tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11290784930587263262024-03-14T21:22:51.577+13:00Meandering Through Secret WatersMeandering Through Secret Waters: A mishmash of some of the poems, pictures, ponderings and everyday happenings that make up my life.Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.comBlogger436125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-47206727469110096462023-03-25T19:08:00.001+13:002023-03-25T19:09:19.039+13:00Dyed & Gone to Heaven - the book<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvEtuH9g46zCsChuF2bQTAW19mFWkjYpb7wqWOnD9vN0Lya0bd5jqpuM5Z4w_V56qU-E8IesbSrMgqIJhqnJw7Du8Iefz3njyntnMeeSc0uRLfQ7armuSuj7qtkZOq3-IILtEBDglmzTL5brJFYM2lenmorveZY8jjpYQdoh0xobPumN3mdRFF2N4BA/s4000/20230325_153352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvEtuH9g46zCsChuF2bQTAW19mFWkjYpb7wqWOnD9vN0Lya0bd5jqpuM5Z4w_V56qU-E8IesbSrMgqIJhqnJw7Du8Iefz3njyntnMeeSc0uRLfQ7armuSuj7qtkZOq3-IILtEBDglmzTL5brJFYM2lenmorveZY8jjpYQdoh0xobPumN3mdRFF2N4BA/w400-h300/20230325_153352.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div><br />I have been dyeing again. It's been a while: since I received Liz Constable's latest book in the mail I've been wanting to get back into paper dyeing and book making but two things led to procrastination. My studio was a mess, but also, this time of the year is full of winter preparations. We've been cutting up and splitting firewood, harvesting kumera and pumpkins, clearing garden beds ready for winter crops, and, when we have a spare moment, visiting out newest grandchild. I have finally cleared my work space and have some fun hours making a beautiful mess. <p></p><p>I have done lots of classes with Liz over the years, including several involving dyeing, and she is one of the best teachers I've had. As well as us teaching skills and techniques, she is excellent at judging just how to encourage and inspire people with a wide variety of ability and learning needs - calling perhaps on her life coach skills of a previous career, and also the skills of her years as a pre-school teacher. (Especially when dealing with people like me.) (Which may be only me.) Oh! And fun! Any class with Liz is joyful and fun-filled!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNnWt5QaOv_2jyFVdgePqP87nGtU5cV8h54GpvjqURa0RI9CsIHXzqIkSdaccb3Bx06u43KmTOOKmDPH6zkefq9viLuR7QUm34Uzt81E4cVLTTwLpm9gdWMAv0y7GlVgKLApdCqAR9Y2Gu0RRJAQWzA-EcSzCa7EKXAIAevdiMvYmoyNFmnAG8DP14tA/s4000/20230324_202256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNnWt5QaOv_2jyFVdgePqP87nGtU5cV8h54GpvjqURa0RI9CsIHXzqIkSdaccb3Bx06u43KmTOOKmDPH6zkefq9viLuR7QUm34Uzt81E4cVLTTwLpm9gdWMAv0y7GlVgKLApdCqAR9Y2Gu0RRJAQWzA-EcSzCa7EKXAIAevdiMvYmoyNFmnAG8DP14tA/s320/20230324_202256.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p>So after all these years of classes, why would I need this book?</p><p>Firstly, because it is absolutely beautiful. Liz's work is glorious, but when it comes to a printed book, more is needed. Jason Burgess is a fantastic photographer. His pictures bring Liz's joy and fun alive, and his photos of the making processes, illustrate the instructions perfectly. And then, with her artistic eye and great skill, graphic designer, Jo Constable ties it all together.<br /><br />Secondly, whether you are a beginner or an old hand, the instructions will enable you to make papers to make handmade book, or cards, or incorporate into many art forms. As someone who has been doing this for some time, I found the book reminded me of things I'd forgotten, and sent me down a path I'd bypassed before.<br /><br />Thirdly, I had been thinking that buying this book was an extravagance, given I have done several online and in person classes, but it was worth it just for the joy it brings me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3n9Qw56N68fH4y2rxpZXqyiBJn-Bv39e84lk71H6I3REymmhTe3-XKpAJ0tzykOxhlG9uw5ngavORFsrEsbg4iHzP7IuF7vrbtU_jYSJhrGr5wv3NTQtJU19Gb7jDTsMu_ihqmbV6TEbGntUM4rLj379rO6PcNbzEGAMYBOxjacH5ByiFFVbsS66c5A/s4000/20230324_203803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3n9Qw56N68fH4y2rxpZXqyiBJn-Bv39e84lk71H6I3REymmhTe3-XKpAJ0tzykOxhlG9uw5ngavORFsrEsbg4iHzP7IuF7vrbtU_jYSJhrGr5wv3NTQtJU19Gb7jDTsMu_ihqmbV6TEbGntUM4rLj379rO6PcNbzEGAMYBOxjacH5ByiFFVbsS66c5A/s320/20230324_203803.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-4476239863448189302022-12-19T18:04:00.003+13:002022-12-19T18:05:12.071+13:00On Functionality and False Morality<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy3N_l33JdGPIkmLSWo9Ia_SazonXosIok2lGmY7kYugWaNWdn-JBxdCe5p1cvrboY-EuRTVSba-J-eNtuSng' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">After listening to KC Davis being interviewed by Kim Hill on RNZ, I bought her book, 'How To Keep House While Drowning'. I bought it because something she said really resonated with so many areas of my life. I promptly put the washed laundry in the dryer. I somehow acquired the idea that using a dryer was somehow immoral so hardly ever used it - which I guess is why the first one lasted 35 years. Last week it was raining, I had lots of laundry, and I had really vicious tooth pain. Normally I'd drape it all over the house on clothes horses. Instead I told myself, 'you are sick and laundry is not a moral issue,' and threw load after load in the dryer! Line drying smells nicer, and is more eco-friendly, but when the choice is baskets full of wet mouldy washing or the dryer, the dryer wins the functionality race.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I've been sewing, making an awning for the campe</span><span style="font-family: arial;">r. I've been planning and procrastinating for a couple of months. The old 'if it's worth doing it's worth doing properly,' except I have always heard 'properly' as 'perfectly'. Davis talks of functionality and it's a wonderful concept I've never thought of before in this way. I discarded my usual fears of mistakes, imperfections, money wastage etc and got to it. I stopped trying to make a pattern, stopped thinking of what fabric would be best to buy, stopped trying to find the energy to put up all of the random tents Mac has stored in the hope of finding enough tent fabric to use. I paused and thought about functionality: what exactly did I want to make? Something to cover the back window so that when the door was up to allow breeze in, the window was not allowing sun to stream through. Something that was light so it would move in the wind and not make the van too dark. Something that would offer a little privacy without blocking the world out completely.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMwoX6CMm06xP0jN0F_csb-NoGw-EpExdJpTmJZeNzze9KArlFWGAF3Etn4-JhFaxu6rbhLhp-DgI8NawrxQxAykBSILrnXek8lExGHfotHqGXCPXUPEzKav5fOxV937yjIoWI5P3B9xBHXvxJNlSM-XZ9NQCsXukni8fCUY65yVDBzGggzhhd-vVXw/s4000/20221218_185836.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguMwoX6CMm06xP0jN0F_csb-NoGw-EpExdJpTmJZeNzze9KArlFWGAF3Etn4-JhFaxu6rbhLhp-DgI8NawrxQxAykBSILrnXek8lExGHfotHqGXCPXUPEzKav5fOxV937yjIoWI5P3B9xBHXvxJNlSM-XZ9NQCsXukni8fCUY65yVDBzGggzhhd-vVXw/w400-h300/20221218_185836.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>A long time ago I was at the local dump shop, and spotted fabric priced at $1 a plastic supermarket bag full. The fabric was either the beginning or end of the dyeing process and had random colours where the various dyes had run out or not yet kicked in. I had metres and metres of it. I grabbed a couple of lengths and draped it over the van. I got sewing. I didn't worry about perfectly joined seams, or about perfect fit. I didn't trim the wonky bit where the fabric had been joined but imperfectly. I didn't worry about hems. I just sat and sewed kilometres of seams and overlocked edges. I made ties from strips, edges folded in so they wouldn't fray, but just sewn on the outside instead of all that wearying turning tubes inside out. It's functional. And actually, it is so lovely to sit inside the van, so very restful.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioepPGuaaKI8f5eICNsmjHsloaiTAjcA0TdU5dL8Gn11CK0lyBaFq7LEZHChFx2W-b9wNjvqGuUEgxmZPvD7E-ns8MeAVU2ooktXJT94LXv94YOHOe9vLqaRgrL_aFGQT1FVOkehePuqkXLX7ZtTnxZIQ4qFKmS8am4MwYzX30252qCWgufZjXCkgKEw/s4000/20221218_185814.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioepPGuaaKI8f5eICNsmjHsloaiTAjcA0TdU5dL8Gn11CK0lyBaFq7LEZHChFx2W-b9wNjvqGuUEgxmZPvD7E-ns8MeAVU2ooktXJT94LXv94YOHOe9vLqaRgrL_aFGQT1FVOkehePuqkXLX7ZtTnxZIQ4qFKmS8am4MwYzX30252qCWgufZjXCkgKEw/w400-h300/20221218_185814.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Well, it was restful except for the three times I whacked my shin on the towbar. So today I found some leftover pieces of brightly coloured cotton fabric from when all my handmade books had covers made from cotton fat quarters. I gathered some fat woolen rectangles that came as packaging in boxes of online orders plus a couple of pieces of leftover batting from some long forgotten project. I found some hand-twisted cord that I made from my favouritist scarf ever after it got beyond mending. Because every towbar deserves a comfortable rest between journeys, tucked up it a warm sleeping bag. I didn't change the thread in the overlocker or the sewing machine. I just sewed until my shins felt safe.</span><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEj42K7pInkLRF7OzwNRldrBm-GQdI_fm4pPQgSaWDtdbzo5D4SaUaU7gwmv6j88P5l1l0iiPlz4ktUyMIMvq8CL68B9CgMlbVYpDqDOCKjEMyXvneWr6bcIvvg2GM8emVb9cz6JNvw8jhFAS44zi6_ex_LfRf0J2pF1NvAQl1sbIS85YwQbVFsmjug/s4000/20221219_131812.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEj42K7pInkLRF7OzwNRldrBm-GQdI_fm4pPQgSaWDtdbzo5D4SaUaU7gwmv6j88P5l1l0iiPlz4ktUyMIMvq8CL68B9CgMlbVYpDqDOCKjEMyXvneWr6bcIvvg2GM8emVb9cz6JNvw8jhFAS44zi6_ex_LfRf0J2pF1NvAQl1sbIS85YwQbVFsmjug/w300-h400/20221219_131812.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I have done so much, and didn't even stress when I lost, first my best fabric scissors, then my best pincushion. (They have since turned up.) It is amazing how much I can achieve when I let go of aiming for perfection and forget about the 'morality' of doing it exactly right and just thought about functionality.<br /><br />While many people will be puzzled by my words, because this process was learned in childhood, for me it is a welcome revelation. And I am writing about it because I want to, and because my writing does not have to be perfect either, just functional.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-39929841743908550772021-12-11T14:34:00.000+13:002021-12-11T14:34:46.324+13:00Anniversaries: times of reflection<p>It's four years since I spent a hot day pulling the garden outside the northern end of the house to bits: the shrubs had grown old and woody and straggly, and they had been planted in accordance to a plan drawn up by a no-longer-friend, and I wanted to renew it. I got to the last couple of shrubs but couldn't get them out, so after struggling for too long, I gave up. <a href="https://meanderingthroughsecretwaters.blogspot.com/2017/">And had a stroke.</a> Each year since then, I have tried to tidy that garden up in advance of Stroke Day, and so again today. It's all heavily mulched now that we have a mulcher, so even the biggest weeds come out easily. The garden is a delight at the moment, as the tuis fly in all through the day to drink nectar from the harakeke flowers. I bought a feeder from the <a href="https://www.tiritirimatangi.org.nz/" target="_blank">Tiritiri Matangi trust</a>, and placed it in amongst the harakeke in the hopes that the tui will visit all year round, but they don't seem to have noticed it yet. One must have at some point today, because the sugar water level had dropped considerably, but I haven't seen one even look at it.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgk0WO7IxY6fX6WFGiYZaarIt0fNH89m5hanvwPj2GwModRJhYuM6-hrCAM1ZQV1unRBOUUkrKrWeY4A95DD4sTdXM2sh8pXAYZJSsY3iH_1l4dbO_wbaMD07Qj1Cgsu0KjSeSoKqFT4Uq5PpURRRBa0VUKt-Ws8NcfhpypmCyPBmEZJjGVl9zEVOQMkg=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgk0WO7IxY6fX6WFGiYZaarIt0fNH89m5hanvwPj2GwModRJhYuM6-hrCAM1ZQV1unRBOUUkrKrWeY4A95DD4sTdXM2sh8pXAYZJSsY3iH_1l4dbO_wbaMD07Qj1Cgsu0KjSeSoKqFT4Uq5PpURRRBa0VUKt-Ws8NcfhpypmCyPBmEZJjGVl9zEVOQMkg=w400-h300" width="400" /></i></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My stroke garden today</i></td></tr></tbody></table>On Thursday Mac and I, along with five others from his work, spent the afternoon gardening at a friend's place. O had been diagnosed with cancer just a couple of weeks before our second nationwide lockdown in August. A couple of days in, her husband, our friend for fifty years, died. Because of lockdown there has been no funeral, and because of O's illness, the garden had got out of hand. It was a lovely way to spend time together, remembering C, and saying goodbye. It was C's second marriage and the wedding had been held in this very garden - it was healing to remember his happiness that day in the same place. Ours was one of those friendships which, even when we didn't see him for years (when we went to Europe, and he went to Papua New Guinea and Europe), just resumed as if there had been no gap. <p><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='368' height='306' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyMeKX5j7fTsqEtX4bWNV1z4IIg-n-aARa1Q81N31H6i7_5w4YhMCT3Vx0HRe7iPsKSyDwgR105VjQiFE-1hA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p>Yesterday I felt fortunate to have survived the stroke, and felt a need to give back to the world. I have been looking for some time for some kind of volunteer work that 1) doesn't require consistent regularity, because I do still have bad days when I am pretty non-functional; and 2) doesn't require too much personal interaction as conversation, especially with strangers, exhausts me and takes another day to recover from. Even having a lot of people around me, talking, without me being part of the conversations, exhausts me - I can't seem to stop my brain from trying to make sense of all the words in the air. So when I read that the age for donating blood for the first time had been raised to 70, I thought, perfect! I can give, but could just sit and read or even sleep! But no. They won't have my blood. Not because there's anything wrong with my blood, but because I have had a stroke, and 'we wouldn't want anything to happen to you'.</p><p>During this time of covid, there have been many hurtful things said. I may well have said things that have hurt others. The internet is full of hateful and hate-filled words, that in the main I have shrugged off, because they weren't said by people who knew me. The words that have hurt me most, have been by three people who did know me, albeit only as acquaintances. One told me, during our first lockdown in 2020, in a Facebook discussion, that people like me have had our lives and should shut up and not want lockdowns because other people should be allowed to live their lives without worrying about old and sick people, and her child had had his swimming lessons cancelled and it wasn't fair. Our acquaintanceship had been very superficial. Except for time a couple months earlier, when she poured out her feelings and deep depression to me when I saw her and asked if she was ok. Apparently that hour and half of my life and listening ear was worth shit. I know she has mental health issues, and have tried to forgive her for her lack of compassion, because I have suffered bouts of depression and anxiety for 54 years and know what it's like. But I haven't managed to let go of the ache from that metaphorical kick in the teeth yet. <br /><br />The other occasions have been more recently when I was told, in a very kindly manner, by a woman I had met once, in another Facebook discussion, that if I am afraid of covid, I should just stay home until I'm not afraid any more. Because fear is more dangerous than a deadly disease that targets people like me (old and broken). I could get all my food and everything delivered, and could just isolate myself, because, again, other people have the right to live freely, and unencumbered by any restrictions or mandates. Many chimed in with the claims that they shouldn't <i>have</i> to have vaccines, or <i>have</i> to wear masks, or even <i>have</i> to grant me a single metre of personal space, because the pandemic isn't real, and/or covid isn't nearly as bad as 'they' make out, and/or vaccinations don't work, and/or masks don't work, and, I guess, why wouldn't I want random strangers getting right up in my face? After all, if I'm old (70) and at risk (diabetes, stroke) then I should just stay home, so others aren't inconvenienced. The third was a trauma therapist I know who also just kept repeating the idea that the 'fear and trauma' was my problem, that covid is just a thing we will all get eventually, and that we should just get on with living life - apparently being afraid of catching a disease because of being a person at higher risk is a neurotic reaction to be fixed, rather than something to be ameliorated by being careful. I think that the kind people who gently remonstrate with me, telling me that I should be kind to people who don't want to do anything that might inconvenience themselves (mask wearing, keeping their distance). So, I guess you will have guessed by now, that I am actually astonished and angry and very hurt by the people who think I am of no value to society, that I am worthless. <br /><br />I don't know why I have reacted this way, because worthless is an adjective I have ascribed to myself most of my life, so I should expect others to feel that way too. I guess I just thought that because everyone else is so much more worthy than me, that they would be kinder.</p><p>I need to focus on the few people who have shown that they care. The small handful of special people who have 'checked in on the elderly'. The three who have offered to do shopping for me. The ones who have trusted me with their own problems as well as listening to my fears and heartaches. They are few, but they are very special, and will be remembered always with love.<br /><br />I wrote most of this yesterday, but didn't want to post until today, because despite trying hard to be a good atheist and skeptic, I still find myself affected by superstition and remnants of religion: It's 'bad luck', or some god or other might strike me down for daring to presume I'd last the night.</p><p>But here I am! And I awoke to the news that my Auckland boy will be home on Thursday - my eyes leaked a bit at that.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBL-6Sg7nd0GjoyEvgnhGC1_Bjhu8E23lBiHn7JTHspTZutSQRTDdsbwKy_jY8q4r8uSLkCVndffrPC5wTwR0DzjrWt1tDAYtlsOGBRakN1ibfIdeZJgdnGQrvVeMxj3UxL6BTnU8hKihRlhHGXBo_KDcuwweAHoIoxBT10nxVJRnoQAWDKhHdXcEaqw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBL-6Sg7nd0GjoyEvgnhGC1_Bjhu8E23lBiHn7JTHspTZutSQRTDdsbwKy_jY8q4r8uSLkCVndffrPC5wTwR0DzjrWt1tDAYtlsOGBRakN1ibfIdeZJgdnGQrvVeMxj3UxL6BTnU8hKihRlhHGXBo_KDcuwweAHoIoxBT10nxVJRnoQAWDKhHdXcEaqw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-91796913780851687422021-10-04T17:10:00.000+13:002021-10-04T17:10:36.680+13:00Reading: September 2021<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Meet Me At The Museum</u> by Anne Youngson</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">This novel is in the form of letters between a woman living on a family farm in England and a Danish museum curator. It begins when Tina writes to the author of a book about Tollund Man, who was the previous curator. The current curator, Anders, writes to tell her that the author is dead. The correspondence continues, and they describe and discuss their daily lives, their relationships with spouses and children, and gradual explore and expand their ideas about life.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> My favourite quote, because it rings very true for me right now:<br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Now I only hope for a return to hope, or at least to the feeling I once had that there is satisfaction in the little things in life."</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I loved this book, probably because so much of the book reflects my own thinking, even though the circumstances of my life are very different (better!), and because, although I generally like a book to have a definite ending, this one was left undecided and that was perfect.</span></span></p><p><u>Three Women and a Boat</u> by Anne Youngson</p><p>Another book about women making changes in their lives as they grow older. I look forward to more from this author. </p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge and the Teaching of Plants</u> by Robin Wall Kimmerer</span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This is the book I referred to last month. It is just wonderful. Kimmerer uses her beautiful writing abilities to meld her scientific knowledge with her Native American indigenous knowledge to produce a work that leaves you wanting to do all you can to heal this damaged world. It is so well written, I kept just having to read chunks out to Mac, who was also appreciative even though he isn't a reader. The mixing of science and spiritual, even within the same sentence, makes perfect sense the way she tells it. This book has taken me nine months to read: it is so delicious I would read only a few pages every few days, savouring every moment, every word, and every thought it inspired. Reading it has been like a meditation.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Honestly, if you only read one book a year, make the next book this one. You are welcome to borrow my copy.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><u>House of Kwa</u> by Mimi Kwa</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">An extraordinary tale of a woman and her family history, in Australia, Hong Kong and China. The personal histories, the cultural histories, and the conflicts between generational and geographical changes, the trials of foreign occupation during war times, and some extremely unusual personalities make for fascinating reading. It certainly made me think about how cruisy my life has been: even in lockdown level 4, we here in New Zealand have not been bombed, had our homes and belongings taken by an occupying army who also beat, raped, and murdered. A great read, highly recommended.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="color: #050505;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-88310735761962132112021-09-15T13:40:00.005+12:002021-09-15T13:40:54.816+12:00Artfully Wild Blog Along: 14 September 2021<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZD2YUUWDdf0/YUE1nqRJOFI/AAAAAAAAHuI/emYYXM3TkmAbbYhK4e10WPym9SxrHw13gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210914_100209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZD2YUUWDdf0/YUE1nqRJOFI/AAAAAAAAHuI/emYYXM3TkmAbbYhK4e10WPym9SxrHw13gCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210914_100209.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div> I have been writing - or rather, whingeing - but restricting it to my paper journal. Even then I wasn't writing every thing down: I tend to trap negative thoughts inside my head until they die, or burst out inappropriately. Yesterday I wrote out all the things that have been building up and contributing to the sensation of having a huge lump in my esophagus threatening to choke me. My grief and anxiety has growing to the point where I have nearly passed out from not breathing - although as every parent of a tantrum-throwing toddler knows that passing out leads immediately to the resumption of breathing! The writing down of it all offered some relief, and I slept better last night. Although I still woke in the small hours, I didn't wake with racing heart, raised adrenaline levels, my first thoughts being of my unvaccinated son in Auckland, which has been the standard for the last week. Instead, I just woke, read a chapter in my book, and went back to sleep.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nBiAjiLbsiA/YUE4ZEV-sWI/AAAAAAAAHuU/4SSKjKtzFtcmlCOqsxPC_nJxTybdhkIYQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210914_105903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nBiAjiLbsiA/YUE4ZEV-sWI/AAAAAAAAHuU/4SSKjKtzFtcmlCOqsxPC_nJxTybdhkIYQCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210914_105903.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p>Today I worked on seeing good things, and on breathing. It helped.</p><p>There are so many lovely things around our home at the moment:<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ATuAm0cWFN0/YUE6N1Z7ZBI/AAAAAAAAHus/lUp7xmeucIEZuE0jPyGFXm9aQm2BLJLwACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210914_110127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ATuAm0cWFN0/YUE6N1Z7ZBI/AAAAAAAAHus/lUp7xmeucIEZuE0jPyGFXm9aQm2BLJLwACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210914_110127.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Keruru sitting in the trees, and putting on aerobatics displays in the air;</li><li>a tui optimistically inspecting the peach tree to see if the blossoms are open</li><li>the first tulip of the season - a gorgeous red;</li><li>a spider's web sparkling in raindrops;</li><li>there is blossom everywhere! Plum, peach, nectarine, pear;</li><li>the kowhai tree has flowers, although past experience tells me they won't last long as the keruru gobble them in one gulp;</li><li>even the moss has 'flowers'</li><li>and the golden elm is delicious</li></ul><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hkJFPfdb4Ig/YUE7UuQMzQI/AAAAAAAAHu0/HekHarr7vK89mRMJcVOK0N0DYrXApbxCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210914_110239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hkJFPfdb4Ig/YUE7UuQMzQI/AAAAAAAAHu0/HekHarr7vK89mRMJcVOK0N0DYrXApbxCgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210914_110239.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div></div>I have finished reading two wonderful books, only to find the next book I picked up is also just wonderful: I won't finish the month with a record number of books read, but the quality is impressive so far.</div><div><br /></div><div>I chatted with two of my sons, and my 17yo grandson on FB messenger. Technology is great - I think of the lack of communication for families in the 'Spanish' flu pandemic.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-WP7376INs/YUE8BurDnNI/AAAAAAAAHvE/Op9U-5AWMsw6NoTFQEtIZjGDo8NnHUZ1QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210914_110322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-WP7376INs/YUE8BurDnNI/AAAAAAAAHvE/Op9U-5AWMsw6NoTFQEtIZjGDo8NnHUZ1QCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210914_110322.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div></div><div>My Auckland son got his first vaccination. He had booked but had been unable to get an appointment until the end of October, but with more vaccinations in the country, and more places offering vaccinations, he was able to get one today! I am so relieved. I will sleep better tonight.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0MBd5GLBSLk/YUE4zd5KpAI/AAAAAAAAHug/s68k2mImpPUpj9AX1R0zXgy4ehhBbwTXwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210914_105433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0MBd5GLBSLk/YUE4zd5KpAI/AAAAAAAAHug/s68k2mImpPUpj9AX1R0zXgy4ehhBbwTXwCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210914_105433.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div></div><div>I received an unexpected birthday present in the mail. It is a beautiful handmade stationery folder that she made - she is a very skilled sewer. It came with a lovely card, and a message inside that finally broke me open. I cried with appreciation and gratitude. Then I cried for all the things that have been making me sad. I have not been able to cry. I cried for my recently dead friends, and for their families, and for my personal sense of loss. I cried for my loneliness over the past few weeks, being unable to see my family and friends. I cried for our poor world which is under assault in so many ways. I cried. And then, I cried, again, in appreciation and gratitude towards my friend, Denise, for her gifts, for the release.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zWFge4_TR6g/YUE8U3dz_tI/AAAAAAAAHvM/a9h277diS20MxMw2rg9w8c3uK1u0xFyjACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210914_215359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zWFge4_TR6g/YUE8U3dz_tI/AAAAAAAAHvM/a9h277diS20MxMw2rg9w8c3uK1u0xFyjACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210914_215359.jpg" width="300" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>_________________________________________________________________________________</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o0-I3jMmECM/YS9cM30rl4I/AAAAAAAAHrs/9KvpblgIv9UGFwKJATesBpZQNlb_2C3CQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="1080" height="239" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o0-I3jMmECM/YS9cM30rl4I/AAAAAAAAHrs/9KvpblgIv9UGFwKJATesBpZQNlb_2C3CQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><div></div><div></div><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-19130888523709127182021-09-07T13:16:00.003+12:002021-09-07T13:16:19.914+12:00Artfully Wild Blog Along: 7 September 2021<p> So much for daily blogging! I am struggling with physical and mental fatigue, but.... take a breath, take the next step, aim to be kind to everyone including myself......</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>My pack of 72 seedlings is due to arrive today or tomorrow. That's ok. Just because we have always grown our own spring seedlings in the past, doesn't mean it always has to be that way.</li><li>My pack of 72 seedlings is due to arrive today or tomorrow. I have spent four consecutive days preparing beds in which to plant them out. My body hurts.</li><li>My pack of 72 seedlings is due to arrive today or tomorrow. Now I have to stay alive long enough to plant them out.</li><li>My pack of 72 seedlings is due to arrive today or tomorrow. Then I have to stay alive long enough to harvest, prepare, and eat them, so as not to waste their lives.</li><li>My pack of 72 seedlings is due to arrive today or tomorrow. They do not ponder the meaning or purpose of life. I need to learn to live like a cabbage seedling.</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xp55z7SBkjI/YTa1jI18U2I/AAAAAAAAHtE/It8obpRnKPAkNsG0x6iz6FSQX6ayCPMNgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210906_122757%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xp55z7SBkjI/YTa1jI18U2I/AAAAAAAAHtE/It8obpRnKPAkNsG0x6iz6FSQX6ayCPMNgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210906_122757%255B1%255D.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The ducks are disgruntled: Mac fixed the fence yesterday and they can no longer go wandering into the neighbour's paddock, from which one cannot get back from. I don't know why. There is no apparent difference in the path of coming and going. However, once there she runs up and down the fence line crying. They had also discovered the garlic patch. Hence, the fence is repaired.</li><li>The chooks, who always try to get to the vegetable garden when they are let out of their run, did not appreciate being caught and carried to a newly dug fenced garden to finish the clean up, and tried desperately to get out. Another came inside the house, was chased by Luna cat, and shat all over the carpet.</li><li>Covid lockdown restrictions are reduced tomorrow, so I delivered the last of the free eggs to neighbours' mailboxes. The first of my paying customers will get their eggs tomorrow. But it won't feel like much of a release as long as one son is still locked down in Auckland.</li><li>Because of Auckland's continuing lockdown, my 70th birthday special holiday to Great Barrier Island isn't going to happen. Both the island, and the ferry terminal are in the Auckland region. I guess being alive, well, and safe is a special thing, in and of itself, though somehow it doesn't quite feel enough.</li></ul></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fbtt4M_dvdE/YTa35mttt3I/AAAAAAAAHtM/XdJu4ai7Bn41o9mmivCOUV6-rqT-N87_QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210906_122736%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fbtt4M_dvdE/YTa35mttt3I/AAAAAAAAHtM/XdJu4ai7Bn41o9mmivCOUV6-rqT-N87_QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210906_122736%255B1%255D.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>A friend expressed guilt for having expressed her feelings around pain. Something I have often done myself around both physical and emotional pain. Suddenly, for the first time, I realised that when someone questions their right to pain because someone else has it worse, I've had lots of good things, at least I haven't (fill in the blank)..... this actually denies others the right to express their pain. Because there is always something worse - look! that person is dead!<br /><br />I apologise to all those who have felt denied, dismissed, unable to speak, by my denials of my right to express my pain.</li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UoKe3JXSupY/YTIPQRvMpUI/AAAAAAAAHso/6hosXz6B1GArSSgm01fwVKMhvTRBi1BSACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="239" data-original-width="320" height="239" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UoKe3JXSupY/YTIPQRvMpUI/AAAAAAAAHso/6hosXz6B1GArSSgm01fwVKMhvTRBi1BSACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><div></div></div><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-23371817793862813012021-09-04T23:18:00.000+12:002021-09-04T23:18:35.635+12:00Artfully Wild Blog Along: 4 September 2021<p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I awoke with a sense of dread. I asked Mac (who sleeps with the radio and ear buds), "Did anything else awful happen overnight?" I didn't want to get up and face a day of more heartbreak. "It's okay, nothing more."</li><li>The duck with the injured leg, the one that injured said leg escaping from the orchard through a wire netting fence, was waiting for breakfast <i>outside</i> the orchard! She hopped, stumbled and flapped her way back over the fence, making her way to the feeding dish. When lockdown is over, and we can access materials, we plan on replacing the fence.</li><li>I thought gardening in the countryside was a peaceful, meditative affair. But today I wore my newish hearing aids and was driven to distraction by dozens of small birds having a conference in the pohutukawa tree. Are they always there? I don't know because I don't usually wear the aids around home.</li><li>This year I didn't put in a winter garden, and now it is spring and nothing is ready. As I said yesterday, no seeds sown in trays in the sun by the dining room window, the garden beds full of long grass and other weeds. Today I continued working on the bed I started yesterday and finished it, so now have room for some of the ordered seedlings. Tomorrow, another bed. If I can keep up the pace I will have space for all of them by the time they arrive.</li><li>The keruru are definitely in mating mode - while I was gardening they were chasing each other around the garden, flying very low over my head. I hope they get their courting rituals over soon as I actually felt endangered! But they are magnificent birds.</li><li>At the end of summer, my two beehives had collapsed from lack of proper care, and one was queenless. I thought they would both die, but in a last desperate attempt to save them, I merged the two hives. The single hive has made it through winter and I am hopeful it will take off and grow strong enough to make up a second. Today we did a hive inspection and put in a second varroa treatment. I am so happy to be back with a healthy hive once more. I adore my bees; they are such amazing creatures.</li><li>For the first time since she came to live with us about three years ago, Luna is not demanding food with menaces tonight. We saw her earlier eating a small rabbit. Much as they are cute, rabbits are an awful pest, so we didn't rescue it. She is spending the evening stretched out in front of the fire with a very large tummy.</li><li>Life under lockdown is so small and restricted, and yet it is also infinite. I have always felt a strong connection to this place we came to 21 years ago, always enjoyed the way working on the land strengthened that connection. The older I get the bigger the small things become for me. Lockdown has increased that feeling.<br /></li><li>A drop of water hanging from a plum blossom holds the entire world. The whole world is that drop of water.<br /></li><li>I am the drop of water. The drop of water is me.</li></ul><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-47455678422341669612021-09-04T00:08:00.000+12:002021-09-04T00:08:03.210+12:00Artfully Wild Blog Along: 3 September 2021<p>So already I haven't blogged every day of September - but that's okay, and a simple statement, not a hand-wringing tale of failure. Which those who know me well will understand as real progress.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xYW-7R5dTX4/YTIL3npPaiI/AAAAAAAAHsU/S5HpmThhs9she4p7M1PFgoOYUBKL9g22QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210902_080731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xYW-7R5dTX4/YTIL3npPaiI/AAAAAAAAHsU/S5HpmThhs9she4p7M1PFgoOYUBKL9g22QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210902_080731.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>TW violence.<br /><br />Today, the third day of spring, has been a perfect blue sky day. These are the days when my early morning walk to feed the chooks and ducks is a delight: violets in the grass, pink peach blossom, white plum blossom. Lately it's been a chore, venturing out in wind and cold rain, plodding through mud, today was a welcome change.</p><p>The SAD has kept me lacking in motivation, and I realized that I have once again neglected the garden preparation necessary to get my summer garden planted. Not only that, but I haven't started seeds either. So I have ordered a 'vegcombo' pack of 72 seedlings of unknown varieties, which should arrive early next week, thus forcing me to get out and get weeding.</p><p>So it was that I spent several hours outside in the sunshine without sunscreen because it's been so long since I last needed it and am now the possessor of a fine pink complexion. Why don't I get out there more often? Gardening always makes me feel good, yet I resist it. The smell of freshly turned soil, the working hard and sweating with the effort, hands in the earth, surrounded by bird song, including the challenges of male pheasants declaring their ownership of their particular territories.</p><p>Lunch was satisfying too: homemade bread roll with home grown bean and seed sprouts and egg from my own chooks mashed with onion weed freshly foraged from halfway down our (600m) driveway.<br /><br />It was encouraging to listen to the daily announcement of cases of covid in the community and hear that the numbers seem to be reducing.<br /><br />Back out in the garden, I listened to Jessie Mulligan on National Radio talking to Lynda Hallinan about attracting bees to your garden until the programme was interrupted by a news flash. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vLYpubptNWk/YTIMYA502zI/AAAAAAAAHsg/7dyeMiWC3t08OlekblRM0QhVw54BJaEXACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210902_080649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vLYpubptNWk/YTIMYA502zI/AAAAAAAAHsg/7dyeMiWC3t08OlekblRM0QhVw54BJaEXACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210902_080649.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p>A man had been shot dead by police after attacking people at a supermarket.</p><p>At 5.15pm the prime minister and the chief of police held a news conference where we learned that the man was a Sri Lankan who came to New Zealand 10 years ago, has been under surveillance since 2016 because of his extreme ISIS views, but has never done anything to warrant arrest. The police watching him had no reason to think this was anything other than another supermarket shop by the man who had shopped there before, but he obtained a knife within the store and started stabbing people. He was shot by the police within 60 seconds of the start of his attack.</p><p>Suddenly the black dog is back, snapping at my heels again. I feel helpless, despairing and sick to the core at this world of fires and floods and storms and violence and disease and hatred and covid and conspiracy theories, and at this heartless earth which just keeps on being beautiful and glorious without a moment's consideration of me or the rest of humankind.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f3jUZy6dK8o/YTILwl8NhkI/AAAAAAAAHsQ/XG865Z4bnGAnPCrvAo4gfCXObKXo--JJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210903_182056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f3jUZy6dK8o/YTILwl8NhkI/AAAAAAAAHsQ/XG865Z4bnGAnPCrvAo4gfCXObKXo--JJwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/20210903_182056.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">_____________________________________________________________________</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UoKe3JXSupY/YTIPQRvMpUI/AAAAAAAAHso/6hosXz6B1GArSSgm01fwVKMhvTRBi1BSACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="239" data-original-width="320" height="239" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UoKe3JXSupY/YTIPQRvMpUI/AAAAAAAAHso/6hosXz6B1GArSSgm01fwVKMhvTRBi1BSACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-76359879918680059302021-09-01T23:35:00.000+12:002021-09-01T23:35:20.592+12:00Artfully Wild Blog Along: 1 September 2021<p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cml79hBGuhk/YS9jd9PcSdI/AAAAAAAAHr0/N-720EF-i5MxSFUrM0bbxK5wGDWuCOMagCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20210829_165217.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cml79hBGuhk/YS9jd9PcSdI/AAAAAAAAHr0/N-720EF-i5MxSFUrM0bbxK5wGDWuCOMagCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/20210829_165217.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>First of September<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">First day of spring.</p><p style="text-align: left;">First day of Level 3 lockdown for those of us south of Auckland.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Thirty eighth anniversary of my second son's birth.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Because of #3, my son's birthday was enlivened by being able to get a takeaway Thai dinner. Such are the highlights of a covid birthday. My heart aches to see him as I sit here remembering the night he was born. I was supposed to bring him home from the hospital on a two hour discharge, but that was so rare back then, it was three and a half hours before they worked out what forms I had to sign to legally relieve them of responsibility for my rash behaviour.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Also because of #3, instead of spending time with my son - in all honesty, I wouldn't have driven to Wellington to be with him but I'd have liked to have had that option - the highlight of <i>my</i> day was walking to the end of the road and back, taking surplus eggs, limes and garlic to put in neighbours' mailboxes. Last lockdown we put our surplus out by our mailbox for people to help themselves, but that was when the autumn weather was fine almost every day.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It's been a grey, wet, windy August, but today it didn't rain, and there was a bit of blue sky amid the clouds. The windmills on the hilltops to the east look like opposing armies on days like this: some shining white in the sun, the others a dark, dull metal grey in the clouds' shadows.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I have never managed to keep a daphne bush growing, but bought yet another about a month ago. Given my lousy track record, I decided to just leave it in the pot it came in, and wait for the already formed buds to emerge. Today I picked a small sprig of delicious smelling flowers to bring smiles to the dining table. <br /><br />The light is returning. I know summer will be here soon, even though the wait seems interminable - it has happened every year since I was born almost 70 years ago, so there is no reason to think it will happen otherwise this year.<br /><br />The experience of those 7 decades - how the fuck did I manage to live this long? - also informs me that that damn black dog snapping at my heels will soon leave me alone for a while, once the summer sunshine arrives and I can spend days outside in the garden, at the beach, walking in the bush.<br /><br />New shoes. <br /><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;">----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</div><br />I have joined a facebook group with the stated intention of blogging every day of September: I doubt I will manage every day, but hopefully more than my average of about twice a month!<br /><p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o0-I3jMmECM/YS9cM30rl4I/AAAAAAAAHrs/9KvpblgIv9UGFwKJATesBpZQNlb_2C3CQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="1080" height="239" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-o0-I3jMmECM/YS9cM30rl4I/AAAAAAAAHrs/9KvpblgIv9UGFwKJATesBpZQNlb_2C3CQCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p><br /></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-42623342638729169332021-09-01T23:29:00.000+12:002021-09-01T23:29:19.142+12:00Reading: August 2021<p> Nothing remarkable this month - except the book that I have been reading since the beginning of the year! But I still haven't finished reading it so you'll have to wait until the end of September for me to tell you about it. It is extraordinary, so much so that I only read a few pages at a time, and hold the words and knowledge and ideas inside my mind for days, savouring them, caressing them.... but, as I said, you'll have to wait.</p><p>Of the other books, the two best were: </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>By the Light of the Moon by Dean Koontz</li><li>The Switch by Justina Robson</li></ul><p></p><p></p><div>The others were good enough to read to the end, but not really inspiring:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The Lubetkin Legacy by Marina Lewycka</li><li>Unsheltered by Clare Moletar</li><li>The Summer Seekers by Sarah Morgan</li><li>Deep into the Dark by P.J. Tracy</li><li>Who is Maud Dixon by Alexandra Andrews</li></ul></div><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-62250912837440738892021-07-31T12:59:00.000+12:002021-07-31T12:59:20.769+12:00Reading: July 2021<p>I haven't stopped reading - I just haven't been writing about it. I keep a list of books read in my diary and always intend to review them but somehow it hasn't happened for a long time. But there is always the next month, the next day, the next book: so here goes.</p><p>1. <u>Six Wicked Reasons</u> by Jo Spain (fiction)</p><p>2. <u>The Confession</u> by Jessie Burton (ficton)</p><p>3. <u>The Litigators</u> by John Grisham (fiction)</p><p>4. <u>Camino Island</u> by John Grisham (fiction)</p><p>5. <u>Cliffs of Fall</u> by Shirley Hazzard (short stories, still don't like them! They always seem unfinished to me)</p><p>6. <u>Devoted</u> by Dean Koontz (fiction) (a disappointingly weak ending from an author I usually enjoy.)</p><p>So nothing particularly bad, I always enjoy John Grisham for an easy read and these were of his usual standard. But.....</p><p>Picks of the month:</p><p>7. <u>Meet Me in Another Life</u> by Catriona Silvey. (fiction) Thank goodness I reserved this book from the library after hearing a review of this sci fi / fantasy novel, because I would not otherwise have looked past the spine where someone had stuck a 'romance' sticker on it. Do not be put off if you don't like the romance genre - it is definitely NOT this. I think they read the jacket and jumped to a conclusion based on their own narrow definition of the word 'relationship'. It's a great read and a mind teaser: not a 'who dunnit' but certainly a 'wtf is going on' but just like in the best murder mystery, there are clues all the way through. I gradually got most of the pointers, but still didn't quite guess the surprising end. Highly recommended.</p><p>8. <u>Nomadland</u> by Jessica Bruder. (non-fiction) I had 'enjoyed' the movie, though 'enjoyed' isn't really the right word. The book was so much more! I became depressed and hopeful by turn, and overwhelmingly relieved that I live in New Zealand and not in the US. Our welfare system is not what I would like it to be, life can suck for people here, but Holy Shit! it is so much harder there. Also learned even more about what an asshole company Amazon is! But so interesting, and inspiring too, to see how resourceful people can be. And also how people can form kind and supportive communities anywhere. Highly recommended.</p><p><br /></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-61806954308212482722021-06-14T12:28:00.000+12:002021-06-14T12:28:09.164+12:00On how to store labels<p>A lot of my ponderings lately have come as an expansion on ideas from a discussion in Return of Me, a class from <a href="https://www.bookartstudios.co.nz/" target="_blank">Book Art Studios</a><i>. </i></p><div><div>After one session, my mind was swirling with thoughts about labels, and talk about there being 'two sides to the coin'. Both reminded me of my ponderings and anxieties during homeschooling days when I was asked about how I taught 'x' or what my kids were learning when they did 'y'. The longer I homeschool / unschooled, the harder I found it to label my children or to describe their learning, because both my children and life are so intricate and interacting and complex. At first glance there are two sides to a coin, but then we notice that there is a third side which is the circumference. And then we notice that the circumference has a patterned edge, so lots of little mini sides! And then, we notice that the sides are not opposite, they are just the outside of the coin, the external 'skin'. And then we see an old very coin that has been handled and dropped and covered in boiled-lolly stickiness and washed, for years and decades or even centuries and it's almost smooth and we can't see what the picture is or what the writing says. And then we lay it on the railway track and wait for a train and then it has no regular shape left. And then we drill a hole in it and hang it on a chain..... and is it still a coin with two sides? And maybe that's what is being done to me, and maybe that's what art is? Taking things, mixing them with thoughts and feelings and crumpling and soaking and tearing and working and working at them until the labels disappear but the essence remains, and we call it a 'book' or a 'quilt' or a 'statue' but it is made of all the other labelled things and labelled actions but is both less and more than all those things. It is the same but different. And even after it's finished, it is still not a finished thing because every person who experiences it will do so differently, both physically and emotionally.</div><div><br /></div><div>So if we stop the labelling, and think of the process of learning and adding and chipping away and putting our work out on the railway track and polishing and distressing and layering..... why then we can look at the planning and practicing and hoarding and emotional self-flagellation as all being part of the process, all part of the 'coin', and chose how much is enough of each for ourselves, rather than worrying about anyone else.</div><div><br /></div><div>So maybe labelling things - people, things, our actions - can become a collection of jars, boxes, tins, vaults, and consequently very restricted and restricting. Maybe if I really feel the need to label, I could use mesh bags instead of glass jars, to allow a bit of flow? Maybe using words like 'sometimes', 'yet', 'for now', could be freeing.</div><div></div></div>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-12428610161500293532021-06-14T12:08:00.002+12:002021-06-14T12:08:21.307+12:00Consolidation and Expansion<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> I've gotten out of the habit of blogging, and indeed, out of the habit of writing much at all. I miss putting my random thoughts and ideas into words, so figure this place is a easy one to start doing that again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Well, my home is chaotic. We took Simon to Auckland yesterday and deposited him in sterile temporary accommodation, as his flat isn't available until Thursday. He will be back at the weekend to collect the rest of his belongings. Or rather, the ones he needs - I'm sure there will be a large residue that will live on here, along with his cat which, it seems, is now our #2 cat. I'm trying not to worry too much about him, but his health is not good. I remember laughing at my parents when they worried about me even though I was 'grown up'. I now know that I will never stop worrying about my boys - I guess it's all a part of parental love.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: arial;">A friend went on an adventure, which included making a knife from scratch! which was, of course, not only about the knife, but about the adventure, the challenge, the perseverance, the expanding, stretching, growing. Other friends have gone gliding, hot air ballooning, art workshops, writing workshops..... I've been trying to come up with something special to do for my 70th birthday. I came up with one idea, but Mac shot that down for some reasons, though I'm still working on it. I'll find something....</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">BUT..... </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">I don't know if you have all watched the amazing Nightbirde audition on America's Got Talent - it's well worth a watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZJvBfoHDk0</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;">The thing that got me thinking was her words, "<span style="color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">You can't wait until life isn't hard anymore before you decide to be happy." And suddenly a rephrased version popped into my head: "You don't have to wait for a significant birthday to do something special, to have an adventure, to challenge yourself, expand, stretch, grow." Pretty obvious really, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not the only person in the universe to need a reason or excuse to do things, nor the only one to use the lack of an obvious reason or excuse AS a reason or excuse to avoid moving away from the comfort and security of the metaphorical armchair in front of the fire.</span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So.... as well as having decided I want to work to consolidate the skills and practice of the things I love doing - bookmaking, writing, gardening / permaculture - I also want to go on small adventures, stretch a bit, grow a bit, challenge myself a bit. I'm just not sure what that is going to involve!</span></span></div>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-91874050687595810282021-03-29T14:49:00.001+13:002021-03-29T14:49:52.017+13:00Writing Fragments<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Writing used to be a joy for me, but it became so much harder f</span><span style="text-align: left;">or me since I had a stroke three years ago. In January, </span><span style="text-align: left;">I did a workshop with Wanda Barker at the Raglan Summer School, and although it took me a week to rest and recover, I enjoyed it immensely. I haven't managed to keep up the writing habit though. Recently I realized that although I could write in the workshop, at home I expect myself to turn everything into 'a piece', and if I can't see a final context, I won't start. I do so enjoy the process of writing, trying to find the best words, the best order. I have never been interested in getting work published: I like to share with people who will offer constructive criticism of my writing, and I like to share with people who enjoy my words and experiences, but the rest of the world doesn't matter. So, I've been writing a couple of things that are not really poems, nor essays, nor short stories - just fragments of my life. And I've accepted that fragments are okay.</span></div><br /><u>The Freedom of Selective Memory</u><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">I have discovered<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">the joy possible</div><div style="text-align: left;">in selective memory.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Remembering as if reading</div><div style="text-align: left;">an ancient, brief item</div><div style="text-align: left;">in a yellowed newspaper,</div><div style="text-align: left;">voices and faces faded out.</div><div style="text-align: left;">It tastes like freedom.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"><u>The Hills From My Window</u></p><p style="text-align: left;">From my favourite chair, I see the ridgeline followed by Maungatawhiri Road. I cannot see the road, nor my friends' homes, but I see hills, paddocks, trees, and a few houses and sheds of strangers. This morning the misty rain blurs the shapes and mutes the colours.</p><p style="text-align: left;">In the mornings, on the rare occasions I rise early enough, and weather permitting, I see the sun's rays switch the spotlights on to the highest fields, turning them a wonderful gold-green, and then the colour moves wider and lower, like a Mexican wave, across the landscape. Next the tops of the trees are highlighted, and eventually the sun become visible in the east and reaches the windows behind me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">At sunset, that same view, framed by my window, is always the same, always different. Those particular trees on that particular stretch of the ridge, are sometimes backed by glorious reds and oranges, bright pinks and grey, but my favourite evenings are the ones I suspect are painted by Salvidor Dali, when the pale but luminescent white gold or apricot outlines the hills and no matter how hard, or exciting, or busy the day has been, all is well with the world, and I breathe out.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K5CLxH_muhE/YGEwMXL-mEI/AAAAAAAAHb4/cEVrXqemk788AyB1Hc_iGravjWyEBSfRACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20200402_194342.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K5CLxH_muhE/YGEwMXL-mEI/AAAAAAAAHb4/cEVrXqemk788AyB1Hc_iGravjWyEBSfRACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h480/20200402_194342.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-56286321161493890672020-10-20T21:12:00.000+13:002020-10-20T21:12:50.697+13:00Telling the Stories<p> Changing the way I tell the story after decades of negativity is hard. My 'natural' (really, it was learned) inclination is to see the negative.</p><p>So one version anticipating and living this week has so involved involved:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>my hand hurts;</li><li>it's grey and wet and dreary;</li><li>I'm feeling old and decrepit at the prospect of 3 more medical appointments this week;</li><li>I can't garden or craft because my hand hurts / rain;</li><li>blah blah blah....</li></ul><p></p><p>But I am actually doing what I said I would - noticing and telling the other story:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>my eyes are all good as far as glaucoma and diabetes go, and my vision has changed so little, I can choose whether or not to get my lenses changed;</li><li>I had time between appointments to have lunch with my friend, Amy;</li><li>I had a visit from another friend, Liz, and had a long lunch with her in Raglan;</li><li>Steven is coming tomorrow to visit;</li><li>my sore hand gives me an excuse to curl up with books for hours;</li><li>the rain flooded the bottom paddock beside the drive today and there were lots of ducklings paddling in the shallow 'pond'.</li></ul><div>A negative outlook is a hard habit to break - I've tried before - especially having had decades of working on the principle of 'if I expect the worst, I can't be disappointed. But I'm trying.</div><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-28671081682097891682020-10-13T20:49:00.000+13:002020-10-13T20:49:05.876+13:00Telling Stories to Make MagicIf the full and whole story of my life was told, and if it could told as quickly as I have lived it, it would take over 69 years. So when I tell the stories of my life, even to myself, they are, inevitably, just tiny parts of the whole. And they are often changed by how much I tell, and how much I leave out, and how important they are to my overall narrative, ....... and what the fuck is the meaning of life anyway? Well, that went downhill fast!<br /><br />Recently couple of people got me considering the stories I tell myself. <br /><br />Liz, of <a href="https://www.bookartstudios.co.nz/" target="_blank">Book Art Studios</a>, asked what my perfect day creating would look like. I found this incredibly difficult to do because so much of what I thought of isn't possible at the moment, or in some aspects, will never again be possible. Then I started considering what I really want now, and who I am now in the present as opposed to the past, or in some possible or impossible alternate future reality. <br /><br /> A young friend wrote on Facebook, addressing all those disappointed by missing out on tickets to Kiwiburn. Oliver spoke of how people may get tickets later, when the 'lucky' ones realize they can't go after all and sell their tickets. He spoke of other celebrations, festivals, and of the possibilities of setting up or contributing to other celebrations. He talked of years to come. Best of all, he said: "Burns are fundamentally about making magic happen, and you will never need a ticket to have permission to do that."<br /><div><br /></div><div>So I thought about the creative environment that I have longed for. I thought about Burning Man, which I heard about way back in the 1980s and how I thought, 'one day I'll go there, when the kids are grown', and Kiwiburn, which I heard of in the 1990s and thought, 'one day I'll go there, when the kids are grown'. But I haven't gone, though one son has.</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought about how I no longer tell myself that story of one day going to Burning Man or Kiwiburn, and of how I have let that story go, and am comfortable about leaving that story unlived, and yet I am unwilling to let go of my 'perfect creative day' story. Which actually, was never realistic anyway.</div><div><br />Now I'm thinking of what attracted me to Burning Man and Kiwi burn, and about the different aspects of my 'perfect creative day'. I'm thinking about all kinds of things in my life that I have been telling myself stories about, some true, some part true, and some just plain bullshit.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm thinking I need to tell new stories about my past. Not made up ones, just some of the stories I have put aside. Remembering positive stories as well as the negative stories that have eaten away at me.<br /><br />I need to start imagining positive possibilities and futures. instead of the negative what-if scenarios that plague me in the dark of the night.</div><div><br /></div><div>The habits of a lifetime are hard to change, but maybe if I start with the premise that I need neither a ticket nor permission, I might just be able to make some small magics.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EC3Con8eXGc/X4OP1H6qRyI/AAAAAAAAHVo/LjvU16ZLOYk7tasi0OPN3IMM1o60nn_NQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/20201011_163030.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1518" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EC3Con8eXGc/X4OP1H6qRyI/AAAAAAAAHVo/LjvU16ZLOYk7tasi0OPN3IMM1o60nn_NQCLcBGAsYHQ/w474-h640/20201011_163030.jpg" width="474" /></a></div></div>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-19164292189082883912020-09-09T14:06:00.001+12:002020-09-09T14:06:21.682+12:00Let Me Rest In Peace<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"> When I
die, as we all will,</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">please don't
hold a funeral.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Just let me
rest in peace.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't gather
and hug and kiss and cry. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't sing
somber or joyous songs. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don't get up
and spray your words</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">over all
those attending.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Just let me
rest in peace.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don’t visit
my sons</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">With plates
of food </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">that they
won’t eat</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">but will
have to wash and return.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Just leave
them to grieve</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">(or not) in
their own ways.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Don’t
breathe and sneeze</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">your thoughts
of how loved, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">or not, I
was, and how much</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">I will be
missed, or not.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Just let me
rest in peace.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">If you have
thoughts</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">About me,
loving or not,</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">tell me now,
or tell my sons</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">in a
disinfected letter.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Just let me
rest in peace:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">don’t send
me company. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-52356295888243576762020-08-31T10:28:00.000+12:002020-08-31T10:28:48.640+12:00The Other Overwhelming Sad<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">On top of and underlying the sadness I wrote about on Friday, was the other huge sadness that most New Zealanders were feeling. That I could not bring myself to write about last week. All week I was feeling love, horror, fear, grief,
compassion, for the victims of the Christchurch mosque murderous slaughters as nearly 90
survivors and family members gave victim impact statements in court.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">At the same time I felt stomach-churning horror at the thought of being
the mother of that white son, who is the same age as my white son. The
knowledge that none of my sons would do such a thing, does not ameliorate the
nausea, when the knowledge that he-who-I-will-not-name is a son of our
shared white culture of privilege and arrogance.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Even the sentence of actual life-until-you-die imprisonment (first time
*ever* in NZ) has left me in a state of horror - yes, what other option could
be considered? But he's 29 - he faces so many decades of non-life in jail. What
a waste, what a dreadful way to be. And his mother and grandmother - how
dreadful are their lives. And yet, what he did is just so awful, so so so
awful. I can't stop thinking of how I could live with the knowledge that my son
had done that. I think I would kill myself.<br /><br />It was comforting to have the son who is the same age visit this weekend, and to hear his thoughts around this horrible slaughter, and have it confirmed that he a good, kind, moral man that would never commit such an atrocity. Plus, he makes me laugh.</p><br /><p></p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-39596147277752207512020-08-28T22:03:00.000+12:002020-08-28T22:03:50.416+12:00Sad Like Never Before<p> <span style="background-color: white;">I’m feeling sad.
Sad like never before.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">I spent decades
in and out of depression. A few times I’ve been suicidal. More often I would fantasize
about dying in a way that no one would feel guilty – that a sudden rock fall
would land on my car without warning, or that I’d be struck by lightning. I
cried when a biopsy came back clear of cancer. I was sure everyone would be
better off without me, but also knew that some wouldn’t see that truth and
would be devastated if I killed myself. I didn’t think I was worth the money to
waste someone’s time and effort to help me with counseling. Eventually, in my
fifties and sixties I got intermittent help, and the last few years I finally
felt life was worth living, and that it was okay to do things just because I
enjoy them.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">But now I’m
feeling sad, like never before.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">The world feels
unsafe. Not just because of covid19, but because of people. The denial of
science that is inconvenient, around climate change, covid19, around
vaccination, around 1080, around a whole raft of things that have proven not to
be 100% perfect. Around science itself, which many see as failed if scientists
update or refine their information and recommendations after doing more research
aka science.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">It seems to me
that there are a lot of fears around, which contribute to the denial of
the majority of scientific opinion, and to the promulgation of conspiracy
theories ranging from the possible but unlikely (Jacinda Ardern is conspiring
with other world leaders to destroy capitalism) to the absurd (alien reptiles
have taken over the world’s leaders.) (Oh, and by the way, ladies, your
endometriosis was caused by demon sperm from when you screwed an incubus in
your dreams – facts from the same doctor who tells us that hydroxychloroquine
cures covid19.) Fear of an uncertain
future: it was always uncertain, we just didn’t recognize it. Fear of lack of
control: we have never had control over many things, we just pretend in order to
make us comfortable. Why do we hate, and often fear, cockroaches and bedbugs
and green veggie bugs? Because we can’t control them. Why are earthquakes and
tornados and tsunami so scary? Because we can’t control them. So when we can’t
control things, we either pretend they don’t exist – think of Aucklanders
living in a city of volcanoes, Christchurch people still living where their
existence was so threatened. So people deny science because it is less scary to
believe that ‘someone’ is in control, even if that ‘someone’ is out of our
control, that there is the possibility that some other someone will outwit the
‘someone’. Whether that ‘someone’ is Bill Gates, or Jacinda and friends, or Big
Pharma, or God in punishing mode, or the devil and his demon sperm, or the
Waikato District Council, or Miss Trunchbull, or the alien lizards - it’s still more comfortable to believe
than, ‘well, random shit happens’, and also more comfortable to believe than,
‘we just have to suck it up and get on with living with it as best we can’. I
know conspiracy theories sometimes true (eg the suppression of harm or
tobacco, sugar v fat harm to hearts), but seriously?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">I am old (69 in
a couple of weeks) and have underlying conditions which means if I get covid19
I am likely to die (of which I am not afraid) a very painful, lonely death
(which I do admit to being afraid of). My focus in the meantime is on how I can
learn to live sensibly in this beautiful world, in ways that work right here
and now.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">But now I’m feeling sad, like never before.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">Because the real
problem of this covid19 disease is the huge ongoing health problems - some 'recovered'
people have health problems months on. Post-'recovery' people still have
cellular organ damage to lungs, brains, liver, kidneys, chronic fatigue,
recurring symptoms....and no one knows how long it will take for them to
recover, or even if people will ever recover What is this going to do to our
economy? What is this going to do to my beloved sons, grandchildren, and
friends?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">I’m feeling sad,
like never before.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">We<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> need to adjust our
(humans everywhere but particularly in our 'civilized' first world) lifestyles
in the light of climate change and environmental degradation, if our existence
as a species is to continue. But many prefer to stay comfortable pretending it’s
another conspiracy. Personally, I think we need to take covid19 as a quarter
final in the lead up to the main event. I tend towards the idea (non-scientific
opinion at this point in time) that this and other weird stuff, is happening
because we humans have upset the balance of nature with our greedy exploitation
and expansion. My fear doesn’t drive me to denial: it drives me to sadness. Like
never before.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;">People are showing
more and more that they are not kind. Blatant racism. The bitter opposition to so
many things, and to so many other people, seems to be increasing exponentially.
And I find myself becoming more intolerant of others. When, during this current
re-emergence of covid19 in New Zealand, I am in the supermarket, signs about
social distancing everywhere, and as an announcement over the speakers reminding
people of the requirements is literally just ending, a man pushes right up
against me, arms and bodies touching, as I reach for a jar of gherkins because
he can’t wait an extra second for me to move on…. I suddenly become filled with over-whelming bitter rage. And this woman in a Facebook discussion:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: background1;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I can't take my kids swimming because some
old people with co-morbidities died. couldn't watch his cross-country because
old people with co-morbidities died. Who's being selfish now? I If you're
scared stay at home. If you sick stay at home. Wash your hands like you would
anyway. Let the rest of us get on with our lives!!<br />
</i><br />
I’m feeling sad, like never before.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><o:p>Once again I feel unwanted, worthless - worse than worthless, a burden.</o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Mental illness kept me from living a full life for decades. Then
diabetes and a stroke have made my life even smaller. Now covid19 is reducing
it, with restrictions necessary to control it. For younger people there is
still hope for the future, but although my ‘isolation facility’ is a beautiful
place to live, there are places I’d like to go, things I’d like to do, before I
die. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">But even if a vaccine is produced, no vaccine ever gives 100%
protection, and the older you get, the less likely they are to be effective –
thus the need for widespread uptake, to protect the elderly and the
immune-compromised. With more and more people like that woman, that rabid anti-vaxer
who has previously harassed a nurse friend of mine, this science denier, wide-spread uptake
isn’t going to happen.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">The weekend after next, there’s a women’s retreat that I’ve been looking
forward to for a year. I’m not going. In December I’m booked to go to Book Camp
again. I may not go. Maybe I would do these things if I was on my own, but it
would not just be my life I’d be choosing to risk. Life is getting very small.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">I’m sad. Like never before.<br /><br />Tonight the neighbour's cows got out of their paddock and into our place, trampling the trees we planted just a couple of weeks ago. Mac had hurt his knee earlier in the day and was hobbling around in the dark trying to get the cows back down the driveway, while I drove to get the neighbour to come help. I met his worker at the end of the drive and stayed to block the cows from the other end of the road. I sat in the darkness of the car and cried. Just so sad and lonely, sad all the way through.<br /><br />But then the neighbour arrived. He's much younger than me, and has always been really fit and healthy. He had a stroke three years ago, six months before me. He peered into the car and saw my tears. He understands. He asked, "Do you need a hug? Because I sure need one." And I got out, and in the dark we hugged and cried until the cows came home. <br /><br />And now I'm a little less lonely, and a little less sad. </p>Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-56154794463280089312020-06-21T14:27:00.000+12:002020-06-21T19:44:19.292+12:00And the times, they are a changingEvents are sending me deeper and deeper into introspection; contemplating my life, my attitudes, my beliefs, and hopefully, my behaviour. It's something I've been doing more and more over the years, especially since my children grew up and I have more time and space in my head, then as health issues (diabetes, stroke) forced me to recognize my mortality, and now with covid 19, Black Lives Matter, Maori rights issues, minority rights issues, etc etc. History isn't what it used to be - there are so many things that have been repressed or over-exaggerated, denied - I am realizing that often what I thought was true was just an interpretation through the lenses of the 'winners'.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As we enter the world, we are helpless babies. We grow. We learn. When we try to walk, our parents don't yell at us for falling; they praise us for trying - so we keep trying. When we first say 'mumumumum' our parents don't yell at us for not saying it right; they are ecstatic that we just said our first word. But somewhere along the way many of us lose our desire to learn and grow. We learn to fear being wrong. We learn to deny that we did something, or thought something, or said something that was proved wrong, or not useful. We cling to ideas and ways which may have been useful strategies once, but which are now impeding our progress: a toddler may learn to walk by holding on to something to steady themself, but that strategy is not a useful one once they are walking well enough to move away from the table and out into the world. However, as the toddler moves out, it isn't an instant change of travel mode: the toddler tries no hands for a few steps, then grabs the table or wall or hand for a few steps, then tries again and again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Under stress, as we all are at the moment, I have seen some people grabbing the opportunities for change with eagerness, others fearfully grabbing the 'table' with both hands, and most of us doing the wobbly walk, grabbing for support sometimes, falling sometimes, running for a few steps - and repeat. One thing I have found, is that holding on tight to the table of old ideas may be comforting for a while, but then I feel like I'm being left behind by the world. Not all the old ideas are bad, so take those with you on your life journey, and modify or abandon those that are shown to no longer be useful or reasonable. But don't drag the whole table with you - better to drive to the shops than cling to the old ways and walk or go in a cart behind a donkey, as our predecessors did. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I hear people saying things that go against what I believe, I try not to get defensive and close my ears. I try to listen, and although sometimes I reject the new ideas, often I change my own, either partially or fully. Usually I find the ideas aren't really new, just new to me, either because I haven't come across them before, or because I wasn't listening before.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope I can keep listening, learning, and adapting to this constantly changing world until I die.</div>
Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-77973768495161149082020-04-26T19:03:00.000+12:002020-04-26T19:03:34.043+12:00A Country MouseThese beautiful autumn days have been perfect for clearing out the vegetable gardens, ready for resting and planting. The cats have been catching lots of mice, many of which are, I am sure, living in the compost heaps. However, I have disturbed several while weeding. While out in the garden this afternoon, I was thinking about this and that, and remembered Beatrix Potter's books, my favourites as a small child, and still loved as an old woman. I got to thinking about <u>The Tale of Johnny Town-Mouse</u>, which is oddly named, as it is really the story of Timmy Willie, a country mouse.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-79KgLReX1Vw/XqUtxOdOZ6I/AAAAAAAAHPY/FA7oZrfiGUsN0wCkGxUMkykRomOBEq8KgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200426_175612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-79KgLReX1Vw/XqUtxOdOZ6I/AAAAAAAAHPY/FA7oZrfiGUsN0wCkGxUMkykRomOBEq8KgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200426_175612.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
I spent the first fifteen and a half years of my life living on a farm, and continued to think of myself as a country bumpkin after we left, even while living in cities - New Plymouth, Hamilton and London - with just a year when we rented a house on a farm, while still working in Hamilton. When we moved to the country again, almost 21 years ago, I realised that in fact, I had become a 'city slicker', as we used to call my cousins from Wellington, who visited us in the school holidays when we were kids.<br />
<br />
Today I realised that although we live on a 'lifestyle' block, and depend on income from outside of our property, I have once again come to identify as a country woman - or as I put on annoying forms, a yeoman farmer. And I am content with that. It's not a perfect life. When the farmer next door puts his cattle in the paddock next to us, the flies become diabolical. On the other hand, the manure makes for wonderful mushrooms at this time of the year, and he is kind enough to turn the electric fence off for us to climb over and fill buckets full. Across the road a dairy farmer sometimes holds us up as his cows cross the road, and their manure splashes onto our car when we drive on. But when we offer him apples, he responds by filling our mailbox with avocados.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IUhGW0ignLE/XqUuAIsCd4I/AAAAAAAAHPk/C_LCJQjDAhcjYQ9IUTSSmaRDUcCk1uwvACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200331_134919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IUhGW0ignLE/XqUuAIsCd4I/AAAAAAAAHPk/C_LCJQjDAhcjYQ9IUTSSmaRDUcCk1uwvACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200331_134919.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
When we moved here, Mac's job was 'area engineer' and he warned me that I must not argue with or complain about the neighbours: he had experience of being called upon to follow up complaints to council about neighbours - including 'reverse sensitivity' cases where 'townies' complained of the smells of manure and silage, and even, in one case, of animals mating in the paddock next door. Mac did not want us to be 'those' neighbours!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I 'farm' our land with scythe and mulch and other vaguely permaculture methods; their farms are more intensely managed. I would love to live surrounded by organic, regenerative farms, but I recognise that although there are more such places now than 21 years ago when we moved back to the country, such changes take time. It is not for me to criticise people whose only income comes from their absurdly mortgages farms. High stocking is how it's been done, and that requires high levels of feed, which in turn requires fertilizer because the land has been treated that way for years. Without fertilizer, more feed would have to be brought in from outside, and given the increasing drought years here, that means imported palm kernel. Things can and must change, but change needs to be gradual.<br />
<br />
I'm happy here. Paradise may have a few nettles, blackberries, gorse, and shit aka manure, but even they have positives. Kind neighbours make for peaceful living, and I try to be that neighbour.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OIQj8rBndjo/XqUt-Lun8wI/AAAAAAAAHPc/0CbYTvRF-Ocgzk_k5ely4CelfricAYsJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200426_180148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OIQj8rBndjo/XqUt-Lun8wI/AAAAAAAAHPc/0CbYTvRF-Ocgzk_k5ely4CelfricAYsJQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200426_180148.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-61099727182144076582020-04-26T09:26:00.002+12:002020-04-26T09:27:33.782+12:00Like a Snail<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="e7mla" data-offset-key="f02in-0-0" style="animation-name: none !important; background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; transition-property: none !important; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f02in-0-0" style="animation-name: none !important; direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; transition-property: none !important;">
<span data-offset-key="f02in-0-0" style="animation-name: none; font-family: inherit;">Day 26. I don't go out much usually. But somehow 'can't' is so very different from 'don't'. 'Can't' squashes me like a boot on a snail - not annihilated on a concrete path, but pushed into newly tilled earth, damaged, confused, disorientated, bewildered, not sure if I'll get out alive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mornings when I wake with sun streaming in the window - and then the boot stomps down. Afternoons in the garden doing my own stomping are better - planting and growing are acts of hope and belief in the future. Evenings are when I feel the most squashed, when life and tears ooze out of me quietly and puddle on the floor next to the cat's half eaten mouse.</span></div>
</div>
Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-7702209155528183482020-04-14T21:45:00.000+12:002020-04-14T21:46:52.967+12:00Books, Bees, and Birds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I decided that although I want to keep up this record of my very ordinary life, a day by day account is going to become a dreary task. <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wz-KYZI9bzY/XpVk1omyo2I/AAAAAAAAHNE/JDzE-wQEl8g8KOOV5tEpr7UjqWSVAiSeQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200413_171725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wz-KYZI9bzY/XpVk1omyo2I/AAAAAAAAHNE/JDzE-wQEl8g8KOOV5tEpr7UjqWSVAiSeQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200413_171725.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Yesterday I made another of my not-retreat books. I don't know what I will do with them eventually, but it's fun making them. Except That I was having trouble finding things - trouble even finding space to work!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YlMU4NKJKkA/XpVk2Lj8YbI/AAAAAAAAHNI/h_7Q35gc22QV935DlePIVljItG7cDGJ4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200413_171754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YlMU4NKJKkA/XpVk2Lj8YbI/AAAAAAAAHNI/h_7Q35gc22QV935DlePIVljItG7cDGJ4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200413_171754.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Today I decided it was time to clean up a bit. There are still mess piles on side tables, and on the floor, but....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R7AQusC2zn8/XpVk4O_N2oI/AAAAAAAAHNM/qGMNp1hUk3EJOsvSv7yjBq5pIjzXIll1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_161854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R7AQusC2zn8/XpVk4O_N2oI/AAAAAAAAHNM/qGMNp1hUk3EJOsvSv7yjBq5pIjzXIll1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_161854.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
...there is now room to spread out my fabric.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CD4vagJfbds/XpVlRbJ7sQI/AAAAAAAAHNc/Nxf-iFFgM3Ekss514gySb4hSQEC5nJSHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_161926.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CD4vagJfbds/XpVlRbJ7sQI/AAAAAAAAHNc/Nxf-iFFgM3Ekss514gySb4hSQEC5nJSHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_161926.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Bees! (The fabric is a much brighter yellow than in the photos.)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-98D0MdrB2wg/XpVlTPbEAII/AAAAAAAAHNg/SAFUNRw7lfsiMZ0hGQF5zHvIYQZs7cHqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_161935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-98D0MdrB2wg/XpVlTPbEAII/AAAAAAAAHNg/SAFUNRw7lfsiMZ0hGQF5zHvIYQZs7cHqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_161935.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
Afterwards I walked down to the mailbox. Past the lemon verbena: I had intended to dry lots of it for winter teas, but it has gone to flower, so past it's best, but looking pretty.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U2g47_mFCMU/XpVleTtA2CI/AAAAAAAAHNk/rV-6SWNLyGoOWa-b4VSfnbUTFeXrR1eLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_164947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U2g47_mFCMU/XpVleTtA2CI/AAAAAAAAHNk/rV-6SWNLyGoOWa-b4VSfnbUTFeXrR1eLQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_164947.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
Magnolia leaves:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d5xKKo-dQRw/XpVl6iB3qyI/AAAAAAAAHN0/8iXxDPBNXvQxuEIMTuKfyqkVpmDsQmJ0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_165147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d5xKKo-dQRw/XpVl6iB3qyI/AAAAAAAAHN0/8iXxDPBNXvQxuEIMTuKfyqkVpmDsQmJ0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_165147.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
In the 600 metres each way, I heard and / saw a cock pheasant, several tui, a keruru, a couple of rosellas, pukeko, a mallard, sparrows, a kotere, a apir of PAradise ducks - and three piwakawaka, one of which actually sat still long enough for me to photograph!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WBaz6KKwXPc/XpVl9h5Lv-I/AAAAAAAAHN8/OzIAOXKwSKUF3ELSWXYWcwyce5Y26_DvACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_165348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WBaz6KKwXPc/XpVl9h5Lv-I/AAAAAAAAHN8/OzIAOXKwSKUF3ELSWXYWcwyce5Y26_DvACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_165348.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jl1jB3gapHs/XpVl82lFcJI/AAAAAAAAHN4/V9H0MHjQFukI8KjrwCZjZRrN8mOetIh5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_165353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jl1jB3gapHs/XpVl82lFcJI/AAAAAAAAHN4/V9H0MHjQFukI8KjrwCZjZRrN8mOetIh5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_165353.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t3xvn1lJJMU/XpVmSizuiDI/AAAAAAAAHOQ/hV16hgRAJc8kt1BLdXtWlY41JxzXTNv4QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_165356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t3xvn1lJJMU/XpVmSizuiDI/AAAAAAAAHOQ/hV16hgRAJc8kt1BLdXtWlY41JxzXTNv4QCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_165356.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
And of course, every day there are cats....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fr63lPz3E7E/XpVmRtl0xYI/AAAAAAAAHOM/x5znG42Ucs0sn-3oYOf6Nq8XABlFM4JUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_171138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fr63lPz3E7E/XpVmRtl0xYI/AAAAAAAAHOM/x5znG42Ucs0sn-3oYOf6Nq8XABlFM4JUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_171138.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wvGu6XacQjc/XpVmUPT2OLI/AAAAAAAAHOU/9TyRrn2Hv1QdJ29yNzUApFJuN0ljZmtkACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200414_172852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wvGu6XacQjc/XpVmUPT2OLI/AAAAAAAAHOU/9TyRrn2Hv1QdJ29yNzUApFJuN0ljZmtkACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200414_172852.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
<br />Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-2260105800596419722020-04-11T22:33:00.002+12:002020-04-11T22:34:07.982+12:00Breaking out of the Cage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TsoQAAdbgDc/XpGNfAISJgI/AAAAAAAAHLs/fVdvwne19Co-SapZrfVGg_Z6F_QDRYY6QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_085310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TsoQAAdbgDc/XpGNfAISJgI/AAAAAAAAHLs/fVdvwne19Co-SapZrfVGg_Z6F_QDRYY6QCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_085310.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
In these days of lock down, most of us have moments when we feel imprisoned. But today I escaped...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GK3RxxnaTW0/XpGNUHLMa8I/AAAAAAAAHLo/wEqRxqhMONUC8oF-eMH1vRQsBzE5lTgsQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_121401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GK3RxxnaTW0/XpGNUHLMa8I/AAAAAAAAHLo/wEqRxqhMONUC8oF-eMH1vRQsBzE5lTgsQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_121401.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
...to my very Messy Playroom, my happy place. First I joined a class run by Liz of <a href="https://www.bookartstudios.co.nz/" target="_blank">Book Arts Studio</a>, but started playing with some pages I had prepared to make notebooks for a retreat planned for next weekend. I have been struggling to create since the anxiety, fear, horror of covid19 started to impact me at the beginning of March. Inspiration doesn't come, and besides, comforting myself with art seems such a privileged thing to do. I think of all those who are so much worse off than me, so much more trapped, so much more vulnerable. And yet, how does having an unused room full of art and craft supplies help anyone? <br />
<br />
Today, taking something I started before all this started, and turning it in into something different from the plan, eased my anxiety for a while, and for a few hours I was happy in my mess.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q_OjREpChbo/XpGNSWPbucI/AAAAAAAAHLk/furqg5FWligwytlkoqyvcRh7IP89ce9_ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_121417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q_OjREpChbo/XpGNSWPbucI/AAAAAAAAHLk/furqg5FWligwytlkoqyvcRh7IP89ce9_ACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_121417.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
A book made using one of my gelli prints, and embroidery thread from the days before I had linen thread for bookmaking.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i_cy74wUv3A/XpGNiZlmMYI/AAAAAAAAHL0/qqE-DwFUZtUSId7qIJMDYPzHdHnx3wcXgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_121702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i_cy74wUv3A/XpGNiZlmMYI/AAAAAAAAHL0/qqE-DwFUZtUSId7qIJMDYPzHdHnx3wcXgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_121702.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Mark making with s gold Pitt pen and a homemade stamp.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fv2iwC8WKgY/XpGNjh8UO_I/AAAAAAAAHL4/S8lWixPN2hoYodEpiuda9yKG48NEe7pLACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_121720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fv2iwC8WKgY/XpGNjh8UO_I/AAAAAAAAHL4/S8lWixPN2hoYodEpiuda9yKG48NEe7pLACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_121720.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Coffee dyed paper, which was dried in my dehydrator, resulting in some interesting markings.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nUn56kNJs64/XpGNyDfzzlI/AAAAAAAAHMI/Hy_rFluA0xYL-eTSk3UCq2TsZUhLNXA-wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_121732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nUn56kNJs64/XpGNyDfzzlI/AAAAAAAAHMI/Hy_rFluA0xYL-eTSk3UCq2TsZUhLNXA-wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_121732.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Book paper pockets with a chook feather, and a tag stamped with a hand-carved stamp of a kowhai leaf.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9yvBHQzlEY/XpGN1m2AuDI/AAAAAAAAHMU/T9aaZU0X34sm-wNU9-6AShFUn2Yo_Vn1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_121759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J9yvBHQzlEY/XpGN1m2AuDI/AAAAAAAAHMU/T9aaZU0X34sm-wNU9-6AShFUn2Yo_Vn1wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_121759.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
And another with a kowhai seed stamped tag and a duck feather.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QaQpbd-tnc8/XpGN1aw-oEI/AAAAAAAAHMQ/b3gF6yLJgecRK0BiC-gz3BryFe9thz03gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_182408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QaQpbd-tnc8/XpGN1aw-oEI/AAAAAAAAHMQ/b3gF6yLJgecRK0BiC-gz3BryFe9thz03gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_182408.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
A second book, again with a gelli printed cover.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OQge9aQ4MtY/XpGN6REJEtI/AAAAAAAAHMY/xO_AO1WTGTg1Z0l7BagJhl0lMjNxmnYUACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200411_182453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OQge9aQ4MtY/XpGN6REJEtI/AAAAAAAAHMY/xO_AO1WTGTg1Z0l7BagJhl0lMjNxmnYUACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/20200411_182453.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
This time, one pocket holds a dried ginkgo leaf.<br />
<br />
More pages await covers and stitching, and I feel like I'm finding myself again.Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1129078493058726326.post-16589501980854578452020-04-10T21:59:00.001+12:002020-04-10T21:59:36.516+12:00A Walk to the Long End of the Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I only meant to walk to the mailbox with a bucket of apples, but Mac decided to come with me, and then we decided to go a bit further. We saw our farmer neighbour doing something with young cattle in his yards, and had a bit of a chat about gorse and drought and how much rain we'd caught on the roofs and what a great year it was for mushrooms - and were a bit hoarse at the end of it, because we were keeping our distance. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--PTSs5Zw_BA/XpAyUVDWa_I/AAAAAAAAHKw/2rgHkrOCRDkhJVj76q81Rk6jwkNSuoqYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200410_114449.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--PTSs5Zw_BA/XpAyUVDWa_I/AAAAAAAAHKw/2rgHkrOCRDkhJVj76q81Rk6jwkNSuoqYgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200410_114449.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
We passed Mac's sister's old place<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d79Qk4RiZeQ/XpAyJH67DSI/AAAAAAAAHKs/Ff0n7UiZ6UsCxE0yvzm4kbWIz1z0mvGsgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200410_114523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d79Qk4RiZeQ/XpAyJH67DSI/AAAAAAAAHKs/Ff0n7UiZ6UsCxE0yvzm4kbWIz1z0mvGsgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200410_114523.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
with the shed that we helped put the roof on the day before I had my stroke a couple of years ago.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BHA2zhXKbFg/XpAykvyUWaI/AAAAAAAAHK4/rkviXW8VsKMGv1oOvGqma-U25i4lN7ANwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200410_121224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BHA2zhXKbFg/XpAykvyUWaI/AAAAAAAAHK4/rkviXW8VsKMGv1oOvGqma-U25i4lN7ANwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200410_121224.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XsM-fyDjPwY/XpAy6YwnT0I/AAAAAAAAHLI/68s-r_GcqKIFgypPZABrWpo0uVLXo_8ogCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200410_121506.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XsM-fyDjPwY/XpAy6YwnT0I/AAAAAAAAHLI/68s-r_GcqKIFgypPZABrWpo0uVLXo_8ogCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200410_121506.jpg" width="225" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I love the shadows these trees cast upon the road.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N7sLxHWT8lU/XpAyo5ZnfXI/AAAAAAAAHK8/a8DW_cIKXacI4FbBYQhMKLhPkBaBzljbACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200410_122408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N7sLxHWT8lU/XpAyo5ZnfXI/AAAAAAAAHK8/a8DW_cIKXacI4FbBYQhMKLhPkBaBzljbACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200410_122408.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
The liquid amber tree is starting to colour up.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZacXRlKoLH0/XpAy2RZPATI/AAAAAAAAHLA/dKlYL5D0r1k9hBLsF2aW938-VOqmp9zgwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200410_183606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZacXRlKoLH0/XpAy2RZPATI/AAAAAAAAHLA/dKlYL5D0r1k9hBLsF2aW938-VOqmp9zgwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200410_183606.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Another peaceful evening.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RZHL7Dy1P3k/XpA9u_-oeEI/AAAAAAAAHLY/ua_OrFtYUBU7g5xbYMggqSIh4YXnR9feACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200410_213347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RZHL7Dy1P3k/XpA9u_-oeEI/AAAAAAAAHLY/ua_OrFtYUBU7g5xbYMggqSIh4YXnR9feACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200410_213347.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
And in the evening I mend my round-home, merino trousers, practising stitching in anticipation of a more artistic project.Callyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18365519986239394807noreply@blogger.com0