Hen & Ink

Two hours before we find ourselves at the first of a few airports. I’m packed. Sister has cold. Down to testing the various merits of blow up neck cushion as opposed to reliable stuffed neck cushion. Last minute phone calls from friends.

I should have timed this so that it happened on my birthday in 2 days – that way I could rightly claim to be stretching the celebration out for 48 hours. As it is, we leave here at 5pm from Auckland, on Saturday, and arrive in Houston at midday, same day. I’m also wearing layers of clothing to compensate for a move from deep south to high north – the blur of spring blossoms to the rich colours of Fall. Gotta love time travel.

I hope to blog again soon – much will depend upon ease of Sim card acquisition, and wifi range. Until then – Bon Voyage!

Rather than write lots of responses to tweets and posts asking what I’m doing in the States for much of October and November, I thought I’d just do a blog about it. I’m very excited to catch up with family and friends I’ve known before, and my trip is about that, this time. I hope to come again, in the next year or so, and make it about meeting all my Outlander friends – what a trip that will be too! THEN, I will be completely open to meandering around that vast continent and seeing/staying with whoever is available. Watch this space.

Meanwhile, THIS trip is about these things:

I have NEVER been in the same place and the same time with my girl cousins/sister since this photo was taken in 1963/4:

My father (far right) lived in New Zealand, and we four blonde children are on the right, me being the eldest girl. Dad’s youngest brother is second from left at back, and his oldest child is in the front row beside me. She and her family are now in Australia. Dad’s middle brother has lived in America for most of his life, and his family are far left. His daughter is on her mother’s knee. We are all meeting in Philadelphia, and going to ‘hang out’ for a couple of weeks. A particular thrill will be to meet and stay with my Uncle and Aunt, who are still hale and well, for a couple of days.

We are very much looking forward to getting to know one another, and meeting up in various family gatherings, and seeing some of the places my cousins live. New York, Baltimore, Pennsylvania are all on the agenda.

Then my sis and cousin fly home, and I go south to meet up with very good friend in Jacksonville, Florida. I lived here in the South for four years from 1996 – 2000, working for a small Christian publishing house. My focus was living in Christian community and discovering life in an ‘organic’ rather than organised, neighbourhood of Christians who met in their own homes. We saw a lot of each other. I absolutely loved it, and paintings I have done since, reflect that experience. (Without going further into a discussion about what took me there, I will say that I still meet in a similar way back here in Auckland.)

I’m looking forward to meeting with the older man in the painting on the left, with his glasses on his forehead. Some of the people in these pics are still around. I intend to catch up with them, to see the publishing house, to help out if needed, and basically hang out with my good friend with whom I’ll be staying. She’s like a sister to me. So the second part of my trip is tied up in those relationships. I intend – as well – to see some of the dear Outlander fans who were so gracious to me when I was over a couple of years ago. They live near where I am staying, so it will be like walking next door.

THAT’s what my trip is about, this time. Not so much the scenery but the deeper connections I’ve already got. I hope to blog some of it here, and I hope it’s interesting enough for others to read.

I can see another trip some time soon in the future, which is about seeing more of America from my kiwi eyes, and then I will blog that journey and write a book about it. THEN it will be a case of the more the merrier, when it comes to Outlander friends with whom I can meet up. I hope – if you’re one of my regular corresponders on FB or TW – that will be YOU.

I’m between trips overseas right now, and planning my next one, in two weeks. But that’s not what this post is about. It’s about ‘Getting There’ – or that horrible vacuum of space, time, noise, discomfort that is our method of transport from one place to the other. The place occupied for a while in a metal capsule flying through space.

Not to make light of the terrible trauma experienced by Claire when she approached the Stones, and heard that buzzing and that sensation of falling apart and coming back together, but I sort of wish there was some truth to the story. And it’s not for want of trying either:

It hasn’t worked for me yet. But I’m prepared to try any other similar options that have even a dash of plausibility about them. . . damn it, or even no plausibility at all.

ANYTHING to avoid the horror of economy class travel by air. And please be aware that, coming from New Zealand as I do, EVERYWHERE requires long periods of air travel. My experiences are not as they picture them in the advertising – and I doubt anyone ever experiences economy class travel like this:

Look at them. He has space between his stomach and the tray table. They have gently styled hair, still in place.EVERYONE is smiling and that man at the far end can LEAN FORWARD and see past five other people to view us, with room to spare. The closest man is holding CHOP STICKS!! He is – look at him! She has a cut crystal goblet with drink in it. No one is crouching over the tray staring down at a lumpy mass of plastic boxes with tinfoil and wondering what is under it. Someone could actually pass by in front of everyone and shake the hands of the man by the window. It. Is. A. Dream. Why we swallow it, and don’t protest openly outside airports with placards and banners demanding that they do something about the great LIE, I don’t know. We all know reality is more like this:

 THAT’s what I experience when I sit in those seats. I dread the person in front moving his/her seat back because the only available room to see my food or the screen will be lost. I can’t help feeling that there will come a day when people in economy will be injected with a sleeping substance and slid into a dark cavity next to other cavities, where they will remain in stasis until the end of the trip. I might almost prefer it.

OH, ROLL ON THE DAY that time travel becomes possible. When merely by placing a hand on an inert object, I can step through into another country – or time – and just be there. In the meantime, in two weeks, it will be like this again:

I can remember back to my first trips as an adult, flying to Australia, and LOVING it. The little tidy plates of airline food, the big screen up ahead to watch movies through the bodies of moving passengers going to and from the toilets. Things weren’t as clever, digitally, but there was more room, (I was smaller too), and I often found three seats in a row to lie down along. I know – you’re asking why I don’t spend twice as much and upgrade to business class. . . well, it’s something to do with a built in mechanism I have which says, “Wait, couldn’t you spend that on some neat thing/experience at the place you’re going instead?”

The thing is, travel is one of my greatest pleasures – arriving at some distant destination, one I’ve dreamed/read about for years sometimes. There is so much joy in being immersed in a totally different culture and environment, and so much to be said for the experiences that brings. The wider breadth of understanding. My artistic side gets an injection of life. I meet people whose backgrounds are very different but with whom I share the same excitement in life. All of these things make it very worthwhile going through the torture of the first few days of travel to get there.

It IS a delicate balance for me though. As I get older, my body is less er, flexible, and now succumbs to various hitherto unheard of ailments and aches. It means I am measuring out my future, planning my trips, and doing my best to enable that body to cope with the rigors of travel for as long as I can. It might mean NOT sampling every item of cuisine offered to me upon arrival. It might mean dragging myself out of bed every morning to do a brisk walk, and some exercises, to keep flexibility. It means watching my diet at home, and being conscious of what my body needs as opposed to what I am used to eating.

I can tell you – after flying for a day without stop overs, from Auckland to Edinburgh, last year. . . crawling in and out of airports and getting little sleep, I was ‘not my best’. But then at last, I looked out the window and saw green land below the wing of the plane, and an announcement overhead that said, “We descend into Edinburgh in 10 minutes.”

NOTHING acted more like a restorative than those words. When I left the plane I was almost bouncing, and I made my way into the city as if I had, indeed, just walked through stones to get there. Facing a trip to the USA in two weeks, I know it will be similar. The dread leading up to the flight, the horrible flight itself, and then the joy upon arrival. A bit like giving birth really. (Not that I’d know). At this point I’d finish with a platitude along the lines of ‘the best things in life do not come easy’ – but better than that. I’m sure there is one out there. You get the gist, I think.

Tomorrow I leave this crisp dry air up in the mountains of the Australian Alps for the moist humidity of life on the inner harbour of Auckland again. Despite the best efforts of a heavy head cold to dampen the excitement of my visit with my cousin, she and her husband have been wonderful hosts and tour guides. 

I’ve posted already about my first day, arriving in greyness and rain. By Sunday, Kath and I awoke to a clear day and I took my first extensive tour of their property, newly bought two years ago. We walked past a small cabin, followed a wombat trail, went up to the immense three car garage and barn, which has a small studio on the side. Beyond the drive is the cottage, another simple living arrangement with daffodils and blossoms just popping into bloom nearby. Then it was down the steep walk to the beach. We drove to the road up to Thredbo to a cafe there for lunch, before returning via a small supermarket to laze around the rest of the day. In the evening, to my horror a tiny bat started circling above my bed while I begged Kath to get rid of it. It took her 20 mins of careful manouvering before she caught it up in my dressing gown and threw it outside. 

Monday, Kath took me up to Blue Cow, where she did some snow boarding and I hung out at the restaurant enjoying the view and taking photos. My cold was beginning to take a firm grip on me by now so after lunch on Mt Perisher, we went home and I to bed for a while. 

Tuesday was the worst of the cold and I spent nearly all of it in bed, dragging myself out to greet Kath’s husband who arrived after a weekend away with the boys. He did a good job of not flinching when I emerged wild-haired and red-eyed from my room. He had brought a hoard of fresh seafood with him for us to have for dinner, and we sat enjoying the evening gazing out at some snow capped peaks and eating prawns and swordfish. 

I felt much better Wednesday, and so the boat was hauled out and lowered into the lake from East Jindabyne. (In the very spot on the other side of water in photo).

It was still, and we were the only boat on this vast lake. I took great pleasure in looking out for the buried old township, and particularly the church steeple. This was once a valley with the Snowy River flowing through it, but in the 60’s it was all flooded to make a dam for hydro-electricity. Our boat took us up to the pumping station where it is all pumped up and over a ridge and down a series of other lakes. 

Rest in the afternoon, and then a trip in to Japanese restaurant with a friend of theirs along for the meal too. At 7pm, the three of us sat with cups of hot tea and turned the bright outside lights on to watch for wombats running along the trail below. Nothing. Kangaroos are prolific, though, and everytime we’ve driven out, a small group of them have scattered.

Today we will be doing a pleasant one-hour walk to the Rainbow lake, off the road leading up to Mt Perisher. Time to open my breathing passages again! Then a delicious pork roast is planned for my last night. I shall miss this absolutely stunning corner of the world – the bright, raucous birds, the odd creatures, the mountains and lake, to say nothing of my lovely easy-going cousin and her equally warm-hearted spouse. And of course, two very loved and adorable dogs, Leo the black ‘rescue’ dog and Peppa the French Bulldog. I head home via a brief look around Canberra tomorrow. 

I’ve got an Aussie break coming up – leaving on Friday to fly to Sydney, then Canberra, and then a road trip down to Jindabyne, the service town for the snowy mountains of Australia. Yes, you read that right. There ARE snowy mountains in Australia. I can’t wait.

Most importantly, this is the first time I have ever spent any length of time with Aussie girl cousin, since we used to visit family in our childhood. Then, they lived here in New Zealand, and we saw a bit of them as the photos below show:

Since then, life has taken us on very different paths, and she has lived with her husband near Brisbane, Australia for decades. There was a brief visit in the late 80s, overnight, but nothing since until various family funerals brought us together again. It was at the last one that we considered how much we got on, and she generously offered to have my sister and I come visit. Helen has been already and now it is my turn. Yip yip. This was us in February, walking along Piha beach after Mum’s funeral:

And so – expect to see some photos of snow, and mountains, and the red dirt of Australia, in the coming week or two. I’ll blog from there, and take y’all along for the ride, as much as data and wifi allow.

Why ‘Cousin Catch Up Part I’? Because in October, there will be an even bigger Cousin Girlie Catch Up, when all four of the girl cousins in this Jeffries photo meet up for over a week in Pennsylvania, and then the jaws will really flap. THAT will be a first for us too.

 

Believe it or not, that first image is indeed me, when I was hardly acquainted with Gravity. In fact, there was only a feeble connection with the Law that would come to be so dominant in my life. I skipped everywhere, I climbed trees, I was hardly ever still. When I was still, it was to contemplate very unweighty visions and flights of fancy, to do with FLYING, and FAIRIES and Floating in filmy fabric. (What a light letter ‘f’ is).

As time has passed, my flimsy connection to gravity has progressively become more solid. So much so, that now I regard gravity with – well – gravity. My childhood was spent like this:

If I was not exactly flying, I was certainly not earth-bound. My sister and I spent hours making wings and flapping around the house as fairies. At school, lacking wings, my friends and I were mermaids, floating in currents of deep green water between the trees surrounding the school.

For much of my early adult life, I managed to maintain a respectful distance from Gravity, albeit profoundly aware of its existence. It never particularly slowed me down, or stopped my plans to scale heights in my dreams. In my late thirties, I climbed up into Alpine regions, with some heavy breathing and no little effort, but it was possible.

I can’t tell you when exactly my dislike of ‘UP’ as over against ‘DOWN’ became palpable, but that tide turned gradually until now there is a deep seated part of me that is very aware of whether the path ahead is going to require ‘up’ and just how steeply that might be. The fairy has become trapped in a moon suit, bearing heavy metal shoes to ground me to the earth.

Or so it seems.

Which is why it is SUCH a feat to contemplate Sam Heughan’s #MyPeakChallenge. I know what will happen if I don’t keep moving, keep rising, keep choosing to go up slopes. It seems that my body has a natural inclination (yeah, I see the pun) to become more and more attached to the earth as life goes by. It started off light and airy, and as time slips by draws closer and closer to the very earth from which it sprang, until eventually it is encased once more in the cool depths. I. AM. GOING. TO. RESIST. THAT. AS. LONG. AS. I. LIVE. You see, my spirit is and always has been just like this:

My spirit is only tethered to the earth by means of my soul, and neither of them are affected by gravity. In fact, my soul is somewhat more bubbly, effervescent, and joyful than most.

Not for a moment will either soul or spirit be weighed down or finish in the ground. And so, when I have to pause before I stand up, and feel the creaking of knees – and am aware as I walk of tenderness in the lower back – I choose to endure it for the good of my soul. I earnestly attempt to eat well and with restraint (sometimes). And seeing a challenge in the weekend, as I did, of a distant notch in the forested peak, put on my shoes and pull myself – with an effort and a number of stops – up to reach that height.

Yes, many go much further and more often, and I salute them. Each of us know our own limitations, and there will always be thinner, lighter, more successful friends. And thank the Lord, they come with me and encourage me. It doesn’t worry me too much that Gravity and I are so well acquainted now (but barely talking!). In the end, he’s going to get this old body and welcome to it! Meanwhile and until then, I’m not bound by gravitas in my spirit and soul and never will be. Neither are you. Remember that.

I thought I’d take y’all who want to come on my early morning walk around the Peninsula, here in Auckland. First off, I head down my road toward the main road, intending to cross it and head to the harbour edge.

The worst part of the walk is crossing this busy road, full of early morning traffic desperate to get into the city. Fortunately for me, I don’t have to join them until Wednesday.

I swerve left as soon as I can, and am on this quiet, neatly cared for suburban street full of relatively new housing. The noise of the traffic dies down behind me. Bliss.

Past my favourite little burgundy Magnolia tree on the corner, in full bloom right now, and then on past the park and to the entrance to the wetlands walk.

This is a lovely moment, stepping out of the suburbs and seeing this huge clean vista before me – I never get tired of it, and it is always different. The reflections of the City were quite still and solid today.

The pukeko (native birds) were all picking away at the grass. This is where the first pond is, surrounded by cabbage trees and flax and is often a feature in my photos.

Just beyond that is what I think of as ‘The Cabbage Tree Grotto’ – great silhuettes against the sky.

Then I’m up on the upper pathway, leading past the oldest brick farmhouse on the Peninsula (late 1800’s) and towards my favourite little bridge spot for photos.

I see they’ve chopped a line of pine trees down obstructing the view of the harbour. I hope they’ve replanted with natives.

The pathway splits – one going on to the little park at the end of the walkway, and the other turning up toward the new housing overlooking the whole vista. I take this one.

The views from up here are pretty spectacular too.

The drive-by coffee hut is always doing a roaring trade. We kiwis LOVE our coffee. It would be terrible to not have one within reach.

And talking of coffee – that’s where I’m going. Past this new library and community centre, and straight across the road into my favourite cafe.

Finally, it’s a short five minutes after coffee to cut through the back of the shops and along this road that is so quintessentially 50’s New Zealand that it is often blocked off by film crews making advertising or using it for local tv drama series.

That’s it. Feel refreshed?

I’ve just got back from my weekend cycle, and spent some of the trip thinking about this post. I don’t know if I can even begin the broach the subject, but here goes.

There’s an awful lot of emphasis these days on ‘rights’. I go to my new place of work and am introduced on the first day to the idea of joining the Union, and how they will take care of my working rights. I’ve just finished a fine period drama series set in the Cotton Mills of North England (North and South) and at the heart of it was a disparity between the rights of the various levels of working society then. (Oh, yes, there was a great romance too). I picked up a newspaper during my coffee break today, at the peak of my cycle, and read a lengthy article about the taboo subject of abortion. . . all of it from the ‘enlightened’ point of view that there is only one Right way to see it – the woman’s choice and it should be a cursory decision. Truly. It got me thinking. What about the many who have gone ahead at great cost to themselves, and had that child with hydrocephalus, or downs syndrome, and found that they not only coped but something intangible was worked into them that added to their lives. None that I know of ever regretted their choice. But I’m not going further down THIS road.

. . . it got me thinking about the difference between ‘expressing and fighting for a right’ and what I think of as something much more forgiving and subtle and loving than that: ‘yielding and caring and not being worried about the cost.’

Now hear me on this. No, I have not gone through YOUR life experience, your issues, your disabilities and whatever those pressures are you have been under. I do not challenge anyone’s right to make a choice in their life. I do not challenge that there have many times been the need to assert rights on behalf of others who cannot speak as loudly for themselves.

I can only speak of my own experience of life. And those older and wiser than me have taught me that there is always a higher way. Pushing for your own rights, sits way down at the bottom of that mountain slope. Concern about whether you are getting the right level of comfort, the proper respect, a fair distribution of attention, treated with the dignity you deserve . . . well, they’re issues we can all sympathise over. They are also issues that will NEVER be resolved. The most unhappy people I know spend an inordinate amount of time concerned about these things. It is a sad fact that many of us gaze out upon the world around us and see disparity. We do all we can to make ourselves comfortable and happy, and avoid choices that take us outside that comfort zone.

The most calm, satisfied, and joyful people I know, are not the richest, nor the ones who have the least burdens. Neither are they the ones who have received the attention and love that they rightfully deserve. They’re the ones who have received the same disproportionate amount of fairness from the world in terms of ability, or health, or poverty, or family, and have chosen to keep giving, to keep loving, to offer themselves again and again. The times in my own life where I was helpless to do anything about a situation that felt crushing to me, and I faced a clear choice. . . if I chose not to fight for my own comfort first, and just to yield, I always came out of it with a greater well of compassion inside me than I would have otherwise.

Having a sense of entitlement is the downfall of many relationships. And it is a joyless endeavour. Suffering can either bring bitterness, or it can make strong, (especially if it is received and never spoken of.) This post is not about looking back at the past and feeling regret or despair, it is about reminding myself and anyone else who has bothered to read this far, that there is hope, and we hold it in our own hands to make our own lives richer and more fulfilling.

 

This was a couple of years ago – in The Shire, Hobbiton (aka Matamata). It’s an ideal photo for this post because it is about making the most of Life, ‘Finding your Passion’ or simply, ‘Work-Life balance’.

I had a conversation with my sis yesterday, over coffee on our bike ride. I’m well into my life now, in fact, I could be a good 3/4 through it. It’s put me into a great place in my thinking and experience. Yes, I know it’s nice to be young, but there’s a terrible lot of attention given to trying to attain the look of being young, and very little attention given to the wisdom and freedom of being older. I care a lot less about how I look and a lot more about taking care of myself, so I can last to fulfil the passions, hopes, dreams that I still have. Being naturally curious, I’ve seen a fair few things, learnt a lot of lessons, made mistakes I won’t make again (I hope), and honed my skills to the ones I take most pleasure in. These things I didn’t have or know at 20 or even 30. Now don’t mistake me – I haven’t experienced a HUGE range of things in life, nor do I want to. I’ve been careful and selective and sometimes the choice has just not been there for me. Yes, I’d have loved to discover the great joys of a good marriage and children, but I never did (for reasons I’m not going into on a blogsite!) It has not hindered me from living life to the full. 

For decades, since I was 20, I’ve devoted a large part of my time to earning money, and I’ve been pretty dedicated to earning it in ways I enjoy. I haven’t really hesitated to leave and try something else if I feel bored or unfulfilled. So it’s been mostly graphic art in my own studios.

I won’t say working for myself has made me rich, and sometimes it was a huge relief to do some mundane well-paid work in administration to pay the bills and feel the joy of a regular pay check. But that was always a fluid arrangement in my working history. I’ve had stints of unemployment and I know the sense of uncertainty and rising doubt that comes with that state.

Helen and I were talking about our plans and intentions for the future yesterday, and it solidified some of my wandering thoughts on the issue. I’m feeling the most free, the most excited, the most anticipatory than I have ever felt before. Why? Because I have a clear idea of what I want to do in the short term, am less worried and affected by other people’s expectations, don’t HAVE to do what someone else pressures me to do, or have responsibilities that force me to a regime from which I cannot escape. And then we found my beloved Dad had more saved up than any of us expected, and so there’s been a bit of a financial boost.

The more people I talk to who are my own age, the more there’s a regular theme in our conversation: “I don’t want to work 5 days a week, 8 hours a day any more.” “What is it you really see yourself doing in the next few years?” “How can we earn a little money doing what we love doing?” It has been inspiring to talk about our dreams. I’ve been encouraging my friends who feel a bit stuck in their job, to rethink it. We only get one life, and we should be living that life as well as we can. I know that everyone has different limitations, but I would encourage anyone to dream, and to put some of those possibilities down, and quietly see if they might be outworked. For myself, it will be travel while I can, and then some writing, and being open to adventures.

There have been so many who have inspired me in the past: The two older ladies who live in a villa in Whangarei and opened up their garden and front living room and verandah in the summer time and weekends for ‘Devon Teas’ – making their own lives more interesting and adding something to their town. The potter who lives in Coromandel town, who wanted to share his love of the bush where he lived and the studio, so he opened up a narrow gauge railway to bring people to his studio and up the mountainside for views at the top. There is so much you could do, if you are determined enough, and spend time in researching and planning and enlarging your perspective.

Well, this is rambling now, and it’s not really all I wanted to say, and I’m not sure I said it at all well, but it’s a start. Maybe I’ll put it better next time. Please watch this space.