- Tuesday 4:31 PM
Cold, it is in my bones, my fingers, my feet. Cold? Will I see out the winter? Bloody hell!
I feel fine, emotionally, mentally, spiritually speaking. It’s my body. I can’t do anything. Typing is a real bitch. I get to a point where my fingers are simply, useless. They do not function. The time it takes to correct or even land my fingers on the right key, ouch!
My mind is active, but my body? Not! Buried alive indeed. I have no pain, no discomfort. I simply can’t do what I would like to do. I watched a very poorly written film. 90 minutes of nothing. Problem is that once I begin a movie I find it hard to let go, no matter how bad it is. Junk food for the soul. The hills behind me, out the window, across the garden, rise a couple of hundred feet, then above rises snow covered peaks. Not high, but high enough. The cold settles in layers. It’s . . . freezing. Our little village being at the base of the rising hills and mountains sits in cold air. It’s like a dumping wave on a gravel beach.
Couldn’t finish my writing yesterday, my hands simply said no way Jose :) no point arguing, the body never lies. I have always paid attention to my body, that doesn’t mean I have always made the right choices. A bit like my spiritual beliefs. It has taken me over 60 years to finally accept that what I believe, is right for me. Period! God is a Verb. Just Do It!
So, today, I sit as the vacuum cleaner is working around me. The fire is keeping a smile on my face. The French Open, an awesome first round women’s match. France vs Belarus. France conquered all :)
I love politics. I am not a debater. I love ideas. Radical maybe. Inclusive policies. When I look at the state of the Planet I see divide and conquer. Rome has much to answer for, the Church of Rome. Lies and power have kept populations fearful and suppressed. Recently I read a piece by Walter Moseley, his Father was African-American, his Mother, a Jew. As parents they encouraged rigorous debate and differing points of view. No one died :) In my home little boys were to be seen but not heard. A woeful way to be raised. The English fascist upbringing I ran from at age 21. Then my education began. Actually it possibly began much earlier through my feisty disagreements. Simply to say no. Argumentative prat. No wonder I didn’t make friends. Now I accept that my opinions are mine, my ideas are mine. They have a value but they are mine. If others wish to know what I believe, they need to ask. It is not healthy for me to argue for the sake of argument. Boring actually. I have friends who enjoy debate, healthy debate. I have friends who don’t :) and that, is perfectly fine. In my editing of television commercials, I found a healthy environment in which to express my creativity. Client’s loved my contribution and encouraged me to go further. Some of my ideas were as radical as suggesting we totally delete the approved, written script and simply use sound effects to tell the story. It worked gang busters. Far different from my childhood in KiwiLand. Or as I now refer to it . . . AotearoaLand :)
So where am I today? A new political party for Aotearoa. The Silver Fern Party. Now :) The silver fern is an indigenous plant, unique to New Zealand. Similar in parts to ferns of South America. Similar but different. Politics in New Zealand are based on the English Westminster system. That may work for the English, with the emphasis on ‘May’. Here in the South Pacific we have a totally different climate. Politically, environmentally speaking. And our indigenous people are challenged by this. Actually :) it is me that is challenged by this. We have introduced foreign species of plants and pests as did Maori. And as we continue to do so. We have practiced very destructive farming. Today we are paying the price with water pollution, hillsides, totally cleared of natural bush and trees, scarred with erosion. There are many myths surrounding Aotearoa. Many I was taught at school. History and Geography was based on English maps all covered in Red Zones aka the British Commonwealth, an oxymoron. But all that was 60 years ago and now, now we are a Pacific Rim Nation. Joining Australia, SE Asia, California and South America. We need to focus on where we live, how we live and who we interact with. For my money, the most obvious is Australia and then California. We speak the same language, we are very similar. In virtues and in prejudices. Asia is said to be the new economy. But we are such a small blip on the face of the Planet that it would seem to me that our focus needs to be on quality of our produce and products. Quality of education, of life style, of representative government. The move world wide is a call for clean drinking water and safe foods. These we used to have in abundance. Today? Not so. Our rivers are not safe. We export trees rather than timber products. We allow other countries total access to our expertise which comes back to bite us in the bum, big time. We are missing great opportunities. We could be, should be, focussing on products that require a production line. This would help build and diversify communities across this land, not simply Auckland. We need to refocus our assets to serve Kiwis first. One thing I have learned in life, that best serves both myself and others, is the concept of bringing the focus back to my self first. If I have my own life in order then I am better able to be of service to others. This takes effort and, it takes time. I first began to see life through different eyes, different attitudes, some 30 years ago. It took a serious change of attitude. It took and continues to take, transparency, rigorous honesty and a commitment to my own well being. This has taken an enormous degree of pressure from me. It has given me freedom.
Taking that as an example, imagination has me looking at new ways of looking at life and society. Imagine a government and a society living with these principles. It’s possible. It’s hard work. It’s worthwhile. It’s time.
8:25 PM and I am watching a food show. French, chacuterie, boulangerie and more. Art in food. Food as Art. Now I regret not spending a year in Paris, not traveling to Lyon, not learning French. But here I am. Living the good life, as best I can. So here we are in Aotearoa, a land of plenty, a land of organic free range food production but what do we eat? McDonalds! Sure there are great fooderies, great cooks and a few excellent eateries. But where is the broad ranging culture of great food. So many bloody bureaucrats. Big Box Supermarkets serving food wrapped in plastic. Butchers are a real scarcity and the ones who exist are overwhelmed. Cheese is wrapped in plastic. White Pine cheese racks are banned in favor of stainless steel. Bread shops few and far between. Give it time dickey lad I say! It will change, it is changeling. We simply don’t have the population. Let it go I say, get back to my photography. I guess that am frustrated that my small town has no great food outlet. It did have a cafe that aspired to greatness but that died when the owners became arrogant as sold out. I am muttering on, time to get back to my photography. Okay Dickey, just do it. Ciao.
Watching a Doc on Sir Ed Hilary. What a great Kiwi.
Re-reading what I have written, all over the place but fun. Nonsensical? Possibly :)
A Moveable Feast, Hemingway’s love affair with Paris. Beautifully written and reminds me of Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. I love Paris. I love France. The food, wine, art galleries, book stores and above all, the Cafes. Walking Paris, night or day. I will take either and both. Atmosphere literally drips wherever we go. Along the Seine, Il St Louis, Cemeteries, Art Galleries. Sitting in Cafe les Editeur, the Odeon area of Paris. I could easily live there. Dreaming. Savoring the aromas of Boulangaries, Charcuteries, Cafes. My dream was to live in Paris for one year with muy Emily. To write, photograph, to get lost. Live simply but well. Simple is as simple does. The romance. The art. The language. Who knows, but finally, I could learn something other than English :) who knows what adventures. Muy Emily and me. Laptops, Leica, iPhone. Simple. What is Paris? A city where, to walk, to sit, to dream, being is to live. The history. The magical light. Parisian attitudes. Walking, exploring galleries. The large packed galleries. The small galleries like Galleries 291, a photographic gallery of sublime design and great imagery. The large, like the Musée d’Orsay with great collections and jammed with art lovers. Even outside on the street, observing people. I guess that is what gets me. Observing people, life. That goes for wherever I have lived. New York. Sydney. Hong Kong. Singapore. London. Los Angeles. Venice Beach. But Paris is the one above all others. There is romance in the air and it permeates my soul. For 5 days, exactly 3 years ago, muy Emily and me, we explored and photographed. We walked, we argued, we sat, we ate. It was sublime. Shot some cool images as well. Memories.
Saturday 1 June
Tomorrow the twins visit :)
Muy Emily has gone walking with friend Grace. I just now skyped to my brother John. My voice is raspy from talking while the grandchildren were here with their parents, Jorge and Jess. I simply love to watch the children’s development. Not much more I can do these days :) but watch and smile. Seeing them hopping around the floor like rabbits :) no shoes, full of energy, is good for my soul. Even on a cold winters day like today, hopping inside and out, I love it. And then muy Emily let Kiri out of the bedroom, where she managed to climb on the bed and sleep, Kiri barked twice, the twins cringed and after a while, finally patted her. A huge shift in their relationship to our beloved dog. Kiri is now accepted. Makes me glad. I love to see children unafraid of animals but it does pay to be cautious, there are some interbred, poorly treated dogs, which need a goodly dose of caution. Especially with children.
Monday Bloody Monday
whew, and what a night that was! battling demons in my sleep. going back 25 years, New York, did I do the right thing? Should I have stayed? Was I as successful as I believe, did my career tumble like in a spin dryer? Did I repeat my fathers pattern? all but a dream. confusing, challenging. disturbing. Let go and let god, surrender, how important is it, was it? I experience times when I want it over. as I have learned, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over, period.
Memories are made of this. A dream is but a dream. Merde.