This State of Independence

Five to nine in the morning. I sit in a cafe looking out of the window at the rain. A slow drizzle floats endlessly down, warm and quiet. Outside it smelt of green things and growth, inside it is coffee mixed with deodorant from the business people surrounding me. The quiet clink and hiss from the counter mixes with the surrounding conversation. They talk in upbeat words like return on investment, niche markets and publicly perceived image. I have no public image today, it is my day off, I just sit quietly and write.

For a long time now I have thought that I do not have a work ethic, that somehow I was born without that compulsory requirement to modern society. But sitting here it occurs to me that I do, it is just not the same one that I am surrounded by.

Money. As deals are made and game plans play out, the underlying theme here is money. Making money and then making more money. All of it to buy things. I don’t want things, I am as happy here with a seven dollar coffee and scone as I would be looking at a shiny new Porsche outside my house. Time is what is important to me. I work to make time to do things, not to buy things.

My whole life has been an attempt to work as little as possible to make myself as much time as possible. I might just use that time to sit and look at the rain, but to me that is what is important no matter how much of a waste it would seem to those around me if they only knew my thoughts. They might say they are working now to make money so that they will have time in the future. But who knows what the future will bring, I would rather have my time now especially as I do not believe that after a lifetime devoted to making money you can suddenly stop, retiring as it is usually called and is the death of a lot of people. No I enjoy what I have now, little as it may be it is much much more than I should think those around me have. Far from being one of life’s losers I have just realised that I am very lucky to be this way.

No wonder people think I live on a different planet . . . I do.

Life is never dull when you make time for a cup of coffee . . .

Alice

When I was little we would occasionally visit one of my grannies. Apart from the stilted conversation and the strange warm sweet smell of old houses, what I remember most is the bed. Usually very tired from travelling I would wearily climb the narrow creaky stairs and turn the corner into the bedroom. There towering above me on spindly iron legs would be the bed. The mattress was firm but not hard, enveloping but not smothering, confidently there under me like a good parent. Capping this would be layer upon layer of sheets, blankets, eiderdowns and finally a candlewick cover, all firmly tucked in around the edges. Nowadays being used to lightweight Summer duvets I would untuck everything and strip the bedcovers down to the bare essentials but in those days I would carefully squeeze myself in under all the covers and just lie there cocooned. As the bed warmed up I would gradually fall deeply asleep with a big smile on my face.

In the morning the sun shining through the curtains would wake me. I would just lie there warmly cocooned like a forest animal safe within it’s burrow, listening to the distant sounds of breakfast conversation.

Even today I look forward to Autumn when we put on the heavier winter duvet and the quilt over that . As soon as I feel the weight pressing down, holding me, I feel safe and protected. It is no wonder perhaps that somedays I just want to stay here . . .

Mist

Saturday 9.46am

There is something comforting about a misty day. Some days I want to look out upon distant vistas full of possibilities. On other days the world seems just too big, too full of insurmountable problems, and on days like these I need to be cocooned and feel safe from it all.

Coming home does that and I get the same feeling when walking surrounded by mist. The world becomes much smaller as I walk protected within my little bubble of light. Sound is muffled and all I can see are faint shadows, hints of what might be out there. There is a childlike innocence here as well because the ethereal shapes out there could just as easily be fairy castles as trees and rocks.

Within my bubble there is a brightness as the light is diffused and comes from all around, the colours yellow and green glow as if lit from within. Gone are the harsh shadows of reality. Here in my little patch of Scottish Autumn or New Zealand Winter I feel as if I have stepped off the train of life for a while and can draw breath, relax a little and gather myself ready to continue on with life . . .  




“So what becomes of the little boys who run away from home. The world just keeps on gettin’ bigger when you get out on your own.” Tom Waits

Autumn 3

I do not know if The Four Seasons is the worlds most popular piece of music but it does seem to pop up again and again - films, adverts, supermarkets and telephones even. My favourite part is the slow part in the middle of Autumn (about two minutes into this clip) . Which is about now in fact. The music echoes the world outside, the wet mouldering dampness, the slow dripping from the leaves and branches. The smell is rich and earthy and there is movement, constant hidden movement in there as well. I say it every year but then I notice it every year at this time as well. The earth is alive. All of it, and I am but one small part of this giant organism.

We have not seen Buffy the cat for two days now, which is unusual for her. We have looked around, asked the neighbours and informed the SPCA and the local vets. There is nothing to do now except wait.

I hope that the earth looks after her.

Shopping

Sunday 11am

I like the city. I like it's anonymity. Like a lot of dentists I spend all day talking to people, but underneath there lurks an awkward shyness. I am quite happy with my own company which at work is useful because in between the "hello" and "goodbye" bit the person in front of you cannot talk back past the mouthful of instruments and numbness. And if you wish to be alone there is no better place than the city. You have everything you need all around you but nobody expects you to speak to them. It does have a down side as well - my loneliest times have been in cities, having all those people around just makes the feeling of isolation much worse.

Supermarkets wherever they are are just like a part of the city. You can do all of your shopping, you can read every label and poke and prod things as much as you like and not have to interact with anybody, not even the checkout girl if you do not want to.

But now that Nicola has broken her ankle I am doing more of the shopping. And I have to shop where she shops. And being a country girl she likes to shop the old fashioned way, the way it should be, in real shops. Which here means the farmers market. I'll be buying real food from real people, the ones that actually grow the stuff. It is a good feeling. I might even talk to them as well . . . .




(When I got the farmers market had moved inside for the Winter and I could not get a good photo. So thanks to Nicola for this one.)

In the Autumn sunshine with Glen Campbell

Saturday 4.49pm

I am very tired.

Nicola broke her ankle three weeks ago now, but it feels like three months. It has been tough on her, she has not slept well because of the pain and can hardly walk let alone drive which for an independent person is incredibly frustrating. I have seen people scooting about on crutches before but little realised how difficult it really is, suddenly having to use muscles in unaccustomed ways and of course with both hands on the crutches you cannot carry anything and end up relying completely on those around you. The children have been great, but there is only so much they can do and so I have been plunged suddenly into trying to do all the things Nicola usually does whilst working full time. Family life goes on and any woman reading this will say "welcome to our world" and I would agree with you, having done the housewife and mother bit for three years when our youngest was little I already know what it is like. But I had more time then, and it does not make it any easier being suddenly plunged into it. Now there are more jobs to be done than there is time available and I rush from one thing to the next and the next and the next . . . . from the moment I awake until I go to bed . . .

But today was different.

While washing the dishes I was making some soup (Beetroot and Cumin). I was peeling the roasted beets, Whichita Lineman was playing in the background and glancing up I caught sight of the Autumn sunshine coming low through the window. As these three things came together, in that moment, I knew that although life may be tough sometimes there is nowhere else in the world that I want to be.




Contentment - it lies within the small things in life, put them together and they add up to so much more . . . .

Morning light

Thursday 11am

Mornings and evenings, these are my favourite times of the day. Especially mornings. There is something about the light at this time that entrances me. I think it is the softness of it as the sun just comes up and gently caresses the world below, waking it tenderly as a lover or a mother would her child. It is officially Autumn here now and there is a chill in the air that makes the morning light even more special as I feel its warmth soaking into me through the cold.

Colours are different at this time as well, more saturated, more intense, but with a softness about them that is so relaxing just to gaze at. Later on the sun will be much hotter and bleach everything harshly flat and still but evening will gradually arrive as it does completing the cycle in a different but just as beautiful conclusion as it ushers in the nightfall.

Life is never dull when you can see and feel . . . .

Autumn 2

Thursday 8.08am

There is chill in the air. The morning is misty and damp. Quiet. Still. Autumn is here again. This is the time of year when I feel most connected to the natural world. It is a time of woodlands and fields, rich earthy smells and the sight of your misty breath coiling away into the air. I can hear birdsong outside and hidden rustling noises in the leaves and undergrowth. Compared to Scotland, Autumn in Hawkes Bay is but a brief passing moment. By nine or ten o’clock in the morning the sun is up, the skies are bright blue and the mist is all burnt away. I struggle to get up for work in the dark at the moment but once I am up and cycling to work I’m grateful for it, because I would miss this time. Autumn is a time of change – the dusk of the year, and a sad time too – hard times are coming and not all of us will be here to see the spring. It is harvest time, fruit is being picked and stored, plans are made for next year. Some people are good at this of course with savings and provision for the future but not me. Try as I do, the present always gets in the way and the future has to wait. But Autumn has a feeling of acceptance about it as well, what is done is done, there is little point in worrying about the past. Make plans, yes, and I will keep plugging away at it, but will also enjoy the moment for it is all so brief and quickly forgotten.

At the moment I just cannot seem to get this song, Beautiful Haze, out of my head.

Autumn

Saturday 10am

Autumn is my favourite time of year. I do not know if is because I was born in the Autumn but I love the slight chill in the air, the quietly dripping dampness, and the smell of woodsmoke in the evening. You could have a good conversation with Autumn. Spring would be full of ideas and plans, but Autumn has been there, done that, and you can see it in its face. And in my life ? . . . late summer I think. At the risk of sounding like an investment commercial ( you know, the ones with happy retired folk on a cruise because they saved their pennies wisely ), I still have plans and things to do but I notice I am not as fit or flexible as I used to be ( must exercise more ! ) and my eyes are slowly giving out. But it is a good time of life. Having spent most of my early days worrying about what other people think and mentally chastising myself over something I may have said or done or not done or thinking I was somehow not as good as other people, in my thirties I realised that it did not really matter at all. I have nothing to prove to anybody except myself. We are all just people with the same fears inside, but afraid to admit it.

My favourite song ? - One by U2, - " we are one but we're not the same,"

And another beautiful photo by Nicola, who may say she cannot draw, but can certainly see.