hope for Eiffel that somehow it might be liberated from its miserable place in the language landscape (I thought how could such a great contribution, be so categorically and overwhelmingly dismissed by the programming community). Also, Emma Lazarus's words struck a chord with me, particularly
Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost, to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
Just as America provided opportunity for many from other lands, I thought Eiffel could provide the same kind of opportunities for the syntactically and semantically battered from the other language landscapes :-)
Also, the name Eiffel Liberty made what a I thought was a nice connection between two famous landmarks that Gustave Eiffel had contributed to, being the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty"Eiffel undertook the challenge of creating the steel structure because of the enormous challenge it afforded him".
The 4 Jul 1997 was to be the launch date for the Eiffel Liberty Journal. However, I came down with a very bad cold (too many late nights preparing for the initial launch) and I decided to publish the launch issue of the Eiffel Liberty Journal, not from my newly acquired elj.com but from my progsoc web pages (this would remain the case for another six months).
It was fun putting together the first issue as I received cooperation from all I contacted. These included:
Victor Putz who wrote a great article titled Toymakers and tools: Why one game developer is switching to Eiffel. Victor is a game programmer by night and a helicopter pilot/instructor by day. I remember Victor making a special trip (about 30 km each way) to send me the article because of flooding in his area which made his normal internet access impossible. BTW, I have found that Victor shares and articulates (much better than I ever could) my own vision for Eiffel.
Two years on, elj.com has changed from a random journal to a daily random news update covering the Eiffel and related worlds. In many ways elj.com is really just a log of the links and resources I have stumbled across and that I might learn from (or even get a laugh from).
Eiffel certainly enjoys a wider exposure than it did back in 1997. I hope elj.com has helped in a small way. It is hard tell what impact elj.com has had as there is little feedback. However, occasionally I do get a note saying that elj.com helped someone get started with Eiffel, which seems to make it all worthwhile. I guess elj.com could have been much more effective but there is only so much time.
For a number of reasons I renamed Eiffel Liberty to elj.com Extraordinarily Large Jumble in Feb 99 (some of the reasoning behind this was that elj.com was and still is, an Extraordinarily Large Jumble of seemingly random links and more significantly there was little or no Eiffel news). Fortunately, there now appears to be more Eiffel news than I can handle/report manually and I am making efforts to address this through a more automated Eiffel news feed at elj-daily.
elj.com has amassed an incredible amount of links, quotes and resources relating to Eiffel and related worlds. The time has come for elj.com to be able to extract the information from this mass. A keyword/search facility is on the way.
I believe that for [open source] projects to thrive, information needs to readily at hand. I hope the new elj.com that you will see over the coming weeks/months (depends on how much time I get to work on this) will reflect the ability to provide this information efficiently and effectively.
Finally, I would like to acknowledge the support that Jenny has given me over the last few years. She has had to cope (in more ways than one) with more than anyone should reasonably have to tolerate.
Funny to read this after all these years. Shows how strongly I felt about the Eiffel programming language and method (and still do, but not just as visible). I even chose to start this blog with some posts on Eiffel - not the language, but it's inspiration, the Eiffel Tower and it's creator, Gustave Eiffel.
I had better stop here as I think I might be getting a bit nostalgic. Anyway, hoping all of this might help me find the inspiration to get a future project off the ground.
