A small change in direction ...

Years ago, there was this girl-child and she was me, and she was clear on what she wanted to do. As soon as she was old enough she began wandering.

It was always known by my smallest self that I loved people and new places.  Later I loved writing and reading - which is really just wandering in other  ways - and I was gifted my first camera in my teens.  I loved being the keeper of memories.

However, when I was about 10, I spent two years with a teacher who was obsessed with the fact the world would be ending ... SOON. CATACLYSMICALLY.

There was the Cold War and the imminent nuclear holocaust but he had a list of other options that would see the world fall to pieces before I was 16.

My small self would also break out in a cold sweat whenever he talked of his ideas.  A memorable one was the fact that so many oil-carrying ships would sink that they would cover the ocean with a slick that would stop the sun from doing its thing.

We were all going to die.

It was about then I started having some serious anxiety attacks, often in the middle of his class.  No one made the connection, not even me.  I was too little.

Not only was I an anxious child, I was so right-brained and curious that I learned to be constantly mortified by this terrible character flaw.

I was stubborn.  I was placed in secretarial school at 16  or 17 but I escaped into a lawyer's office ... just before final exams.  They weren't exams I was going to pass.  I wrote poems in Mr Thornycroft's accountancy classes.  I looked at the keys when learning to touch-type, and I despised Teeline.  It's the form of shorthand I was meant to learn so as to be employable as a female back then.  The options were, and it came from a place of love,  secretarial work or nursing and I knew I was never going to be a nurse.

I exited after 9 months with the lawyers.  I wrote poetry there too because the work was in no way taxing and I had time to fill.  A friend had two uncles who owned a rather posh caryard in the city. I moved, impulsively, to work as a car groomer when the 'emperor's new clothes' nature of the office job overwhelmed me.  I learned to drive, and how to add quite some value to a car with the thorough clean but one day, I left. 

Finally I found a most marvellous job with one of Dunedin's top photographers back then.  He was very right-brained too.  It was maddening and fun in the same moment.  It was so good to find such a creature existed but I didn't quite understand all of that yet. I didn't really know that there were creative people and that perhaps I was one of that tribe ...one of the irresponsible ones.

I married my first boyfriend, moved to a small town in the middle of the middle of the South Island and, like a piece of driftwood at sea, I began following the currents of his life.  He was a teacher with a university degree. I was the wife who wrote and took photographs, while raising our daughter.

Fast-forwarding a huge number of years and the Cold War is over but the world is, as it always has been, unstable.  The oceans are a mess but we're still breathing.  And I made it past 16. 

The anxiety didn't stop me.  I earned a university degree in my 30's, moved to Istanbul alone despite being terrified, and I cried in the shower before flying to Rome that first time.  Sometimes, when I'm in Genova, I almost die from my imagination and fears but these days I'm working with someone on pulling out these slightly wonky pieces and fixing them some.

It's interesting, for me, and has become that thing I wish I had done so many years earlier.  I always had the 'just do it' attitude but I worried ... A LOT.  I really didn't like flying but flew anyway, so far from New Zealand.  I'm terrible at languages but spent two years living alone in Istanbul, and now there is Nederlands.  I still bite my fingernails.

I love the story of people so much that I forget to be businesslike.   I need a personal assistant to keep me on the rails and stop me from having a million ideas that are good but that involve so many lifetimes that it's better to have them nipped in the bud.  I still struggle to understand that I have some talents.

I struggle.  Maybe that's what I'm trying to write here.  I think we all do ... or maybe not everyone but here on the blog, I have written mostly of good things and I'm not sure that I should because what I do, this way of living, is really difficult.  It's full of doubts and insecurities.  It's full of feeling a fool for all kinds of reasons.

So I'm stepping back from just writing of photography and travel here and perhaps, sometimes, I'll write of the things that I'm learning as I make my way back to that little girl who knew who she was before she learned to be scared.

Zucchero, Pavarotti and Bocelli ... mindblowing.

While I was writing the post below, this song came on.  It's there in the midst of my Zucchero collection, and I was stunned by it.

I went searching, found the youtube and realised, if I had been photographing that event ... I would have cried as I worked.  It's beautiful, in that deep way ... that touches a soul.

I do hope the neighbours didn't mind.  It's 9.32am but the volume just had to go up ... way up.

Sometimes ... I just get quietly lost

…And that’s why i have to go back
to so many places
there to find myself
and constantly examine myself
with no witness but the moon
and then whistle with joy,
ambling over rocks and clods of earth,
with no task but to live,
with no family but the road.

Pablo Neruda

I found Pablo Neruda's words in my inbox, via The Quotationist, and I thought 'yes'.  Sometimes I just need 'the road' because ...

These days have been dizzy, giddy, fast-moving days.  And in recognition of the pace and insanity, I am quietly developing this habit of throwing myself back at my bed on a Sunday - to read and nap and sleep and rest because I have been tired.

I returned from Italy and stepped straight into 10+ days with the delightful Miss 7.  She had 8 of those days off school but we read a lot of Harry Potter, walked in the park, talked about interesting things and maybe we had quite some fun.

My stepdaughter arrived for a few days too.  And I was cleaning and cooking and slipping back into this life while trying not to think about the fact that my daughter and her daughter are moving countries soon. 

I'm fortunate.  Their destination is no longer that small South American village, reachable only by horseback ... that place where tarantulas and scorpions are commonplace.  And it's no longer New Zealand ... some 16,000kms away from me.

Instead, it's just next door, over in Germany.  I can do that.

Gert used his environmentally-friendly gift cheques to buy me a bicycle ... a brand new one.  The first brand new bicycle I've ever owned but that's a whole other story that needs blogging, with photographs.  I love my new bike though.

I've been putting together my book on Genova, and editing it ... because I edit.  It's not a good thing.  It may be that I'm seeking perfection ... just perfection.  So yes, I need someone to take my first draft from me, as I write, and not let me edit until the whole thing is done.  I know this thing about me but I'm not sure of the solution. 

And I have received the first draft of the story of a special wine and a family and their friends in Italy.  I can't wait to write that up and share the photographs with you.  It's one of those stories that make me smile whenever I think on it.

I have made a yoga date and hope to become a creature who rescues herself with the practice of yoga.

Paola, Simon and Matteo came to dinner on Saturday night.  It was good to sit down and catch up with them again.  They bought wine ... my beloved Banfi.  Gert cooked a pie from The Hairy Bikers Perfect Pies Cookbook.   It was lovely, although we're still experimenting with pastries here in this country that doesn't sell the New Zealand pastry I knew and loved.

On Friday, I was running all over Brussels, meeting with the most delightful people.  First stop was my accountant ... she who rescues me from the hellish complication of daring to be self-employed in Belgium.  Then on to Paola, to return her Genova keys and catch up.  And then a little further, to the inspiring New Zealand artist, wise woman, and friend, Wendy Leach.

Oh, and I sold a photograph that will be published in a book.  News to follow when that all comes to fruition.

Hmmmm, Stephanie and Catalina came to dinner last Wednesday night, and I had a tooth rebuilt on the Tuesday ... a second tooth.  I do appreciate my wonderful Belgian dentist.

There was an English church fete on Sunday with Stephanie, Catalina, Miss 7 and I ... and a phone call home to my dad because he turned 76.  And on it goes.  You see the giddy mad slide that is my life?

But I think I  must love it because nothing ever changes.  It's always kind of mad and chaotic and full of good people, and frustrations, and things slipping through my fingers, or arriving - in all their beauty - in front of me.

Anyway, all that to say that I haven't been quite so bloggy lately but I will be again ... soon.

Back when ...

25+ years ago, I had this little munchkin.  It was love at first sight and I spent the next few years as her devoted slave.

Unbeknown to the baby police and those in charge of new mothers, I developed this habit of singing her to sleep.  Most especially when she was ill.  And there was a 'favourites' list ...otherwise known as the songs that got her to sleep most successfully.

She still remembers them.

I have just come downstairs, from my granddaughter's bedroom, after quietly uncurling myself from the edge of her bed. 

I remembered the routine for stopping the songs and the signs were all good.  She had slept through the songs ending, and slept on through me cautiously moving off the bed.  She slept through me leaving the room and I think we might be okay now.

It's hot here tonight.  She had an incredibly late night last night and, unsurprisingly, she complained of a headache at bedtime.  One that wouldn't, 'just wouldn't!' go away.  And wicked gran that I am, I had no painkiller in the house.  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow.

But there was something delicious about telling her of the songs I had always sung to her mum and that, shhhhhh, we probably shouldn't tell her mum but I was going to sing them to her too now.

Mull of Kintyre continues to be 'the' song that most successfully sends small children to sleep.  But you should know, it's not a routine to enter into lightly.  When you sing small children to sleep you must either stroke their forehead or walk with them in your arms while you  sing ... 

10 minutes, and a quiet amazement that I still knew all the lyrics, she was asleep and  here I am , smiling over memories of those long ago days back home in New Zealand ... back when I was just a young mum.

Leaving again ...

This morning, I set the alarm for 6.15am, giving me time to clean the apartment before leaving ... two loads of laundry to do.

I woke at 5.20am and lay thinking how unfair it was, knowing there was no way to sleep again.

I showered, put the first load of laundry through, and packed.  I began mopping floors and then voila, almost 8am, and I needed breakfast.

I sat at an outside table at Caffe Degli Specchi, with a cappuccino and brioche, realising that today was the day of leaving Genova ... again.

And so I walked, through the city's centro storico  ... walked until just after 8.30am. The air is a soft 17 degrees celsius, the sun is out and, as always, all around me was the quiet hum of this city I love.

'Ciao!' is everywhere.  It makes me smile.  People arrive in the cafes, pass each other in the street, arrive at work ... 'Ciao'.

I'll miss that.

Someone has written a long story on the footpaths here.  Beautiful Liguria has the story on Facebook. I didn't have my camera but I stopped this young guy and asked what it was about.  Apparently, it's something to do with WWII.  It's neatly written and seemed like another of those surprises that Genova presents to her people.  It happened in the night I think.

Anna, from the Beautiful Liguria website, let me know about the story today: 'It is a story of love between a Jewish lady and a Russian guy in world war II.'

Laundry is already out and hanging across via Ravecca.  My kitchen window is open and, here I am, this New Zealander who simply loves those times when she comes stay awhile in this private, elegant, chaotic, sometimes dirty, exquisite, secretive, ancient, post-modern city nestled between the hills and sea.

Caffè degli Specchi, Genova

This warm and welcoming cafe has become my favourite place to stop for a breakfast coffee, here in Genova.

Caffè degli Specchi, or the Cafe of Mirrors, is like so many of the cafes here in the city, a hub of activity.  The Genovese call in on their way someplace else, select a pastry, and order their cappuccino or espresso.  Some drink standing at the bar but I love to sit outside and watch the world pass me by.  The sandwiches make a rather nice lunch too.

Jimmy, pictured below, is responsible for the best cofee I have had in a long time.  He greets customers as they arrive and switches to English for those who, like me, are liguistically impaired.  Their aperitivo, later in the day, is also rather special.

Located at Salita Pollaiuoli 43, it's not far from Palazzo Ducale and is a must-visit kind of cafe.

 

Just a note really ...

Life goes on, here in Genova.  It's 20 celsius, as I write this, and I can hear the beautiful hum that this city makes, as people end their day of working and meet for aperitivo.

I've been working at the kitchen table that looks out over the street here, window open ... washing drying in the beautiful weather.  I can hear the Swallows playing their kamikaze-like games out in the skies.  They squeal as they chase each other up and down streets.

I found a wonderful art gallery today. We couldn't talk because we lacked language but I loved the work I saw there.  It's not the photograph, which is beautiful anyway, but what the artist does with the photograph afterwards.

The lion you see on the home page inspired me to visit with the lions of San Lorenzo as I passed by them today but I just discovered my TIM connection is too slow here, in Genova ... I  can't load my image.  Perhaps I'll stop by at the internet cafe tomorrow anyway ... ciao from Genova.

The books I am Reading ...

As always, I am reading more than one book.

The book that is all but making me melt with pleasure is titled, Waiting for Robert Capa.  It's by Susana Fortes and I love it.  I would rate her poetic prose as highly as Anne Michaels writing. I loved her book Fugitive Pieces ... in terms of beautiful writing.  Actually, I loved Anne's poetry too.

I am also reading an old favourite, in terms of author.  William Dalrymple's, Nine Lives, is a most delightful series of travel stories that I am biting into whenever I want something different.  I love his writing and have done since first reading In Xanadu, forever ago.

And then, I am also working through The Fire Starter Sessions by Danielle LaPorte. 

Each of them have their own wisdoms, their own electricity, their own beauty.

Oh yes, and I'm writing a book, here in Genova.  Did I tell you?  I'm sure I did.  Piano, piano ...

Kim asked ...

Kim asked if I was in Genova yet ...

I so am.

I have this huge and uncontrollable smile on my face.  It started as I journeyed from Milan towards the mountains and Genova ... and I can't stop it.

I've been trying not to frighten anyone, with my madly happy face, as I run errands upon arrival.  I'm working on containing it within me, as a quiet bubble of joy. 

I have a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  I have an internet connection.   I have wine ...  and I'm still smiling.  It's like that.

I am back in this city I love so well.

All kinds of threats have been made if I return without completing the book this time ... and so I must.

But Kim, yes, I am back.

Recollecting my Life Lived in Other Places, with a Dog

I spent years wandering within the confines of whatever worlds I found myself in, with a dog by my side ...

In Cromwell, New Zealand, Sandie-dog and I would travel through the gorge to the Arrow River, or disappear to a favourite bend on the Clutha River.  In Blenheim, we were just as likely to wander over to Anakiwa and spend hours in the cove there.

In Te Anau it was McKay Creek, on the edge of Fiordland National Park, our secret destination, with its backdrop of mountains just a kilometre away,  Or Lake Manapouri, Lake Te Anau ... a chocolate box selection.  

In Dunedin, it was a case of mood leading us to whichever beach - we had a huge number of choices.  Long Beach was a favourite, even though it took us off the peninsula where we lived and back up the other side, then over a hill.  On the peninsula, we were careful not to bother the sea lions found lounging on those rugged beaches, and other times, there were penguins.  But Sandie was a dog of great wisdom, with an overwhelming passion for water.  She would even swim amongst ducks, caring only for the swim, willing to share with anything else that was out there.

Dogs are succour for the soul, companions of the heart ...

It's quite difficult not having one yet.  I've been 10 years lonely.

Note: all but the Anakiwa photograph were taken by my lovely friend, and talented photographer, David Wall.

Petrichor

Erik gifted me a new word, in response to the post about rain just below.

I think that word needs a post all of its own ... Petrichor.

petrichor (PET-ri-kuhr) noun

The pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a dry spell.

[From petro- (rock), from Greek petros (stone) + ichor (the fluid that is supposed to flow in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology). Coined by researchers I.J. Bear and R.G. Thomas.]

"Petrichor, the name for the smell of rain on dry ground, is from oils given off by vegetation, absorbed onto neighboring surfaces, and released into the air after a first rain." Matthew Bettelheim; Nature's Laboratory; Shasta Parent (Mt Shasta, California); Jan 2002.

"But, even in the other pieces, her prose breaks into passages of lyrical beauty that come as a sorely needed revivifying petrichor amid the pitiless glare of callousness and cruelty." Pradip Bhattacharya; Forest Interludes; Indianest.com; Jul 29, 2001.

A day in the life of ...

I usually arrive here at my office desk around 8.30am and begin.  But it's a slow easing into my day, trying to clear email, catch up on any new (and inspirational) posts that have come in on my google reader overnight, and then there's facebook too.

But this morning, I deactivated that seductive thief of time. Facebook is gone for now.  I love the social nature of that particular space but it's too much when I really look what I have in front of me.

In 5 weeks, there is a huge business launch party that must be prepared, with accompanying workshop offer.  There is the book I'm putting together on Genova, using my photographs taken since 2008, and channeling my huge passion for that city.

The final touches are being put on the photography e-course but I'm also preparing a series of one-on-one photography coaching and wandering options, as well as more flexible times on journeys to other places for the website.

I'm interviewing Minske Van Wijk about her film in the days ahead.  I'm also writing for two other websites but details on the second site still to come. 

There is the continuing saga of manually uploading my posts from the old website to the new website.  Only 800 or so to go...

Actually, truth be told, I dream about arriving here in the office and saying to assistant, 'Hey there, how about you work on this project this week, and I'll develop this one.'  But that's not for now ... that's just a wee dream.

I really hope that your week is a good one.  And below ... a photograph I took back in those Istanbul days.

4 April, 2012: An update.  I lasted outside of Facebook for just 24 hours.  A huge filling broke and I was left with a need to distract myself while I waited for an emergency dental appointment.  Facebook, like google reader, brings interesting things into my world at times when I can't create for myself and waiting for a tooth repair did, so very much, interfere with my muse.

My tooth was repaired today but too late, I'm back in the Land of Facebook, although attempting to be measured in my time wandering there.

 

 

Old Friends, Amazing People ...

I have people in my life that I have loved and adored just about forever ...

I met my friend Fiona when we were 13, first year in High School.  She was a Fairfield girl ... a bus girl, and I lived just down the road from the school.  We were both a bit nervous about that first year at this enormous high school and, I was so lucky, we became friends.

I would drag her home for lunch at my place sometimes.  Back then, she was a Cadbury's Peppy Chew addict, and introduced me to the whole range ... caramel and, I think, spearmint chews too.  They were great days though.  Phone conversations and laughter in class. 

And then ... she couldn't shake me off.  Where ever I've wandered and lived since then, the story of my friend Fiona usually comes up.  She remains the friend I would I most like to be like when I grow up.

Later, after quite some moves around the country as my first husband climbed his career ladder, I arrived at Base Woodbourne, as an officer's wife.  Oh I was wide-eyed back then, in those days on the base, as I learned the etiquette of that military life there.

Again, I met an amazing woman who went on to become another one of the big loves in my life.

Christine had been an officer's wife for a while by then. and she contacted me, even before I arrived on base.  Her husband, the lovely Peter, had recruited my husband as an education officer.  He thought I might need some support as Chris went off to train for 6 months.

We had so much fun there on the base.  I remember a million cups of tea in her sun-filled kitchen, her fabulous baking, the treasures she sewed, and much laughter.  We soon had a gang of like-minded women who did things like taking me off to the secondhand shop in town, on a sherry glass hunting expedition. We never really took anything really seriously though.

Actually, we 4 almost drowned in the base swimming pool one day.  We got the giggles at the deep end.  It was worrisome ... trying to stop laughing long enough to reach one of the sides.  We made it.

I can't remember who moved first.  We only did 4 years on that base, surrounded by some of New Zealand's top wineries ... Cloudy Bay, Alan Scott and Montana, to name a few.  I didn't drink wine back then.  I was happy to be 'the driver'.  But Christine and I stayed in touch.

I spent some time with them on the base at Ohakea.   They spent  some time with us down in Fiordland.

I'm rarely on skype but today, while catching up with Christine and Peter, Fiona and Barry came online and I went from an hour with one much-loved friend, straight into an hour with another much-loved friend.

I'm exhausted.  It was amazing.  We all laughed often, caught up on news ... my cup runneth over. It's 10.42am and here I am, exhausted.

We have made plans for when Gert and I go home in December.  Small plans, to be enlarged upon when I have our dates.  But expect to laugh a lot, talk more and probably, when I see everyone again ... I think there will be tears. 

Forza 2012! 

A word about the disappearing posts ...

I'm sorry if you have me on google reader ...or anything else that reports when I post something new.

I'm slowly moving all of my blog posts from the old website to the new.  It has to be done manually, as Expression Engine and Squarespace are two of a handful who won't 'talk' with each other. 

And I have to change the datestamp on each post.  Sometimes, if I forget, the reloaded post ends up as the most recent post.  I realise, and race over to correctly datestamp it and voila, it disappears from here.

Let it be done soon.