A Little Bit of Happy

We left New Zealand, a 1am Singapore Airlines flight, on this day a year ago today.

The days leading up to leaving were full of the things I love best.  Solitary early morning walks, the beach, good people, and sunshine at Christmas.

The clothes- line pictured is loaded down with swimsuits after a swim in the river at Cooks Beach.  And the little hut at the end reminds me of the much-hated longdrop toilets that occasionally featured in my  childhood memories.  This was was decommissioned and could therefore be  defined as picturesque.

It's a blue-sky 5.2 celsius day in Antwerp as I write this.  It reads colder than it feels.  I have the bedroom window open and we've already been out for a short walk.  Coats and scarves were involved but we still haven't even had many serious frosts.  There was blossom out there.  And there was that one evening of snow that didn't settle a while ago.

Gert was cautioning me, explaining that the Belgian winter kicks in in January and February.  Last winter was simply brutal and long.  December through into June, more or less.

Anyway, from the backyard of a New Zealand crib (South Island) or bach (North Island), holiday home (rest of the world) ... a little bit of simply happy.

Just Her and Her Guitar ...

Miss 9 and her new guitar.

Day One of guitar-ownership and still in her 'indoor morning-wear', with the hat that Shannon gifted her on her head.

Meet the artiste!

 

A Glimpse of Christmas Here ...

The Christmas highlight was watching Miss 9 open the gift we four bought her together.  I may have hinted at the fact we didn't have much money and had simply bought her lots of little presents at the 1 euro shop.  She is the sweetest, undemanding creature and so that was okay with her.

Christmas morning, and after we had handed out the gifts from under the tree, we put the bulky, blanket-covered gift on her lap.  She found it odd.  She said 'It's guitar-shaped?'  We said yes, 'maybe it's a novelty box to put all the little gifts in'.  She lifted the blanket and said, 'Ohhh, you used Sander's guitar case!'  Then she looked at the case more closely and said, 'Oh, it's not his.'

I think it began to dawn on her then but still she busied herself with opening the zip.  The look on her face as she opened the lid was simply gold.  She was stunned and bemused and amazed.  She pulled the guitar out, slipped it into position and started strumming. 

'Did you guess?' we asked her.

'Never', she said.  'I never imagined I might get a guitar!'

And maybe that's why we 4 put money together and bought it for her.  She never demands.  She never even really asks for the big things.  And this is the kid who has written 'oh so many' songs already.  A guitar was a far away dream.

Sander gave her her first guitar lesson on Christmas Day and by Boxing Day she was playing Twinkle Little Star.  We watched as she heard her mistakes and went back to fix them.  As Sander said, she has the music in her already. 

Christmas Day was six for breakfast, then lunch with the same six.  It was oddly non-traditional but lovely in terms of food.  We cleaned and perhaps some of us napped, until Shannon and Erik drove in from Holland.

Shannon and I have become old friends, having met long ago here in Belgium and now there is Erik, her truly lovely Dutch bloke.  He fits in so easily it's like we've always known him.  No photographs from the day and so I wandered through my 'this time last year' folder and voila ...

 

 

The People's Wine, Pinot Noir, New Zealand

I was talking to Julie tonight... she's back home in New Zealand these days, after months spent  wandering the world.  I was reminiscing about a red wine I had enjoyed while I was home.

I remembered there was a truck on the wine label, laughing over the fact that I don't think I ever paid full price for a bottle of The People's Wine - that pinot noir.  I found them on special where ever we wandered.  And, of course, I took that to be a divine sign to drink more because they were retailing for $22nz normally.

There is a photograph, of course ...

Saturday Morning

I don't know how we keep meeting these people that become important to us. Will it ever stop? Are we looking for them or were they always there under a current and we just stepped in the creek at the right time.

Amy Sharp, extract from, We will meet in a flower shop or on a corner in the rain and then later I'll tell you everything.

I'm awake before anyone else, on this Saturday morning in Belgium, and I have my laptop here with me downstairs.  It's resting on a tower of toilet paper, bought on special deal yesterday. I must take them upstairs but for now ... a useful laptop table.

The Tasmanian arrived last night.  Jobe is a lovely bloke who visits periodically, when he's not partying his way through Europe.  I've told him, more than a few times, he must put together some kind of book.  He's much-loved where ever he goes and the photographs of him hanging out with happy strangers in Poland and London and every place else, make me smile.

It's too cold and the pollution hangs heavy outside otherwise I would be off and wandering this morning. Like I did early one morning, back at Cooks Beach, in New Zealand.