On Campbell Street
What is it do you think that makes some people complain more than others about their lot? Even if their lot were eminently better, than say, their neighbours? See, the thing about our lives is they can be so small in comparison to everything else. Small but not invaluable.
It’s because we don’t know everything that goes on behind closed doors. If we knew, do you think we’d act or behave differently? Like care more? Or help more? I lived on a street like that once, a street where people cared and helped for no other reason than the fact they knew what I was experiencing (everybody moves sometime in their lives). And in a city like this, such caring and helping had previously felt quite uncommon.
The day I moved in, my neighbour three doors down brought me a casserole, another brought me dessert. The next day, another one from an adjacent house brought me morning tea. Fresh-baked scones with strawberry jam and cream. This went on for two weeks while I was moving in and getting settled. Those women were God-sent. They were the pure essence of a neighbourhood community.
On Campbell Street we all lived through births, deaths and marriages. We celebrated, we laughed and cried together, we ate together and from time to time we misunderstood each other. But when the chips were down, we were all there for each other. That was the community spirit of Campbell Street.
These days I’m want to look for that same spirit wherever I go. The ‘sham (short for Petersham, where I live now ) sort of has that feel about it. It’s different though as it should be.
Over the years I’ve had pause to think that what Campbell Street had wasn’t so much community spirit as a common human spirit of goodwill toward each other. I do think there’s a difference though some might argue I was just splitting hairs. Nevermind.
There was a time here in this great city when elderly people were dying in their units and nobody knew until someone found them and by then, some of them had passed on weeks and sometimes even months before.
It’s a sad indictment against the rest of us for our lack of care or even concern that such events can occur at all don’t you think? But they’re strangers you say? But what about your aging parents or grand-parents? When was the last time you spoke to them? Enquired about their health and well-being.
It’s the hardest place in the world to start the ball rolling as far as care and concern goes, among our own. It’s because there’s a history there and sometimes that history is the woods that hides the tree. The last time I spoke to my Dad he was his usual mischievious self, ready wit and I could feel his smile down the phone line. I’ll just check again today. Peace and well-being to you all.
