Farm Orientation

Sunday Morning

It’s dark and the sound of light snoring drifts through the old stone house. Every now and then a sleeping bag rustles as a body shifts. The rain has eased but the wind is up and the percussion on the tin roof continues. I guess its about 5 o’clock and get up and go for a walk. It’s a fresh breeze blowing out of the north east for which I am thankful – from the south and it would be a much cooler story.  Rod has set up some LED lights in the outhouses so my visit there is less an adventure in the dark than some in the past.

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Congenital Heart Disease

My heart is swollen with the
Pulmonary joy of friendship
Threatening to
Rupture and disarm me.

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Joanna

I have a sister that never left home even though she was born in 1972.  I dropped by last week and paid her a visit. I always do if I am ‘home’, even if travelling through in the middle of the night.  You can do that when you are family, calling in at rude hours.  She never complains.  Sometimes the chat is silent. Families are good at that too – communicating with silences that is. But this time Steve was with me and I felt a bit self-conscious about talking in front of him, even though he is the dearest friend and knows me well. Even saying hello seemed a bit awkward.  So I stuck my hands in my pockets and shuffled my feet, got a bit emotional and after an awkward silence moved on.   Next time I am back I will bring some paint for things are a bit weathered at her place and I would like to think people know there are folk who care. We can have a chat as the paint is brushed and I can take my time.  I nodded to old Jim nearby, said hello to John (Joanna’s former babysitter), dipped me lid at Rodney whose truck once fell off a mountain and whose mother is no longer able to deliver him the weekly flowers, her last delivery now dry and broken stalks. She hangs out just a short walk away. We stood with David, mentor and friend, and gazed in silence over the countryside. He and his parents look out over Joanna as do many others I know. It’s getting to be quite a community up there on the hill. Sadly some of them have no voice but I am always pleased at what Joanna has to say. She tells those who would mull these things that she is ‘a child of the covenant’, speaking of a sure hope of eternal and unfailing commitment by her creator that, though her mortal remains look over a corner of Otago, she lives on in His presence and in that ‘presence there is a fullness of joy’. She is a great encourager that Joanna, sister of mine.

1969 – an Age of Innocence?

Funny how these pictures keep drawing you back (pun alert). To an age of innocence, which is not how anyone would usually describe 1969. Mind you I am not entirely convinced the date on the picture is correct – I like to think I would have been drawing my Dad in this way in 1965 or 66 perhaps, not 1969.  By 1969 I am sure he would have wondered at the floppy eared, sparse hair, Three Mile Island rabbit rendition of him. I think more highly of him than that! Read more

A Retro Trip

The travel of the mind is easily the most seductive. And the most dangerous. I am writing a biography of a man I once knew. Still do actually, though he ‘crossed the Jordan’ in 1996. If I was to be honest with myself I have not been prepared for the emotional dislocation that has happened as I have pored over more than 1000 pieces of his personal correspondence with more than 1000 still to be read. Read more

The Invisible Story

Sometimes, perhaps even “most-times” the image betrays the true story. Take Monty here for example. Young nephew charming up the camera, and in whose mouth no butter would melt. Pretty normal grin for a kid, especially given he has just been gently scolded by his father.  Scolded for what the whole picture should show – naked from the waist down and straddling the tassled rug stripped from the couch, the tassles being dragged backwards and forwards between his legs. I guess he must have figured it felt good. His Dad’s response still echoes in my ears and makes me laugh – “Oh Monty, that’s not proper.” I reckon if Mum had not been at work that day there might have been a different response altogether.

Isn’t the internet a wonderful thing? Now an uncle can fire off memories like this, from the other side of the globe, and have it shared with Monty’s friends at the same time.

Halloween Privileges

Being asked by (adult) son to paint his face is a rare thing! So make the most of it. I could have completely flipped out with the colours but kinda behaved myself. Dorky Scooby Doo is a nice finishing touch.

The Hero of Mboto Gorge?

Family is, well family. And you love them regardless of what they stick up their nostrils. And you love them when they are prancing around in Nepal impressing the Gurkhas with just how barmy their officers really are. But let’s face it there is far too much vanilla out there and not enough Spike Milligan, and Lord knows we all need some Milligan dosed out daily in large measure if we are to retain our sanity. (If you are completely perplexed about what Ross is up to, reference Blackadder here). Apologies to Rhys for nicking his photo off his Facebook page – I will plead insanity(implant pants and insert pencils as proof). And thanks Ross – for being Ross! And for the laugh, sorely needed.

Black and White – with Lots of Colour

The first time my name was in print I was shy to the point of embarrassment. The second time I was published I was paid 900 pounds sterling but thought I had better keep my name off that piece – it was some analysis on China and given where I was working at the time some might have taken a dim view of that. I can still scarcely believe it was for only 600 words! Since then my name has been on a lot of things but aligning name in print with cash for the trouble remains elusive. But hey, that is not what writing is about is it (is it?) Well, certainly not this effort by the Fast Twitch Writers Group which landed in my mail box (the one in the garden wall, not my laptop) this evening. This is a brilliant labour of love with some really good writing in it (no, not mine) by some local folk with a real gift for writing. Writing is like sex – the fun lies in the creating. I can’t promise being taken to pleasurable heights, real or imagined. But I can promise some creativity here which is impressive. If you want a copy try here…If not, that is okay too. You can admire the cover instead – daughter Miriam trying to look awake over the Saturday morning papers but really still tucked up in bed!

Cool BBQ

Cool alright. The hoodies give it away. 8 degrees of cool. Evening meal outside in mid winter is no big deal here when the snow is hours away and frost in this part of the world unheard of. But it is always nice to sit around talking nonsense, drinking an excellent red and bracing yourself for the coming week. We are more fortunate than most.

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