What I Learned and What I Knew about my Nana

This is the eulogy I delivered at the funeral of Molly O’Brien, my Nana, on October 10, 2019.

I’m standing in front of you on behalf of Nana’s daughter Meg, my mum, and her son Stephen, my uncle, and my sister Rebecca.

The whole family is here to remember Nana’s passing, and it’s wonderful to see so many of you all here to remember her with them. But that’s no surprise: Nana had so many friends and was so close to her family. I’ve been living overseas for the past 30 years, but I still recognize so many people that were part of her life, including Auntie Helen who will be speaking after me.

I was chatting with Helen the other day and she said that one of the things about funerals is that it’s the time when you really learn about someone. And it’s true. Over the past few days I’ve been talking with people who knew Nana and sharing stories about her. I got details on some some things I already knew about her, and I learned some new things as well. And today, I wanted to spend a few minutes sharing them with you.

I learned a lot about Nana’s early life. I’d always thought she was born in Melbourne but in fact she was born here in Adelaide, in Hackney, and only moved to Melbourne at the age of 21 after her discharge from the Royal Australian Air Force after the war. That’s where she met her lifelong friend Coral, and two young fellas Stan and Ted. From what I could gather she had a fine old time in Melbourne doing things like going to parties with the likes of Squizzy Taylor. In 1959 she moved back to Adelaide, with husband Ted, and my 8-year-old Mum and 1-year-old Stephen tow. She moved back to take care of her own mother, who she looked after for more than a decade.

This was all before I was born — for most of my life, Nana was synonymous with Price, the fishing town on the Yorke Peninsula, where she moved to in 1973 after the death of Nana Cosgrove. She remained there through the passing of her husband, my grandfather Ted in 1979, until she moved back to Adelaide to stay with Mum in 2002.

In learning all of this, I also discovered just how humble she was. She was never shy, but she was always reluctant to talk herself up. I never knew until this week, for example, that she received medals for her time in the RAF. “They’re just participation trophies”, Stephen told me she said about them. She achieved so much in her life, and helped so many people, but was always reticent to give herself credit.

Because Nana was always there for you, and Nana never judged. It didn’t matter what your problem was, or what you’d done, she was always there to listen, and support, and even provide refuge if that’s what you needed. I’ve heard so many stories in the last few days from people that Nana had helped in times of need — myself included. I remember when I came home from England one time, and showed her a photo of my first boyfriend. This was news to her, but she was completely unflappable. The first thing she said was, “He looks nice. And I hope he’s nice to you”.

I always knew Nana was welcoming, but I don’t think I really knew how many people thought of her house in Price as a second home, the way I did. If you wanted to come over, and bring a friend, or two, or a dozen, she’d make up a bed for you and make you dinner or cook the fish or crab or rabbits or the quail that Stephen had caught. (Her rabbit stew in white sauce and parsley was my favourite.) Sometimes there’s be so many campers and tents set up in the back yard of her place in Price that you could barely see the lawn.

Even after she left Price and moved back in with Mum, she kept up her ways. She was always happy to make dinner, or do the ironing, until the very last years of her life. Rebecca told me she still wears her rugby shorts with pleats, because that’s the way Nana did it.

Nana loved being with people, and she loved to have fun. And as I was going through a box of photos of Nana with Mum the other day I also learned something new: she loved dressing up. The photos of Nana as a pastor, or as a circus clown, or as a hippy, or as Barry Humphries or in one particularly notorious episode, as a lady of the night were one thing. But all the stories that went with the photos, well, those were legendary … but if you weren’t there, you’ll have to ask for the details.

Nana loved adventure, too, even in her later life. There’s the time she went four-wheel driving in the Corner Country. She went parasailing in Bali. She went fishing on the Daly River and caught the biggest barramundi two years running. One of Mum’s favourite memories is Nana piloting this catamaran across the Great Barrier Reef. A few years ago a simple cruise turned into her sweet-talking the captain into letting her drive with this enormous grin on her face — and that’s my favourite photo of her.

I always knew that Nana was whip-smart. She could do the nine-letter word every time, could bang out the Sunday crossword in under an hour, and was always the champion at Scrabble and Trivial pursuit. Stephen told me Nana was a master of the racing form, sitting around the kitchen table with a transistor radio and offering 20-cent bets on the horses. I did however learn that the reason she always beat me at crib was because she was expert at moving both pegs at once. And she kept that sharpness right up until the end.

But I think the most important think I learned over the last few days, is that I learned many of these things from her (and if not Nana then from my Mum … who also learned them from Nana). I’ve been very fortunate in my life, and I’m where I am today because of what I learned about courage, about humility, about cunning, about living life to the fullest, and most of all, about compassion. And I’m sure many of you learned those same things from her as well.

Thank you all so much for coming here today: it means so much to me, and to the family. And I’m sure if Nana were still here with us today, she’d be eager to have a chat, have a drink, have a laugh, and enjoy this moment with you all. That’s how I’ll remember her. Rest In Peace, Nana.

Maureen (Molly) O’Brien. Wife to Ted; Mother to Margaret and Stephen. April 20, 1925 – September 29, 2019.

nonfamous is back!

So, it’s been quite a while since anything was new here. Post-GWB, there just didn’t seem to be quite the urgency. And the advent of Facebook (yes, this site started before Facebook) introduced new avenues for sharing with friends and family.

After a while, tumbleweeds set in, in the form of spam commenters and bitrot. Eventually, WordPress strained under the attempts of nefarious ne’er-do-wells, and the ISP moved it into maintenance mode to protect the server. After a while even the database failed and the site became barren, empty.

But now it’s a new era. Blogging feels relevant again, and even with the ephemeral sharing of the Twitters and the Facebooks a place to capture one’s thoughts for today and the future seems like what we need. So many many thanks to April for coming to the rescue by upgrading WordPress to a faster, responsive, and more secure version, and for recovering a dusty old backup we found on an old Mac Mini to restore the old content.

And most of all, today is Jay’s birthday. Happy Birthday, love! I hope the resurrection of nonfamous.com brings you much joy and a place to celebrate … or vent, as needs dictate!

Much love,

Re-entering the US just got even more painful

I ‘ve always hated the process entering the US, where the immigration and customs policies seem to be more Soviet-Russia-Bureaucracy than Land-Of-The-Free, but since I got my Green Card it’s been a little better.  At least now there aren’t forms to fill out beforehand, and I can use the faster-moving citizens line (and when I’m travelling with Jay, we can at least line up together). But one of Bush’s midnight regulations might make things worse again.  Starting two days from now, Green Card holders will be treated just like any other alien,  and will have to be fingerprinted and photographed upon entry.

DHS said all “aliens” in the U.S. are subject to the biometric requirements of the US-VISIT program, and that lawful permanent residents – even though their backgrounds have been thoroughly examined — are technically still considered aliens.

“US-VISIT enables DHS to determine if an LPR seeking entry has been convicted of any crime that would render him or her subject to removal from the United States,” says the final rule.

Great.  I worry enough about speeding fines and parking tickets enough as it is, without making it ammunition for a surly border guard.  And then there’s this:

LPRs have generally been allowed to use the line designated for “U.S. Citizens” when they arrive on an international flight at a U.S. airport, and this treatment is likely to continue, but that doesn’t give the two groups identical rights, says DHS. “This accommodation does not mean that LPRs are, or will otherwise be treated as, United States citizens,” says the final rule.

I mean, come on. I pay taxes.  I contribute to society. I’m a good citizen legal permanent resident. The least you can do is let me enter the country in the company of my husband.

Pretty please?

Full article:  Green card holders will be fingerprinted and photographed at U.S. borders

Two images of Mt Rainier

Had a great flight from Seattle to Dallas, beautiful views the whole way. And luckily I had my camera with me.  It was in the overhead locker while we were flying by Mt Rainier, but I managed to convince Jay to ignore the seatbelt sign and get it down for me.  By chance, I got two shots of the mountain that happened to line up perfectly but were from slightly different angles.  A friend composed them into this awesome image that really gives you a sense of the mountain in 3-D.

Mt Rainier

(Click on the image for the large animated view.)

Alan Greenspan is an idiot

So Alan Greenspan, former Fed chairman and arguably one of the chief architects of the financial crisis we find ourselves in today, finally acknowledges that he “made a mistake” in rebuffing all attempts to regulate the derivatives market. He said today:

“I made a mistake in presuming that the self-interests of organizations, specifically banks and others, were such as that they were best capable of protecting their own shareholders and their equity in the firms.”

Mr Greenspan — may I call you Al? — I have a little bit of news for you. Banks are not people. They don’t have brains, or consciences, or any sense of self-interest.  As it turns out, banks are actually run by people.  Collections of individual people, in fact, each whom often have a very well-developed sense of self interest. As in, an interest in themselves, not the bank as a whole. And unsurprisingly, Al, many of them saw an opportunity to do well by themselves, even if it conflicted with the long-term goals of the bank, or even the economy as a whole. As an S&P employee said to a coworker in 2006:

“Let’s hope we are all wealthy and retired by the time this house of cards falters.”

So let’s not anthropomorphize any more financial institutions, eh Al?