Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Saving the best. It works not just with seeds, but with memories, friendships and other special relationships. In spring when the ground is warm once more, we will dig manure and compost into the soil and plant the seeds. My father taught me how to garden, and as I teach Mira, the best of that learning is passed on to her. Maybe one day she will pass it on in turn, as she pulls out an envelope for her grandchild to decorate before slipping into it a treasure trove of sun-dried seeds.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
It was hard to find, but the many lahar mounds on that side were rising up thick and fast as the bus drove onwards.
'You were my favourite teacher,' I told him, 'and I will never forget what you gave me,'
He emerged from behind the clouds, with a mischievous light in his eye and replied, 'well maybe you were my favourite pupil.'
When I was with Jim, my teacher, I sang some of the old songs he taught me, and he joined in. We were together as the years and clouds rolled back. Arohanui. It was a big journey, in every way, and worth every step.
The essential task is to feel the thrill of completing your pilgrimage. . . . There is joy in having arrived, moment by moment. Phil Cousineau, 'The Art of Pilgrimage'.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Oh, yum. Then we had one with fish. Then some sticks were thrown in, as carrots. But 'no biscuits today, sorry.'
I've been a bit absent, dear blog friends. Life has been rather serious. But when Mira comes for the afternoon, fun and fantasy are guaranteed.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
My old school teacher awakened my creativity with puppet-making & shows, singing, drawing, and decorating. He gave me shelter in the loving ambiance of his classroom at a country school where bullying was the norm. He awakened aroha - love - for Maori culture, its language, stick games, songs and stories. All of this is permanent, and solid like the rock.
But the leaf of his life is curling up and losing its glow.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
I'm cooking dinner for me and Granny. You have to stir things properly to cook dinner.
This ceramic mask of Hecate was made by my dear artist friend Helen.
Over the weekend, when our women's group met in a house on the west coast, Hecate sat in our midst as we reflected on the themes that have spilled over from Halloween: honouring our loved ones who have died over the past year.
Artemis takes me into independence and youthful zest. Selene reminds me of the fullness of creative life within me, and Hecate returns me, yet again to the crossroads between life and death..
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
It was tempting to throw out the whole bundle. But I kept it to sort, and how glad I am. Because I found two letters, on blue paper and in an even, rounded handwriting that was familiar to me.
They were written by my mother-in-law's mother.
My mother was across the world, my mother-in-law was in America, and I was bereft of female relatives - except for Beena, who set herself up in the village inn, 'just to keep an eye'.
Her tender words unfurled from the page and wrapped themselves around me like a silky shawl. Our baby is 'thriving', she writes. I am 'a good little mother', and my husband 'marvellous' as he does every kind of chore 'so well and happily'. She loves to see and hear me 'playing sweet melodies' on my guitar after his early evening feed, which makes him 'quiet at once.'
A year later, things fell apart tragically, but for now I have this beautiful memory revived, through the blue pages that Beena wrote over 40 years ago. Treasure amidst the falling leaves of autumn .