Some Small But (mostly) Beautiful Stories.

Sometimes I open a page here, to write a new blog post then sit, trying to find beautiful things to share with you.

I have this idea that we need so much beauty in these days.

I did find this beautiful story, told by Laurie Anderson, talking about the love she shared with Lou Reed, in Rolling Stone Magazine:

‘Lou and I played music together, became best friends and then soul mates, traveled, listened to and criticized each other’s work, studied things together (butterfly hunting, meditation, kayaking). We made up ridiculous jokes; stopped smoking 20 times; fought; learned to hold our breath underwater; went to Africa; sang opera in elevators; made friends with unlikely people; followed each other on tour when we could; got a sweet piano-playing dog; shared a house that was separate from our own places; protected and loved each other. We were always seeing a lot of art and music and plays and shows, and I watched as he loved and appreciated other artists and musicians. He was always so generous. He knew how hard it was to do. We loved our life in the West Village and our friends; and in all, we did the best we could do.

And the marvellous Maria Popova wrote: ‘14. Choose joy. Choose it like a child chooses the shoe to put on the right foot, the crayon to paint a sky. Choose it at first consciously, effortfully, pressing against the weight of a world heavy with reasons for sorrow, restless with need for action. Feel the sorrow, take the action, but keep pressing the weight of joy against it all, until it becomes mindless, automated, like gravity pulling the stream down its course; until it becomes an inner law of nature.

If Viktor Frankl can exclaim “yes to life, in spite of everything!” — and what an everything he lived through — then so can any one of us amid the rubble of our plans, so trifling by comparison. Joy is not a function of a life free of friction and frustration, but a function of focus — an inner elevation by the fulcrum of choice. So often, it is a matter of attending to what Hermann Hesse called, as the world was about to come unworlded by its first global war, “the little joys”; so often, those are the slender threads of which we weave the lifeline that saves us.’

Then someone called by, at this Manapouri house where I live, and after picking up the fridge Helen was giving away, he pulled a huge Rainbow Trout out of his backpack. It was in there with a Brown Trout too. He had caught 5. And so, that was my Labour Day Monday, seeing just how much I recalled of the Australian fly fisherman’s trout gutting and cooking lesson.

It worked. It is divine. I do love trout, baked - stuffed with onion and tomato, creating a divine juiceness.

Thank you for teaching me how to gut and cook trout, Rob Nabben.

the rainbow trout, and my french pocketful.jpg

And I dug out my French Laguiole pocket knife, from Thiers, France. Bought back in those days when the Belgian bloke and I were summer-holidaying there (in that town where they were making swords for knights 700 years ago). It turns out it is useful beyond the wine corkscrew option. It’s incredibly sharp, and quite a special little art work.

In other news, I recently joined the rest of the world, and discovered the music of Snow Patrol. I play them … a lot. Those who have lived with me, know what ‘a lot’ means. ‘More than most’ really. My favourite collection, currently, is Snow Patrol: LIve & Strpped Back at Porchester Hall.

I particularly love the way the lead singer, Gary Lightbody, says what he says in his story - beginning at about 3.10 minutes. I feel this could be a useful response to some of the silly people I find myself to listening to sometimes :-)

Much is happening, down here, in the south-west corner of New Zealand. Most particularly in my life. News will follow. I am currently caught up in chasing my own tail, and turning in giddy circles. Joy has been much more of a thing in my day-to-day life, and I believe I can claim I am heading towards the next grand adventure.

I think this is it for now,. New Zealand’s election went well, and we have Jacinda Adern, and the Labour party, in power. I am happy with this, as I see some of my most favourite folk going back into lockdown as Europe battles a resurgence of covid-19. My heart goes out to you all.

Much love from down here xx

Wandering, in Annecy, France

We spent the morning in Annecy and were bemused by this lovely little French city.  Although it did take us an hour to decide that yes, we will pay 11 euro each for our lunch because we're really really hungry now!

French bookshops there mostly sell books in French.  I was despondent, as I think I might have loved reading so many of the authors displayed however it was all very impossible. I bought postcards and wrote one to my Dad while stuck in the traffic jam 'home'.

A glimpse of Annecy ...

 

Room With A View ...

We moved locations yesterday, driving some 250kms, heading for the foothills of the French Alps.  And I am quietly excited because, after so many years of reading climbing literature, I shall finally visit Mont Blanc.  A testing point for so many of the climbers I read.

This new gite is a quirky little cottage, 3-stories high and about 3 metres wide.  It's more like a wilderness cottage in New Zealand, in some ways but still, there's a log fire burning, we cooked dinner in the tiny kitchen, we have free internet and there's tv too.

But more than anything, I am stunned by how like the Queenstown/Fiordland area this place is.  We arrived in 27 celsius yesterday, I was completely destroyed by the huge pollen count - late Springs can do this they tell me.  Our car was coated in pollen when we parked in Annecy.  Thankfully the rain rolled in, we've even heard some thunder roll around in the mountains beside us ... and rain, blessed rain.  It took the temperature down to 13 celsius and washed away the pollen. 

But my idea of mountains, much to Gert's amusement, is that they should always be draped in fog and clouds.  They're at their best that way.  There's a creek running near the house, the rain beat down most of the afternoon, the birds sung, taking over from the cicadas who had greeted us. 

Nature is alive and well in this corner of France and I have to admit, I'm really impressed by it all.  The photograph was taken from the top floor of the cottage.  Tomorrow and Tuesday shall involve much exploring and, quite probably, many more photographs. 

Au revoir.

The Cottage, Bourgogne

Here I am, sitting at the table you see in the photograph below.   The air is soft and warm already, so early in the morning, the sky blue, and we're preparing to wander out into another day.

Writing ... the internet ... they are forms of meditation for me.   Out here in Bourgogne, I am loving the sensations of this outdoor writing and reading life.

Everyday we spend long hours wandering, exploring so there's a balance I love.  Today we're back in Beaune, tidying things up as we prepare to move closer to my beloved mountains tomorrow.  I shall finally visit Mont Blanc, a mountain I read of so often in the climbing literature devoured over the years.  And that is what makes leaving this little oasis of peace and beauty bearable.

A glimpse of here ...