On the road again...

I'm traveling again, for simchas , also to visit kids and grandchildren, laden with gifts etc. Melbourne airport is not bad but, as with every airport, the security lines are interminable. Now they have body scanners. Also random checks for explosive residue. A blessing: unlike the US, you don't have to take you shoes off. That slows things down even more as we fat westerners struggle to get them on and off. But they are really strict about carrying liquids. Anyway.
Every time I'm in these lines I reflect on why we have to do this. Who made it all necessary?
Why can we not carry on board as much as a pair of tweezers, let alone a Swiss Army knife or Leatherman, both of which I have had confiscated in the past? And for a while we all had plastic cutlery until someone came to their senses and realized that you could turn anything into a weapon. Well, of course that was after 9/11, where box cutters were put to lethal use.
Why are we not allowed to send luggage unaccompanied? Why is luggage X-rayed? Lockerbie. And why the shoes? Richard Reid, the shoe bomber. And the body scanner? Well, that's so we don't have to strip down to our undies because of the Nigerian underpants bomber who set himself on fire a few years back. And the liquids? Wasn't there a couple with a baby who were trying to assemble a bomb on board a flight using liquid disguised as baby formula? That just might be the sickest example of all. Lucky most of these people are idiots and got caught. Not so fortunate were those on Pan Am flight 103 in 1988, who were murdered by Libyan terrorists who were themselves not on the flight. Also not so fortunate was the airline itself which went belly-up soon after this atrocity.
And lest we forget the hijackings of the 70's which resulted in locked cockpits and the beginnings of all the security measures.
But what is the one thing these crimes all have in common? Think hard! Right, they were all perpetrated by Muslims. Mostly Arab Muslims. Yep, they weren't Buddhists or Jews or Catholics or Falun Gong or Zoroastrians. Or IRA or ETA or Tamil Tigers. They were of various ethnicities perhaps, and different birthplaces, and at least one was a convert. To Islam, the religion of peace, excuse me while I choke on that lie.
But when it comes to the Middle East reportage, why is it always the Jews who are the meanies and the poor Arab Muslims who are the victims?
Something to think about. Gotta board now.

Siman tov umazel tov

I'm at a wedding and I shouldn't be posting because I've had a few mojitos, but I wanted to share my delight in the fact that two young Jewish people have committed to each other under the chuppah in front of two witnesses in the presence of a young Chabad rabbi. (Sorry, had to stop to eat a delicious little vegetarian quiche). There was a ring from the chossen to the kallah and she walked around the chossen 7 times. It was, in short, a 100% kosher orthodox chuppah. The reception is 100% kosher too.
Who cares if the song played after the chuppah was 'I Feel Good' by James Brown. Who cares that the bride wasn't as modestly dressed as I would prefer. Who cares that the bridesmaids ditto. And that nobody knew the Sheva Brachot apart from the grandfather of the bride who said the second one. The Chazzan said the rest. And who cares that he didn't have much of a voice for a Chazzan. Who cares that the parents of the groom were dancing together under the chuppah while waiting for the bride to come out. And who cares that half the guests aren't (obviously) Jewish and some of the ladies are dressed like ladies of the night and some if the men wouldn't know what a yarmulke was if it bit them. Who cares. And I see a lesbian couple here too. But it's a Jewish wedding.
A Jewish wedding. A Jewish couple.
The bride - a grandchild of Holocaust survivors. Their first grandchild whose wedding they have - the only word for it - achieved. Thank G-d.
And thank G-d for Chabad rabbis who , while being sensitive to the vibe of their largely not-very-religious congregation and while cracking jokes with the groom under the chuppah, insist on 100% kosher observances of all the holy laws of marriage. For I have seen too many chuppahs where the rabbi seemed to be pandering to the silliness of some couples rather than giving them much-needed direction and instruction.
Please G-d that the next generation should have such a wedding. I'm not sure of the chances but we can always hope.
I'm going to dance now. It's a real simcha, thank G-d.

DEAR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC EDITOR:

I always look forward to receiving National Geographic magazine, to which I have been a subscriber for 30 years. It is one of the few magazines I allowed into the house when my children were small. But when NG starts up with anything related to the Middle East, you can be sure that Israel will be getting a bashing. There were several articles in the past year or two that had my blood boiling, one on the separation fence, which basically accused Israel of creating a prison camp in Gaza and the West Bank (how I hate that term, it's Yehuda-Shomron, or Judea and Samaria; it's the biblical Jewish heartland, not the West Bank of the Jordan river. Let's call Jordan the East Bank then.) The other even more heinous article was in The Water Issue, again, accusing the Israelis of shutting off water to the Palestinians while they frolic in their swimming pools. Truly appalling 'journalism'. With great photos of course.

Anyway, I had to say something about this piece on the Gaza smuggling tunnels, but I know this letter is far too long to get published, I mean, where would they even start to edit? But I had to say something. So I thought I would share what I wrote. Of course I could have gone on for pages, I had a chunk about the 'Peace Flotilla' which was also mentioned in the article, but I had to stop somewhere. I regret not having the techspertise to actually publish the original article. Maybe check out NG's website.

Editor:

In the December 2012 issue of NG, there was, nestled between an article on Redwoods and another on Birds of Paradise, a piece on the Gaza smuggling tunnels. It is not the first time that NG has written about issues relating to the Israel-Arab conflict, and I do concede, this one wasn’t was as blatantly anti-Israel as some have been in the past (Separation fence and Water issue for example). So I am grateful for small things.

No doubt the regular Gazans have a terrible time of it, but it isn’t because the bad old Israelis are so mean to them. It is largely because Hamas, for whom the Palestinians voted in a travesty of an election, demolished the feeble democratoid structure that voted them in and established a theocratic terrorist state. Its charter quotes Koranic Hadiths in support of its goal, which is the destruction of Israel; anyone who bothers can read this charter. When the Israelis withdrew from Gaza, leaving their successful greenhouses fully operational along with international money to train the Arabs on how to maintain and profit from them, the first thing that the Arabs did, after destroying synagogues, was to loot and destroy the greenhouses. The article makes mention of ’abandoned Israeli settlements…their greenhouses lying in tatters’, but it doesn’t say who trashed them.

Only a careful, almost forensic reading yields any information as to why the Gazans are closed off in their ‘prison camp’ and why Israel and Egypt blockade Gaza. Only a cursory mention is made of the thousands of rockets which are sent into southern Israel’s towns on an almost daily basis, staunched temporarily by IDF actions such as Cast Lead and recently, Pillar of Defence. In between these 2 actions, Iran managed to supply Hamas, a proxy, with longer range missiles to bombard Israeli population centres, including Ashkelon, Ashdod and even Tel Aviv. How are these missiles getting into Gaza? Through the porous Egyptian border. Now that the Muslim Brotherhood has hijacked the Egyptian  ‘Arab Spring’ and Morsi has grabbed autocratic power, it remains to be seen how Egypt and Gaza will relate to each other. When Morsi, ludicrously, was appointed as mediator between Hamas and Israel in the ceasefire after Pillar of Defence, he solemnly swore to seal the border to weaponry into Gaza; then he took power and who knows what will be. Nothing good for Israel, I’m sure.

Another thing not mentioned is the tons of humanitarian aid which Israel sends in, and the water, and the fuel, and the electricity wired in from Ashkelon; yes, the same Ashkelon upon which missiles from Gaza rained in the past conflicts.

So why the aid? Because Israel keeps saying that its war is with Hamas, not the Palestinian people, however they can tell them apart. So why the tunnels? Because the Hamas kleptocracy commandeers the supplies. And because Israel is leery of sending in supplies which can be used for non-peaceful purposes. But it is Israel who ‘makes it extremely difficult and expensive for the UNRWA…-the source of life and livelihood for thousands of the 1.6 million Gazans- to import basic materials for rebuilding…’ UNWRA, the only ‘refugee relief’ agency which has not ever tried to solve the Palestinian ‘refugee problem’ but fosters it from generation to generation and pours international money into the coffers of the kleptocrats of both Hamas and Fatah. Every Palestinian would be a millionaire if the money hadn’t been squirreled away into Swiss bank accounts by Arafat and his cronies, Abbas included.  But that’s Israel’s fault too.

And that ‘a handful [!] of rockets are launched by young militants hired by local merchants whose profits would decline if Israel’s closure were further relaxed’ is not just ‘hideous enough to be believable’, it is an example of the mindset of the Arabs who are only too happy to terrorize Israeli families in the Negev even for no profit. And then when Israel finally retaliates, it is told to practice restraint, and that air strikes are ‘disproportionate’, while Hamas exults in the killing of not only Jews, but Gaza’s own citizens who are used as human shields by Hamas. Higher Gazan body counts equals more world disapproval of Israel. A double bind for Israel. 

When NG tries to take the complicated situation of the Arabs and Israelis and turn it into a piece of photo-journalism with a few sad human interest stories and half a background, it does itself a disservice. Really, stick to the trees and the birds and the mammoths and the mummies. Those articles are truly educational and enjoyable.

FORM-FILLING AND OTHER CURSES

I recently agreed to be part of a study of patients who had undergone laparascopic gastric banding, ie Lap-banding, for the treatment of obesity. I had the band in 2006 and lost 30kg (read previous post) but had review surgery in August this year because I was having terrible trouble with reflux. So now the reflux is cured, praise the Lord, but I have yet to lose any more weight, so I am having serial adjustments until we hit the ‘sweet spot’ where there is the balance between hunger and satiety, between food slipping down too easily and some sort of restriction which acts as a behaviour-modifier. Interestingly, the experience is quite different the second time around, partly I guess because I know more what to expect. But an odd thing has happened to me; I have developed what looks (and sounds) like IBS. Sure, in the past I might have had a bit of a wind problem, but nothing painful, no bloating etc. Now, OMG, some days I can’t be in the same room with anybody. I now understand those women who have babies without knowing they are pregnant, because they think that the baby’s kicking is ‘wind’. Well, I have that sort of wind now. If I didn’t know I wasn’t pregnant, I would wonder.

It’s as if I have suddenly become intolerant of fructose or lactose or everything with an –ose at the end, or who knows.  Whonose. G-dnose. (But no reflux, so I can sleep at night even though we have to keep the windows open.) Plus all sorts of shenanigans with bowels which I won’t bore you with.

Apparently, according to the GP who looks after me in the Centre for Bariatric Surgery in Glen Iris, this is not rare and should settle. But nobody seems to understand why this happens. We agreed that I should keep a food diary and maybe we can pinpoint the cause. She suggested MyFitnessPal app. This just looks at calories really, so not quite what I need, but I downloaded the app and have rediscovered that I am crap at food diaries, no matter how they are presented. And it’s easier with pencil and paper. Duh.

But all food diaries, provided one fills them in honestly, and that is a BIG if, are pretty confronting.

Before I had the band I had a whole training diary which I got from my personal trainer, and I was so stringent with everything I ate, drank and exercised, and I thought I was pretty good. I looked at the pages recently and I was shocked at how much I was eating. I eat a fraction of that now. Really, no wonder I’m such a fatty, without the restriction of the band and the fact that it does take away your hunger, I could eat infinitely. So I am eating a lot less than I used to, but it’s far from ideal. FAR, FAR from ideal. I do tend to eat –not to put too fine a point on it- crap. And now the question is, am I really intolerant of FODMAPS, or is this just a transient phase and will I just wait it out? I’m flying out in a few days so that will sure be a testing time. Is there anything worse for everybody concerned, than excessive gas on an airplane?

Meanwhile, I received a questionnaire in the mail from a researcher in the Bariatric Centre and it went on for pages and pages of multiple choice questions about physical and mental well-being. And they actually did ask about excessive wind, so maybe this really is a common problem after surgery.

The mental stuff was interesting because it was like ‘I have felt sad for no reason- never, hardly ever, sometimes, all the time’ in the last 2 weeks/4 weeks whatever, or ‘I have felt panicky and anxious’ or ‘I have felt like killing myself’ etc and the way they phrased it all, I just ticked never/never/never etc until I could see at the end that I scored zero. Which, in my experience, usually means that the client filling these forms out is in denial. So I went over it and I really didn’t change anything. I must be the happiest person around, which surprises me. But then, they weren’t asking have you EVER been sad etc for no reason, they were asking about the last 2 weeks. So I am delighted to say that, at least for the last 2 weeks, I have indeed been the happiest person around.

Oh yes, the ‘for no reason’ bit. Well, I have been completely pissed off FOR VERY GOOD REASON, several times in the past 2 weeks. For example, I was in despair when Julia Gillard bowed to the Greens and lost all moral authority, allowing Australia’s abstention vote on Nov 29 on upgrading ‘Palestine’ to observer status in the UN. And I was enraged to the point of ignition when Bob Carr called the Israeli ambassador, Yuval Rotem, for a dressing-down concerning Israel’s decision to build more homes in the E1 ‘settlement’ area (12km square, I believe, adjacent to Ma’alei Adumim, and anyone who calls that a ‘settlement’ hasn’t seen it). I didn’t see Carr call in the Syrian ambassador to express concerns about Assad mobilizing chemical weaponry to be used, I’m only guessing here, against his own citizens. Nor did I see any mention of calling the Egyptian ambassador to ask hard questions about Morsi’s self–empowerment and complete destruction of any nascent democratic process in Egypt. And no sirree, Carr had no desire to quiz the Iranian ambassador about obvious lies to the world about nuclear aspirations, threatening genocide and Holocaust denial. But give a Jew a hammer and a fistful of nails, and World Peace is threatened.

So that all made me pretty unhappy. But apart from the feeling that Armageddon is getting closer, I am officially a happy person.

Maybe there are worse things than a rogue fart.

GRANDCHILDREN: A time to sook, a time to be strong.

Yesterday I picked up my eldest grandchild from her ballet class. She is 7 and she is about to be in her first concert with her class of 8 little girls. She wasn’t quite finished when I came and she invited me in to watch her rehearsal.

She is tall and lean and leggy, and she has been learning ballet for only a few months, but she really looks the part with the white leotard and pink slippers and little crossover cardy. I don’t think that I will spoil anything by telling you that her dance is to ‘I want to be where the people are’ from The Little Mermaid, and she isn’t Ariel. She was tippy-toeing and wafting her arms around in the chorus and doing little jumps and knee bends (we used to call them petits jetes and plies and porte-de-bras, but I guess they don’t anymore) and I did what I usually do every time I see little kids trying so hard to do things that the teacher wants; I cried. I am such a sook, and anyone who knows me will think I am making this all up. After all, my own kids used to call me Mr Spock, for my lack of emotional demonstrativeness and my tendency to intellectualize away everything. And the other thing I used to do, which I deeply regret, was to be critical. I always felt that it was dishonest to gush over every little thing and that it would be more instructive for the child to know that, say, the piano playing wasn’t that great and it wouldn’t be great unless more practice was going to happen. Or the toe wasn’t pointed properly and the arms were a bit stiff. Here, do it like this! (I did ballet and tap for 6 years, from age 6-12, even though I was a heifer. RAD training, exams and medals and everything. But then I really was too fat and embarrassed to continue. Yet your body never forgets.) What I should have done was realized that my kids, in fact, most kids, are unlikely to actually become ballerinas or concert pianists, and they should just enjoy what they were doing, and I should stop trying to live my thwarted dreams through them and just praise, praise, praise. But even back then, put me in the audience and put a bunch of little kids on stage and get me the Kleenex box.

So the ballet chorus comprised little girls of different heights and sizes and abilities, and they all looked like little pure angels, and they were enjoying themselves, and I was sniffling away trying not to look like an idiot- this whole thing took not more than 5 minutes- and I got a bit of a quizzical look from my granddaughter. But she took it all in her stride and we went home and that was that.

Today I accompanied my daughter with her new baby to have his 6-week-old immunizations. He is Baruch HaShem, a lovely plump baby with beautiful smooth olive skin and dark eyes, and he is just starting to smile and coo; he is, in short, adorable.  Sure, he kvetches a bit and burps and farts like a navvy, but that’s to be expected.

I preface the next comments with a statement of the fact that I am strongly pro-vaccination. I have engaged in many an argument about vaccination and all I know is that I won’t change the mind of anyone who is strongly on the other side of the fence; maybe I have encouraged a few of those mums who are sitting on said fence to have their children immunized. Most vaccines are so effective that we have forgotten why we use them, because we just don’t see tetanus, diphtheria and polio anymore. We don’t see much measles or mumps, either the misery of the diseases or, more important, the complications and post-infective syndromes, such as encephalitis or sterility. We hardly see epiglottitis due to Hemophilus anymore, and that was a shocker. We don’t see many rubella-affected newborns, and the disaster that this is. I don’t intend to list every vaccine-preventable disease here. Yes, some vaccines are better and some are worse. Better approaches to pertussis immunization of carers means fewer unimmunized newborns are dying of whooping cough. 

Anyway, I’m not on a crusade here, that’s not what I’m writing about. I’m writing about how I wanted to grab the baby and run. And how the sight of the needle sinking into the plump little thigh and the absolutely affronted protest from the baby- twice! 2 jabs!- made me want to leap the vaccine fence and head for the hills. But I didn’t. He cried for a few seconds, had a bit of a breastfeed and fell asleep. He is fine. He will be fine, please G-d. He has been through worse, when he had his Brit Milah, and I am NOT NOT NOT going to get into any fights about that with anyone, not today, not tomorrow and not again. He is a beautiful Jewish baby and he will not die of tetanus or diphtheria or polio or any of these nasties. This is a lesson in the way of the world; there is Chessed- love, kindness- and there is Gevurah- strength, boundaries, discipline. It’s a balance. Through the Gevurah of the needle, he has the Chessed of the blessing of good health. That’s how I see it. You can choose to disagree.

So I got teary at a ballet concert rehearsal and I had a subdued panic attack at the doctor. This grandparenting caper ain’t for sissies.

CHANUKAH, OH CHANUKAH- Revisited

A year ago I was kicked off a website called Kveller, for sounding off against Reform Judaism for muddying the issue of Jewish identity. It's a theme which I tend to go on about, I must confess. Kveller is a good website; it's about Jewish parenting and there are many contributing bloggers who write about diverse topics (I was Resident Bubbeh and people wrote in to ask me questions. When I wrote my rant, I was not in Bubbeh persona, I was just a commenter in a thread, but unfortunately I was not incognito so bye-bye Bubbeh. Anyway.) But there is this thing at Chanukah time on Kveller, now too,  (see for yourself <www.kveller.com>) about presents, presents and presents, for everybody, not just kids; for Mom and Dad and Bubbie and Zeidy and brother and sister and aunt and uncle and OMG it never ended, and I respectfully submitted the following article which didn't get published; and then I was ejected from the Kveller family. And then I became Doctor Booba who can say whatever she wants and doesn't need to tippy-toe quite as much as Bubbeh had to.
So this is the piece. I'm trying to say that Chanukah is NOT about presents, dammit! It's a celebration of Jewish identity and pride.

CHANUKAH, OH CHANUKAH

I love this time of year. I love Chanukah; I confess, I also like that I live in a secular, loosely constitutionally Christian country (Australia) where we are allowed to practice our customs in public, and happy festive non-Jews and Jews celebrate their customs without fear of punishment. It wasn't always like this, I am sure you know.

Chanukah seems to be about presents and parties, eating yummy fried foods, singing, playing dreidel and lighting the candles in the Chanukiah, the 8 + 1 branched menorah. What does it all mean?

How can you understand the meaning of anything without knowing some history? And boy, do we Jews have history. So here's a little bit; please bear with me!

Chanukah, like Purim, is a post-biblical holiday, unlike Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh haShana, Yom Kippur and Succot. These were all mentioned in the Torah, the 5 Books of Moses; but Purim took place in the era between the 2 Holy Temples, around 4th Century BCE, in Persia; and Chanukah in the 2nd century BCE. The Biblical, ie 'Heavy' sort of holydays, have a lot of do's and do-not's and can be pretty solemn at least some of the time. The other two are 'lighter', with fewer restrictions and prohibitions, and so they are often thought of as being less important. But in fact, these festivals 'speak' to us sometimes even more powerfully; not just because they are more fun! But because they celebrate and commemorate in a more immediate way, the same sort of trials which we face today.

In Purim, a Persian vizier, Haman, sought to annihilate the Jews, 'Man, woman, and child'. And today, a Persian leader, Ahmedinajad, wants to do the same thing; and in between, there have been plenty more 'Hamans'.

Chanukah is different; the bad guy Antiochus IV 'Epiphanes', a Seleucid (Syrian by geography, Greek by culture) sought to stamp out the practices of the Jews. He managed to kill a lot of people, including Chana and her 7 sons, but the idea was not to kill everyone, like Haman; it was to kill the Jewish identity. Jews could live, as long as they acted Greek- a spiritual death. So no holydays, no circumcision, no dietary laws, and no worship of the One G-d, HaShem; those who refused to 'Hellenize' were tortured and killed. Many did, in fact embrace Hellenism - worshipping strange gods, worshipping the body, adoring Reason, Intellect, Logic, Philosophy, Beauty; and following the practices du jour.

But Antiochus pushed too far when he insisted that a pig be sacrificed in the Temple. The Cohen Gadol, Matisyahu, refused; and when another Jew offered to do the deed himself, Matt killed him in fury and started the Maccabean revolt with the cry 'Mi LeHaShem, alai!' - whoever is for G-d, to me! (sounds better in Hebrew as a rallying cry.) His sons, the most famous being Yehuda, known as Maccabee, meaning 'the Hammer', led a small army which then defeated the large Seleucid/Greek army. A miracle! And then they sought to rededicate the Temple (Chanukah means Dedication), lighting the 7 branch Menorah with pure olive oil. A small sealed jug of oil was found- another miracle!- enough fuel for a day. But it burned for 8 days -yet another miracle!- which was enough time to make fresh, pure olive oil. And why the 25th of Kislev? Because that's when the fighting stopped; Chanu-Kah also means 'they rested on the 25th.'

SO. That's why:

1) 8 day festival starting on the 25th of Kislev.

2) Accent on lighting a candelabra commonly called a 'menorah', but really, the Menorah had 7 branches, and was in the Temple. What we light is 9 branched, a Chanukiah; 8 lights, one for each day, and the 9th for the Shamash, the candle that 'serves' by lighting the other candles or oil lamps, and by giving light which we can read by etc, unlike the other 8 lights which are not to be used for anything other than commemoration. THIS is the real heart of the festival, and there are rules and regulations about the blessings etc. We are celebrating the miracle of the oil, not the military victory. We sing special songs after lighting; I guess singing always makes things more special.

3) Fried foods! Latkes or doughnuts, the oil reminding us of the miracle of the oil.

What about the games? Different reasons are given, but one is that the Jewish kids would get together and learn Torah, but if a Greek soldier discovered them, they would pretend that they had just been playing with the Dreidel, a gambling game; that was OK. The dreidel is no holy artefact, but it is a tradition to play Dreidel for nuts or chocolate money; and by extension, many people have games nights with other board games; not so much real gambling with cards etc but I've heard of it. (Feh!)

And parties? Apparently after the initial Chanukah, there was an annual feast and party given by the High Priest/ leader.

And what about the presents?

The really traditional present is actually money, 'Chanukah gelt'. This originated from a Talmudic custom of going from door to door to ask for money to buy oil/candles for lighting as even the poorest Jew was supposed to light candles. So today we give money gifts to children for Chanukah. So if they are given chocolate money, they are not really getting anything of value; so we give them a gift that they will appreciate, a toy etc.

The whole lavish gift exchange thing is actually thought to be a result of Jews living among Christians and taking on the customs so that Jewish children wouldn't feel left out. This started as recently as the 1950's in the US. Christmas envy? I don't know. 

Chanukah celebrates and commemorates the spiritual deliverance of the Jews; Purim celebrates the physical deliverance of the Jews.

These are not at all trivial festivals, and it is only through lack of education that Jews can be a bit dismissive of them. They're not just for kids; there is a powerful message for us all today, about pride, about identity. Hellenism is alive and well today: the worship of strange gods- money and power: the worship of the body- 'nuff said; the adoration of Reason, Intellect, Logic, Philosophy, Beauty; and following the practices du jour. Not much difference, apart from the absence of a murderous tyrant (although Stalin would have fit that bill not so long ago). And the threat is as real; spiritual death for the Jew.

So many of us are like little lost children, unclear of our identities, ignorant of our customs and history. Education has to be the way to remedy this and give us a future as Jews. That, and having fun, too! 
'They tried to kill us, we won, let's eat!' Latkes, anyone?

NOT-SO-SUPERHEROES

Ever since the Golem of Prague, we hunger after a superhero who can vanquish our enemies with his super-human strength and then, when we don’t need him any more, go back into his box and not bother us until we call him. Superman in his Fortress of Solitude. Batman in his Batcave. All with the secret identities that can be shed instantly to save us. We love them, all the Avengers and the X-Men, the Marvel and DC pantheon, in comic books and in the movies, with their troubles and all, as long as they can save us when we need saving. Which is most of the time.

But the non-super hero, he goes way back further than that.

What is a hero?

"In mythology and legend, a man or woman, often of divine ancestry, who is endowed with great courage and strength, celebrated for his or her bold exploits, and favored by the gods." (mythweb.com). Every culture has a version.

In everyday use, more like a person who does something dangerous to help somebody else.

Enter the Anti-hero. The Anti-hero is not a villain. He is a literary device. He is a protagonist who lacks the usual heroic qualities of courage and idealism. So he can be vengeful or mercenary or a nutter but still do good things. Or maybe not do good things. Or mean to do good things, but it’s not so clear why. Batman. Don Quixote. Inigo Montoya (from The Princess Bride, for the 2 of you out there who don’t know.) Neo (but he’s more complicated because he’s not just a slacker-turned-hero, he’s The Chosen One. That taps into a whole other Messianic thing). Most modern heroes really have a bit of the anti-hero in them, because that’s the way we like it. Complex. Dark Side etc etc. Or he’s just a regular, imperfect dude thrust into a difficult situation, kicking the villain’s ass and saving the good folks. John McClane. Han Solo. Luke Skywalker, for that matter. Rooster Cogburn.

So what is James Bond? A drinker. A womanizer. An assassin. So why do we love him? 50 years of cinematic Bond, but the Bond of Ian Fleming’s novels well pre-date even that, and we loved them too. Bond has all the hallmarks of the Anti-hero; BUT he gets the job done, vanquishes the usually extravagantly villainous villain, risking life and limb, all for Queen and Country. So he has ideals, but he is essentially a low-life. It’s all rather confusing. Of course, I love Bond, and I think Daniel Craig is the last word in Bond. I don’t miss the slightly camp Roger Moore, although I liked the rather arch Pierce Brosnan. Timothy Dalton was a bit too angsty and George Lazenby was a shtick holtz. But Sean Connery…Oh, Sean, Sean, you sexy, hairy Scot, Sean was the greatest…until Daniel Craig, who looks like a cold-eyed blond British bastard, which fits the bill nicely. And of course, great supporting actors like Judi Dench and Ralph Fiennes don’t hurt either. And Javier Bardem; superb villain, one of the best ever.

Who else is out there? Jason Bourne. Well he was a screwed-up assassin with a military background (check: patriot) who only wanted to find out who he was (check: confused) and it turned out that the bad guys were home-grown, but he does a lot of ass-kicking and saves the girl/USA. So a hero. But a really really violent one. And now there’s a ‘Legacy’ so who knows how long that franchise will go on for? Jeremy Renner is great but the action is so extreme, he’ll wear out faster.

Ethan Hunt. Before Tom Cruise, who is a nutcase megalomaniac yet manages to be appealing and very watchable on screen, the IMF (Impossible Missions Force, not International Monetary Fund, though they both undertake impossible missions) comprised a team where everybody got a chance to do heroic things in their own way, but Tom turned it into more of a one-man-band with some appendages for humorous relief. But I won’t lie, I enjoyed all of the absurdity. Yet, Hunt could in no way challenge Bond, because he is Tom Cruise now. The role can’t transcend the actor in the same way.

And now Tom thinks that he can be Jack Reacher. Lee Child’s Reacher is a true fictional hero. He hates bullies and he will always fight for the underdog, just on principle, with no thought of himself. He owns nothing but a toothbrush and wears clothes for 3 days, then discards them and buys a new set, so no laundry, no (physical) baggage.  He pays cash. He hitches rides or takes buses randomly, though lately he has been trying to get to Virginia to visit a woman to whom he has only spoken on the phone, and that’s how he meets people and gets into action as needed, helping the innocent victim, kicking the villain’s ass etc. Then he leaves, hitching the next ride. There’s an element of superhero-ness about him and his uncanny sense of time and his ability to deduce anything from zero evidence, but that’s OK. And he’s an expert marksman, and that’s cool too. And he can explode into action when it’s needed. But he is always described as an enormous man, 6’5”, ex-military cop (and they are always big and imposing so as to break up fights and stuff just by showing up), ex-Special Investigations Unit, big hands, hulking figure, gorilla-like etc. So Tom, what are you thinking? With respect, dude, you are what, 5’7”? 130lbs maybe, in a wet overcoat? Sure, you have the moves, but…I’ll have to go see. He’ll probably just be Tom Cruise. I’ll probably like it anyway.

So we like our heroes to be heroic and we forgive them their imperfections. And then we close the book or leave the cinema or put the Golem back in the box and go on our way. Until the next outing.

Bond. James Bond. Long may he live to vanquish those who threaten Her Majesty and the Free World.

BEHOLD THE BEACH BABE- NOT

There comes a time in the course of human events when it becomes necessary to chuck out the chlorine-eaten, faded and near-transparent swimsuit and go shopping for a new one.

Sisters, is there anything more traumatic in the world of clothes shopping than seeking new bathers? Seriously, is there ever a time that we are more confronted by the disasters that have befallen our figures? The extra chocolate bonbon. The decision not to take a post-prandial walk in the evenings. The gym membership, unused. The 6 pregnancies, the last 2 when over 30 and your body just doesn’t kind of bounce back, if it ever did before. The passage of time. The assault of gravity.

In the past few years I have found what I needed for swimming and water aerobics in good old Target; a simple, black maillot, or, not to be fancy, one piece swimsuit. Easy peasy. But this year the buyer must have been replaced by a pretentious cokehead, because they have forgotten who actually shops at Target. 20-year-old svelte models? No. Who shops at Target if not middle-aged, middle-class Aussies with big middles? Who needs bikinis and tankinis and other aberrations? So I was disappointed by Target.

Soon after, I found myself in Rebel Sport, only because I was there with a daughter, and knowing I was setting myself up for failure, I chose a few one-piece Speedo suits to try. Now, here’s where the manufacturers really don’t get it. I took size 16, because that is actually my size, but what I found I was trying on was size 8, kind of scaled up a few inches here and there, but completely missing the point, which is that size 16 women have BOOBS. And a BUTT.  And we don’t want to expose either. And we want them to be supported. And the sales girl didn’t care.

Onward! I couldn’t quit, I was too embarrassed to wear the old swimsuit. I had to find something! So to Swimwear Galore, which is where I should have gone in the first place. They really do carry a lot of stock and, more important, the sales assistants are WILLING TO HELP. Do you hear that? Not little snots who are thinking of their next smoking break or the hot date that night, but good-natured, smiling HELPFUL staff.

The first armload of swimsuits was disappointing though, and had me sounding like a madwoman, muttering audibly in my little cubicle about buttfloss and boobs plastered down or popping out yada yada. So when the assistant asked so chirpily how that went, I was very grumpy. And she looked so sad to have disappointed me, I had to apologise. And then we looked at the racks again. One piece. Chlorine resistant. For actual swimming, not for lounging. Some ort of bra, but no underwire. No miracle suits. No wardrobe malfunctions. She found me more to try on, saying that these suits were more…she groped for the word. Supportive? Opaque? Comfortable?  No… MODEST! That’s the word. Hallelujah! That’s what I want! Coverage!

And so it was. A swimsuit model I never was and never will be, but these bathers are Good Enough and they do the job and I look OK. And I had a lovely swim yesterday and today.

They say that retail in Australia is dying, that the stores are in trouble, that people are choosing to shop on-line rather than in stores. Well, that won’t stop happening; but take heed, retailers! If your SALES ASSISTANTS actually ASSIST the customer, you will make more SALES. And if you lose track of your demographic, you will stock your store with things that people don’t want. Don’t blame the internet, pals, blame yourselves.

OH NO, NOT AGAIN.

As I write this, there is talk of a ceasefire and a halt to the IDF ground incursion into the nest of murderous jihadists Gaza. Part of me is relieved and part is angry and frustrated. Part of me wants the IDF to get in there and just end it, just stamp out the terrorists who fire rockets so incessantly into Israel that it’s not even newsworthy in Israel (unless you live in Sderot and your children have been turned into bed-wetting nervous wrecks who are afraid to leave the bomb shelter), let alone the rest of the world. But the rational part of me knows that it will never end. All we can hope for is a few years rocket-free before it starts again. Some breathing space.

For while the peace-loving, democratically elected Egyptian prime minister, who is mediating a deal between Hamas and Israel, is solemnly promising that no further war materiel will enter Gaza through the Egyptian border (Hey, Mohammed! Abdullah! Open up the smuggling tunnels! You’re back in business, dudes!) we know that there will be more dickheads on ‘peace flotillas’ who will attempt to break the sea and air blockades of Gaza, and more international condemnation of Israel for corralling the poor Gazans and yada yada ad nauseam.

And Israel keeps sending in humanitarian aid into Gaza. During war. This stuff is instantly commandeered by Hamas, of course. So in effect, Israel is supplying its own enemies who are unapologetically and openly pledged to the destruction of Israel, sorry, the Zionist entity. (Can’t call it ‘Israel’ because that would acknowledge that it was a sovereign state, and Hamas can’t do that.) So Israel is feeding the hand that bites it, if that is a phrase, and nobody thinks that this is bizarre.

We keep hearing how the IDF is not at war with the Palestinian civilians, but with Gaza. Hence the humanitarian aid. And part of me is proud of Israel’s honorable stance, but most of me is annoyed.

An Arab journalist, Khaled Abu Toameh, has something to say about this.

http://www.icjs-online.org/index.php?article=4272#.UKvzUhxjICU.facebook

Hamas was democratically elected. So was Hitler. Once in power, Hamas destroyed the democratic apparatus that voted them into power- as if such an election was really anything like what we call democracy anyway. These places will never have, nor do they want, our version of a free democratic secular society. They only know how to run a fear society. According to Natan Sharansky, who knows a thing or two about this, having been a prisoner of the Soviet system for some years, it is easy to tell a ‘free’ from a ‘fear’ society. Just stand in the market place and loudly condemn the Leader. If it’s a free society, nobody will take any notice. If it’s not, well, the police will be knocking on your door at 2am and you will be taken away.

So I understand that most Gazans, and most Egyptians and most Iranians and most people living in these societies would like nothing better than to live in freedom, but fear for their lives and the lives of their families; and it is only the minority of extremists who bay for blood and send in bombers and rockets etc. But it is worth remembering that it was only a minority of Germans who were Nazis. There were never more than a few thousand members of the Nazi Party, and a few thousand more sympathizers, maybe, out of millions of Germans, who just wanted to live their lives; but that didn’t stop Hitler and his henchmen from carrying out the worst atrocities in history. Unfortunately, the innocent are collateral damage in war, all war. I guess the Yanks could nuke Hiroshima and Nagasaki and napalm the Vietnamese, and the Brits could firebomb Dresden to ash and rubble, but the IDF dare not harm a hair on a civilian, or the combined wrath of the West will come down on them. I’m not advocating genocidal total warfare, I’m just pissed at the lies and accusations leveled against the IDF by western journalists and UN representatives and anti-Zionist activists, when the IDF is the most moral army in the world, putting its own soldiers at risk in order to save Arab civilians, some of whom end up being hostiles anyway. I’m thinking of Jenin here. But it still goes on.

And you cannot imagine how enraged I am when Western journalists toss off phrases like ‘cycle of violence’, again, in today’s Australian by John Lyons, ME correspondent. It isn’t a bloody cycle. It’s the Arabs trying to kill the Jews and the Jews defending themselves. I’m also sick of these leaders and statesmen urging Israel to have ‘restraint’ and not to retaliate ‘disproportionately’. It isn’t tit-for-tat and it isn’t a game. It is Israel under constant threat from hostile neighbors and under existential threat from Iran and its proxies, Hamas and Hezbollah. It is Israel, a democratic, free society, the only one in the Middle East, asserting its legitimate right to live in peace and security.

I haven’t finished on this whole subject, not by a long shot, but I have other things I need to be doing, so I have to stop.

I pray for peace, I pray that this conflict will be resolved without further loss of life, but I fear that the implacable hatred of Hamas will never end and can never suddenly blossom into peace and love for Israel and the Jews. We need Moshiach, and soon.

Yisrael batach beHashem, ezrom uMaginam hu. Israel trusts in Gd who is her help and shield.

Am Yisrael Chai.

TIME WILL TELL- WHAT?

It’s been a busy week, for a change.

Firstly, my birthday, whence collided my Hebrew and English dates, my age being a multiple of 19 (I really don’t get that, but it seems to work). So no, I’m not 38!! Haha! I’m 57. I have to look at that a few more times just so I can get my head around it.  57. It used to represent Heinz’s 57 varieties of something, and now it’s my age.

Then, the day after my birthday, my lower back suddenly started to hurt. I might have sneezed or something and suddenly, awful pain. I’m happy to report that it settled with some anti-inflammatories and stretching, oh, who am I kidding, just luck.

And then we had the race that stops a nation! I refer of course to the US presidential election. Or maybe to the Melbourne Cup horse race. Either way, it’s a bloody great gamble. I’m not going to discuss Obama’s victory because I’ll talk about how America has chosen suicide, and then somebody will say, but the Republicans are bad with women’s health and the issue of legal abortion, and then somebody will say yes, and the Dems will legalize same sex marriage and how that is such a good thing, and then somebody else will say that it’s a sin against G-d and we will all fry in hell, and yada yada yada. So Obama got in. Deal with it. I personally think that he has debased America in the eyes of the world and that his economic policies seem disastrous, and he is no friend of Israel, but, hey, what do I know.

And then, for Wednesday, Thursday and Friday after the Cup/US election, I did a medical refresher course which I have done most years since it began 35 years ago, where I hear all sorts of things about the latest medical treatments etc relevant to GP’s. It is very educational, and I always come away having learned new things, most of which I don’t put into practice, because although I am officially in General Practice, I actually only work with mothers and babies in the field of breastfeeding problems. Pretty niche practice. But I do want to keep my registration so I do all these courses etc to keep up points. Costs a fortune, all this registration stuff. On top of which I have to recertify as a lactation consultant every 5 years, which I just did.

Anyway, in this Update course, there are generally 2 types of speakers; specialists who discuss their fields and what is new and relevant to GPs, and GP academic types who might have their special interests but have managed to publish stuff or attain professorships in the College etc. Either way, I always feel that I have sort of failed to amount to anything professionally. Plus the fact that it always takes place on or around my birthday, always leaves me feeling this way. On top of that, I am now older than most of the speakers. And some years, you would not believe the beautiful young women who step up to the podium with a list of published articles as long as your arm and alphabet soup after their names who are associate professors of this and that, and they look like they could be models. This year, not so much, thank goodness, I was depressed enough already. What is the opposite of Schadenfreud? Is there a word for when other people’s success depresses you?

So I ponder, what can I do about this? I know how it happened; I had 7 kids and I have a husband who has a very busy career of his own, so although he is a good guy and all, it’s not as if he can put everything on hold while I chase the dream. I have to be the woman who is behind the successful man, right? Corporate wife and all. Entertain and stuff.

Now the kids are grown and the pressures are different, but they are still there, and so are the grandchildren whom I never feel as if I have done enough for.

So I know that my little practice in my mickey-mouse sort of field actually does help people, actually does make a difference; but there are times when I feel that ‘I coulda been a contender’ and now that chance is lost. Could I retrain as- what? Psychiatrist? That was the original ambition, but do I still want that? I don’t think I want to be even more involved with people than I am now, I think I’m already burning out. I’ve always loved the idea of Humanity but it’s people I have trouble with.

No, I think I have to strike out in another direction entirely and get my damn cookbook published. Doctor Booba Cooks! There’s a title. Hands up who would buy one! Really, it’s good, it’s the culmination of years of cooking for a family, lots of good tips, full of wisdom. No photos yet, that’s the next step. And finding a publisher.  Maybe before I turn 60. Oy.

THIS IS NOT A MOVIE CRITIQUE…

Last night I went to see a good movie, Argo. I recommend it, I would give it 4 stars if I were David Stratton. Maybe more.

It is ‘based on a true story’ ie, with some tweakings of real occurrences, which took place after the fall of the Shah of Iran, when the US embassy was stormed by Islamic Revolutionaries, students and militia, and the staff of the embassy was taken hostage. The IR were demanding that the US return the Shah to Iran for trial and execution. This occurred November 4, 1979. Six staff managed to get away and took refuge with the Canadian ambassador. The actual film story covers the hostage crisis as background and describes how these 6 were rescued in a hare-brained but ultimately successful mission. (Sorry to spoil it for you. Happy ending.)

It was directed by Ben Affleck who also stars in it, and I must say that Mr Affleck looks pretty good in the 70’s facial hairand hairstyle, but he always looks pretty good, hey? Turns out, he’s not just a pretty face (and the rest), he’s a decent director too.

The film makes excellent use of shaky-cam techniques especially in the frightening crowd scenes, conveying the chaos and the rage of the mob as well as the fear of the Americans. It’s taut and suspenseful and perfect in its re-creation of the time and places.

Alan Alda and John Goodman also have terrific character roles, all based on real people. Anyway, see it for yourself on the big screen, it’s worth it.

As the movie finished, and I prepared for the usual dash to the exit, I noticed that the credits were cleverly drawing parallels between the actors and the real people whom they represented as well as newspaper photos of the time recreated in the movie, so I stayed a bit longer, and then something most unexpected happened.

There was a voice-over by none other than Ex-President Jimmy Carter, essentially taking the credit for the subsequent rescue of the 52 embassy workers who were freed after 444 days in captivity in the embassy building in Tehran. (14 others, women and African-Americans, and one man who had developed MS while held, had been released earlier.) They were rescued and returned to the US, every one of them, ‘without a shot being fired.’

And I nearly choked. Never have I wished so much for Ronald Reagan to still be alive and fully compos mentis, so that he could refute this slimy truth-twister, because believe me it was not Carter, the failed President, who ultimately secured the rescue, it was Reagan. As soon as he was sworn in as President, the hostages were released, probably because the Iranians were punishing Carter for having harboured the Shah in the US where he was being treated at the Mayo Clinic for cancer. (He had died September 1980, 2 months earlier.) Oh yes, there was also a large transfer of gold bullion made to the Iranians. But then, the US also held on to Iranian assets in the USA. Tit for tat, negotiations and negotiations.

Horsetrading for the lives of US citizens.

The imprisonment was awful, as with most imprisonments, with little extra frills, like long stretches in solitary for some who dissed the Ayatollah, and pretend executions by firing squad, and being hooded and cuffed and stripped, all that fun stuff. Despite the claims of the Iranians that the hostages were being treated as ‘guests’. 444 days is a LONG time to be such a 'guest'.

Granted, Carter did try to mount a secret rescue in April 1980… SIX MONTHS into the crisis. It tanked mainly due to equipment failure and 8 US soldiers were killed.

The US has a long history of interference in Iran, having orchestrated regime change, kicking out a pro-Soviet elected leader in 1953, putting the Shah (whose father had not allowed Nazi Germany into Iran during WW2, thus helping the Allies to victory) into power and propping him up for decades while he was oppressing his people and living it up in the way of most despots. Carter had only good things to say about him; I suppose that was back in the day when the US actually supported the despots it put into power, not like today, hey Hosni?Saddam? Muammar? What a rats’ nest.

So the Shah was ‘a prick, but he’s our prick’ as they said in the movie. And the US had a long history of these sorts of overt and covert machinations and interferences in other countries’ governments. But until Carter and his dithering, right or wrong, the US had POWER.

Thanks to Carter and his administration, it suddenly became clear to the Ayatollah and his cronies that America, the Great Satan, was, to borrow a Maoist phrase, a paper tiger. Powerless.

I think you can lay a large part of the blame for what has become of Iran-US relations squarely at the feet of Jimmy Carter.

So Jimbo, spare me the self-serving movie voice-overs. It totally spoiled the experience for me.

And on a final note, look at today. A US ambassador and 3 staff murdered in Libya. US embassies stormed in Egypt, Yemen, Sudan, Tunisia. And what do Obama and his Secretary of State do? Apologize for a dumb film that upset the poor sensitive Muslims.

A paper tiger. In flames.

SIMPLY THE BEST…BUT IT’S NOT ALWAYS SIMPLE

I recently posted about my daughter’s birth experience and a reader wanted to know how I felt about breastfeeding. (Well, she said ‘nursing’, but here in Australia we call a spade a spade, and it’s breastfeeding, except when I get sick of writing ‘breastfeeding’ so I write ‘nursing’. OK?)

In my profile, I state that I am a lactation consultant and a doctor, and to flesh that out a little, I have been an LC for 25 years and an MD for 34. My career kind of took a hook turn and instead of completing my psychiatric training, I went and had a bunch of kids, so reality kind of bit me and I abandoned my hospital-based career. Instead I did some sessions in general practice between babies and then, after I had my 5^th, there was this new profession called Lactation Consulting. I was interested to learn more about this because I had always had trouble breastfeeding, usually with low supply being the problem, and there was not a lot of professional help around. There was the NMAA (Nursing Mothers’ Association of Australia, named when some people flinched at the word ‘breast’, and now renamed the ABA, Australian Breastfeeding Association) and they are nice people who do good things, but there was no real professionalism there, and no answers to my problems. So I was intrigued and I read up and passed the exam and have been working in this field, with a medical slant of course, for all these years.

SO. What do I think of breastfeeding? I think it is the best thing in the world. When it is going well. When it isn’t going well, however, it is the biggest nightmare. There isn’t much in between.

When I first started, it felt like a personal wound when a patient weaned, ie, quit breastfeeding. In the intervening years I have gained much wisdom and insight into the human condition and my attitude has shifted.

My aim as an LC is to help women who want to nurse their babies by giving them correct advice and helping them skill up and learn how to nurse, to correctly diagnose and appropriately manage the presenting problem, and to be sensitive to the BIG picture.

If I can see that things are not looking great and that too many things have gone wrong for too long, or if the mother really has done her all and is ‘over it’, then I say this to them:

‘I am not the Breastfeeding Fascist, and I do not believe that ALL babies MUST be breastfed at ANY cost.’

And it’s true. I share their disappointment, but you are not supposed to grind yourself into the ground and suffer and struggle for weeks and weeks and weeks in order to breastfeed. If you want to do that and have the strength to, I will help you; but sooner or later the problem either gets better or it doesn’t. And if it doesn’t, it’s time to wean. If mum feels that she has done whatever she can, then there is no room for guilt and she can move on. Better luck next time.

I have seen everything over the years, and there is no shortage of irony. There is ‘Could but Wouldn’t’ who has the milk but not the desire and the patience to see it through the first few difficult weeks, and ‘Would but Couldn’t’ who struggles and struggles with every problem under the sun until, heartbroken and disappointed, she must give in to the bottle of formula.

I have so much to say about this and any other topic related to the breastfeeding mother-infant pair, but there’s another thing I have learned over the years: NOBODY is interested in breastfeeding, unless it pertains directly to themselves, personally or professionally. Not OBs, not Pediatricians, not GPs, nobody. From time to time some woman is arrested for nursing a 5 year-old or something like that makes it into the news, and suddenly everyone has an opinion, usually negative, and everyone wants my opinion. Who cares about these freaky cases?  Or some prude complains abut women breastfeeding in public, as if the threat of a bit of boob showing while shoved in a baby’s mouth will destabilize civilization. Get over it. That’s all nonsense.

I don’t care about anything so newsworthy. I care about the thousands of women who want to breastfeed but are having problems, often brought on by poor management and ignorant health care professionals, or just plain bad luck. I care about the thousands of babies who are denied their birthright for inadequate reasons. But if breastfeeding doesn’t work, well, sometimes it just doesn’t work, and in the absence of available wet-nurses, it’s the bottle of formula, so the baby won’t starve.

A final comment: there has never been a time in the history of the world when all women could give birth safely with a guarantee of survival of the mother or the baby. Ditto, there has never been a time when all women could breastfeed successfully. Ancient Egyptian mummified infants have been found with feeding pots. We in the West need to be thankful that today most women survive childbirth and most babies survive infancy, including lactation failure. So we don’t have wet-nurses, officially anyway, but we have clean water and adequate formula, and the human organism is very robust. Thank goodness.

Please feel free to comment!

WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS CHILDBIRTH THING, ANYWAY?

My daughter gave birth 48 hours ago to her first child, a boy (3.825kg, that’s 8 ½ lbs in the old money, although, bleary as I was, I was saying 7 ½ - well, I had been up for most of the night, OK?) and she was a champion. She is committed to the ideal of natural birth, and, although we all know how the wheels can fall off the process and demand intervention, thank Gd she got what she wanted- natural, drug free, pretty short labour, healthy baby. Of course it was an eye-opener for her, because who can really anticipate how painful and primal the whole process is?

I am proud to say that not only was I there, but I was actually useful as a birth attendant. The OB offered me a job and I think he was half serious- and he was terrific too, so it’s a bit of a mutual admiration society. He has delivered 2 other grandchildren and he is a rare breed of OB- one who doesn’t do anything unless he has to, and who has an attitude of trusting the female body to generally get the job done with encouragement and support, rather than threats of dire consequences and ‘what-ifs’. So I was in the thick of it and didn’t have time to take photos, sorry.

But honestly, what a business. How ridiculous to think that this enormous passenger has to be pushed and squeezed and extruded from inside to outside through a narrow tunnel which has to stretch and often tear, accompanied by the worst pain the woman has ever experienced, as a rule. ‘Like kacking a watermelon’, as a friend of mine says. And there’s shit and pee and blood and amniotic fluid, and just when you think it’s all over, WHOA out comes the placenta. Please tell me what sort of evolutionary process got us this charming state of affairs? Or, if you will, what sort of punishment is this for listening to a snake and eating a damn piece of fruit off a lousy Tree of Knowledge 5773 years ago? And there could have been a better way!

Yes! I am from Australia, and I can see that there are 2 other options available here. Because here, we don’t just have the boring old placental mammals; we have marsupials and monotremes too.

So the monotremes, basically 2 animals, the echidna (an ant-eating simulacrum of a hedgehog in a parallel universe) and the platypus (an impossible river denizen with 4 webbed feet, fur, a beaver-like tail and a duck-like bill) lay eggs. Yes, a leathery sort of reptilian-looking egg out of which hatches a naked baby critter, called a puggle and just as cute as it sounds, which then locates milk-producing patches on its mother’s belly, which it then laps up while nestling close to her. This would be a good arrangement for humans, unless the egg was as big as the aforementioned watermelon, in which case, not.

Best of all options is the marsupial, I think. The joey (who thought of these names?) of the kangaroo, even the largest species, is about 3 cms long at birth. It exits the vagina or cloaca or whatever the kangaroo has after about a month of gestation, climbs up using its relatively well-developed forepaws, through the mother’s furry belly into the pouch, which takes about 3 minutes, attaches to a teat and stays there for 4-5 months, and then falls out of the pouch at about 6-10 months. That’s a birth! Of course it can come back in for some time after and can still suckle even if it has been evicted permanently, to make room for the next joey. Mum can even make 2 different kinds of milk, one for the new and one for the mature joey.

All marsupials do this, with variations on the theme. And I think, how much better is that? No pain, no blood, you can check on the baby whenever you want, even after the birth you can stuff the baby in in times of danger and run away, until it gets too big at least. This is what the Attachment Parenting types want, too! I guess a sling and a pouch are pretty similar.

But I digress; my beef is with the birthing process. And it’s not as if the new ‘improved’ versions in use today guarantee anything wonderful either. Compared with epidurals and vacuums and forceps and tears and cuts and caesarians- marsupials still rule.

I’ve had a word with G-d about it but She’s not listening, unfortunately, so I guess it’ll just be push push push, and that’s that. Bloody snake.