Layers

Some time ago, Crofty, whose heart is still in west Scotland, wrote a post about an artist he knew who made wonderful sculptures out of old books.  This put me in mind of him.  It's a tiny smidgeon peeled off something that's been painted a lot.  Marvelous!  

It could be a metaphor for life's experiences.

Saving

For ages I've been trying to save money.  This is mostly because I don't like working much, and it means I have more money to do the things I really want to, eg go on overseas trips or buy books.

I save mostly in areas of house-hold expenditure, and so I'm feeling rather smug when I see how many of the suggestions in this diagram I've been doing for years.  

Note to self: must work on not using the car so much.  Make a start as soon as have come back from Dunedin trip ...

Death

I've recently been thinking and talking about death a lot.  A special friend is dying, and we have some great discussions.  My mother and sister, geriatric nurses, both very down-to-earth people with pragmatic philosophies about this and other matters, have rubbed off on me.  

It seems to me there are some generalities:

1.  It comes to us all, don't be afraid, it's very natural.  Most people just don't see it around much these days so, like anything unknown, it can seem scary.

2.  Everyone is different and thus dies differently.  

3.  It's nice to have time to say goodbye but it doesn't always happen.

4.  It's something you have to ultimately do by yourself.

5.  There is no reason these days, with modern medicine, for anyone to die in pain.  Be assertive.

6.  You ain't dead until you're dead.  So don't ignore the dying out of fear or embarrassment, nor live like you're already gone.

7.  If a belief of some type gives comfort, use it.  

8.  Celebrate the life.  Death means the last page is written and the book finished.  But you can always go back and read it again and again.

Live as if you were to die tomorrow.  Learn as if you were to live forever.

- Mahatma Ghandi

The Fieldays

Last week, along with 130 thousand others, we headed over to Mystery Creek near Hamilton to the National Agricultural Fieldays.  

I bought, on impulse(s): six swiss peelers, three rubber-band guns, some cosmetics (with instructional DVD), two kilograms of veggie leathers, a single-bed sized imitation hare fur blanket, a barbeque non-stick liner sheet, two pairs of gardening gloves, three pairs of fantastic socks, two hotdogs-on-sticks (with tomato sauce), three steak sandwiches, and two bottles of orange and mango juice.

We watched the fencing competition.

Look at the wonderful assortment of equipment this champion fencer needs, all nicely laid out.  He had six bottles of electrolyte drinks of assorted flavours and four bananas, pre-peeled.   He was three posts ahead of the other fencers, who had their equipment in messy piles, and no bananas, peeled or unpeeled.

  

I did not buy any large brightly-coloured agricultural equipment....

... and am not frustrated as this man clearly is:

However I was tempted by this and these.  And I want to buy one of these one day.

Going Back 2

In the park the aviary is still there.

  

The park was, to an under-three year-old, a huge exciting place where you could get lost.  

It's where I first fed ducks and swans with bread with Nanna (and of course received my first swan-bite, as you do).  

It was where I sat on the stone lion and paddled in the toddler pool and picnicked on the grass.  

One time I went back, they'd had vandals and removed all the birds, but it was nice to see them back this time.

So, some things do stay the same.

This time, Jane and I took Dad out for lunch and we sat in front of the cages and nattered over our sandwiches.  

Very nice.

Going Back

I've been back to my old stamping ground.  Funny how some things are quite different from how you remember them, and others give you such a jolt because they are just the same.  

The creek at the back of our house was wide, full of logs left where they fell, mud, eels and only visible once you sat under the willows that almost completely shaded it.   I used to go down the bank from an early age and fish for eels with bread and a bent pin.  This me, at about four. 

 I could lie in bed and hear the pukekos and morporks in the trees,  and the stock trucks as they engine-braked down the hill to the old single-lane wooden bridge at the bottom, rattled across and then ground slowly up the other side. 

When it flooded, it was a completely different personality; broad, tan, oily and viscously exciting.  We loved it when it actually flowed over the  bridge.  Eventually they replaced it with a high, long, metal bridge, but we used to play pooh-sticks or fish off the old one until long after the 'unsafe' sign was up and you could see the creek between the huge square wooden beams.

But now look at the river.  Tamed out of all recognition, antiseptic and with a 'walking track' beside it.  But there'd be nothing for me to see, even if I was to go walking there...

Mt Maunganui

(David Hall Photography)

Today I walked around the Mount with T, as we often do on a Sunday.  It happened to be exactly one year, one month, one week, one day and one hour since we first met.  The sunshine glittered on the water like gold and haloed the silhouettes of the black volcanic rocks.  There was a cold invigorating wind, and the views were clear and sharp as a blade.