Uncle Timmo's Space: Ugly or pretty, it's still my city

"Ugly or pretty, it's still my city", or so say Canadian popsters Hot Hot Heat in their song Get In Or Get Out, ... "...a song about loving where you live" according to lead singer Steve Bays.

And it's very fitting that they played this at Sunset Sounds in the City Botanic Gardens here in Brisbane just some days ago , as I'm sure it's a feeling that resonates with many Brisbanians this past week.

Like many Brisbanites, I've moved here from places south just 10 years ago, but despite it not being my "true" home city, I feel like it's my city. Whether it's the comforting homeliness of the place, the (perhaps now lost) ease of getting around or the historical myths and legends of the city - Joh and his cranes, the Deen Brothers (of Cloudland and Bellevue Hotel infamy), rampant police corruption or the '74 floods - it all adds up to a place that is comfortably familiar yet has a depth of history that can be almost visceral.

And one legend that has been potently in the air over the past 10 days is the '74 floods and the myths entangled around them:

      The "once-in-a-hundred-years" '74 floods.
      The "cant-happen-anymore" '74 floods.
      The "Wivenhoe-will-save-us-from-a-repeat" '74 floods.

      "Pop".
      "Pop".
      "Pop".

With a convergence of extraordinary events, these myths have been busted and left people a little dazed and uncertain who and what they can rely on. These ideas were not really a part of life that you live with every day, just something you know is true cause you've heard it so often. I think Brisbane is adjusting to the true uncertainty of life that comes with living by the river, and it might take some time to do so.

Also carried with the legend of '74, is the legend of the armies of friends, neighbours and strangers who came out to help others in their time of need. I believe there is a universal human desire to help others and that has been the primary motivation for volunteers this past week, and the stories of the '74 volunteers has given us examples of behaviour to follow. I saw echoes of this in my own thoughts this past week "Helping out in a crisis is just what you do.","I feel useless just watching the river rise. Who, how or where can I help?", "I can at least do the same as they did.", "I don't want to be compared and found wanting", "It would look bad to be the only one not volunteering". So thanks to all thosewho got involved during the '74 floods and have kept alive a model for us to follow.

I'm sure the 2011 floods will take on their own status in legend in the days, weeks, months and years to come. It comes out of people sharing their stories with friends and strangers, telling them over to new friends, stories that are surprising and inspiring, stories that carry the weight of fear and loss or perhaps stories that are just routine and workaday. One of the biggest gifts we can provide for people is just to listen to their stories without judgement. As we tell our stories over they gain less hold over us, and allowing others to just tell their stories and truly listening allows them to release the fear, loss and tension of the moment that lives in the story.

Also carried with the legend and myth of the '74 floods is the smell that went with it. Folks speak of still remembering the smell that went with the floods, nearly 40 years down the track. And as I sit here, that smell once again lingers over the city. Where the westerly winds used to send wafts of wheaty/hoppy smells from the WeetBix factory, (which smells strangely similar to beer brewing), we now get that flood smell - a strange, ripe, vaguely unpleasant smell - somewhere between thick mud, rotting vegetation, sewage and rich soil. It certainly ain't pretty...

...but as they say "Ugly or pretty, it's still my city" And today I'm proud and happy to live here.