Good Enough

I'm a bit of a perfectionist.  I like to do things properly.  This is a good driver in my work of art-making.  But in the other world, the imperfect world, like any personal quality, it's a Good Thing and a Bad Thing.  There have been many times in the past when my fear of failure or, more prosaically, lack of enough time or the perfect tools, has paralysed me and I haven't even begun something, let alone finished it.

Recently I have been occasionally astonishing myself and saying 'good enough is good enough, just get into it and get it done!'

The day, nay the evening before Aftermas this year, I was moaning about the uneven step that was the scene and contributing cause of my literal downfall last Aftermas, and GB simply thought for a few seconds, said 'Quick-drying concrete!', got in the car, bought a bag from Mitre 10 Mega and within 30 minutes the step was done.  Inspirational!

The new level step where I broke my ankle last year.

Aftermas is a great incentive. Between Christmas and New Year's I spent a happy three days finishing off the edges of the cobblestone area in front of my studio. It was like leaving until last all the edges of a giant irregular jigsaw puzzle.  I had a collection of part-pavers and pieces and amazingly, had only three left over when I had finished filling all the holes.

It feels so good to be done and dusted after mumble years of unfinishedness.
Now, a quick sweep with the broom and it looks so nice! Sure it's not perfect.  Sure the leaves still get stuck in a few gaps, but at least they're only little leaves now.  Now it's such a pleasure to go down the back steps and out to work in my wee studio.

The steps to our back door, and the alleyway for visitors to my studio.

My art studio.

Craig

Craig (left) and my two boys, 1996.

A year ago our family shared in the sudden and inexplicable loss of a young man.

Nineteen years ago we moved to Tauranga and met the L family.  For about three years while he was still at primary school I used to pick Craig up from school and he played at our place with my three kids until his Mum or Dad picked him up about 5.30. Later Zoe started school and for a while we had both Craig and Zoe after school. We wouldn't have a kid's party without first checking that Craig and Zoe could make it on that day.  And likewise for their parents (who had become my closest friends) for the grown-up get-togethers.

Craig and Zoe went to the same University as my three, and this time last year Craig was home again after spending a year in Aussie working.  My James and he had been looking at a few flats locally and were deciding on one to rent together.  Craig was about to sign the contract for a new job.  About 4am on the morning of the 6th February 2013, Zoe heard a noise from his bedroom and found Craig on his floor.  He died half an hour later despite repeated attempts to revive him.  We still don't know the cause of his death.

Our memories of Craig are precious, and we will always hold them dearly.  

'It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up.  And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know.  It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is.  You foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.'

-Lemony Snickett

Science

Eating Figs and Washing Windows

I've been away house-sitting for about a week.
I've eating their figs straight from the tree, and watching Tui sip nectar from the flax-flowers, and hearing their amazing calls: chiming, wardle-ardles, glottal stops and obstruents.
I've been smiling at the quail and their silly little bobbing top-kots, and watering the vegetable garden.
I've also been reading the owner's books, listening to their music and cleaning their windows*.
And looking at the view: the in-and-out of the tides and changing light and weather over the estuary.

It really has been quite delightful.

* About 130 of them.  Phew!

Mindfulness and Other Thoughts

I lingered in bed this morning listening to Noelle McCarthy talk with Dr Rick Hanson who has written a book entitled 'Hardwiring Happiness'.
While listening I had, not quite an epiphany, but certainly a greatly pleasing scientific confirmation of a strongly-held personal philosophy of mine. In a nutshell: that taking the trouble to notice and remember Good Stuff makes you happier.  Apparently it also grows part of the brain, which in turn makes it easier to keep doing.  Which in turn makes you calmer, happier, more able to deal with stress and bad stuff, and as a nice bonus, you live longer.



Afterwards I got up and, standing on my back porch, it seemed the clouds were scudding only just above the tops of the trees in my back garden.  I felt I could have touched them.

Water on the Road.

Mirage near Ngatea.

Is it a flood over the road?  Nope - just a phenomenon of New Zealand summers when the air is still and cooler than the road.
When we were little my sister and I would entreat Dad to drive faster to try and 'catch' mirages before they 'dried up'.
We also used to try and get him to go fast and make a big splash through the tiny ford that trickled across the road to one of our picnic spots...  was it Maraetotara,  or Maraekakaho? - one of those small rural districts, I always get them muddled.
Speaking of picnics, I remember once we were picnicking up Rissington way, and a ewe kept moaning in the paddock nearby. Our grandparents must have been there, because Poppa went to see and said it was having trouble lambing.  I never did know if he helped it, but the sound of the poor creature bothered my memory for days.  I was a sensitive soul.
But the best thing I remember was when there was a summer thunderstorm and once, just once, we raced to the edge of the rain, and came through onto the dry road as if we had passed through a curtain or emerged from a waterfall.  That was marvelous!  We peered through the small back window of our Hilman but we had definitely left the dense rain shower behind us, trying to keep up. And there was that thrill knowing that if we stopped, it would catch us up, like some kind of living thing.

Ah happy days.

2014 has begun

As I write these words it's 12 minutes into the new year.

May this new year bring you health and happiness.
And if there are any metaphorical clouds, I hope they are interesting shapes and colours and not raining on you for too long.

View from the alpaca farm one evening last year.