Going Bush

Today I spent yesterday morning driving North in brilliant sunshine and on excellent roads.  I have gone bush for the weekend. The cottage I am staying in is near other people, but not so near as to interfere with delicious solitude. I have come here to be still.  My thanks to everyone who made this break possible - you know who you are.

Drawing from Life Chapter 2 begins:

After dressing and clearing away breakfast the next morning, Rhona had plenty of time for an easy paced walk to the train. She was in Devonport just after 9.30, tousled after the boat ride but exhilarated.

Leaving the Ferry Building, she crossed over by the Esplanade and walked slowly up Victoria Road. She hadn’t been to Devonport since her boys were babies. She found the little arcade she used to love on the site of an old bakery and settled herself at a café table near the disused brick ovens. She ordered coffee and croissants and sat idly going through the contents of her bag, trying to cover the discomfort of sitting there alone. Right at the bottom was a spiral bound A5 notebook, which she had bought on impulse about a month ago and carried around in her bag ever since. After gazing tentatively at the inner page for a moment or two, Rhona took up her pencil and wrote the date and time. Her order arrived. She doodled little stars across the page as she ate.

 Dividing her page in half lengthwise, she tried to empty her conscious mind to let an idea through. That reminded her of Jung, of the subconscious and his arch-types. That could be a series of paintings- someone’s.  She hadn’t picked up a brush since she was a girl. Nevertheless, images surfaced: A Fool, stepping forward unaware; enraptured Lovers –the choice of Paris; a wizened Hermit. Pass. It was time to move.

Finding herself out on the road to the Naval Dock Rhona turned to make her way slowly back along the Parade. She stopped outside the window of an art glass shop and looked. Her friend Charlie had a partner who worked with glass these days, but she hadn’t seen his work yet. She looked on the card labels, but couldn’t see any with his name on them. Some of the pieces were beautiful whorls of opalescence on restful forms. The colours were pretty, but it reminded her of the Museum and it was hard to concentrate.

Further along the road towards the Masonic, she followed the foreshore path beside the playground and the old rowing club shed. As she was on the point of turning back she caught sight of a sign for a gallery, just past the hotel. Last time she had been here it was a cake shop.

Once inside, a middle aged man immediately came out from the back of the premises to greet her.

“Good morning madam.” He had a heavy European accent and an energetic way of walking as he moved down the long room towards her. His worn cable-knit pullover and round balding head reminded her of a retired seaman.

“Good Morning. I have stumbled upon you by accident. May I look around?”

“An accidental customer – the very best. Please make yourself at home. I am Claus

Petersen proprietor”

Rhona shook his hand, laughing. “Rhona Manners explorer. Good to meet you Claus.”

He nodded and gestured around the gallery. “Excuse me if I leave you to your own devices for a little while. I have some new pieces and pictures arrived this morning that are begging for my attention. Just call me if I can help with anything.”

Claus had a varied stock. There was a series of small bronze sculptures – all very skeletal– along with a good amount of studio pottery and art glass. As she progressed to the back of the gallery the tone, and the prices, became increasingly serious. There were one or two good colonial period pictures. She noted a group of smaller works, gathered together, all by early twentieth century students of the Canterbury Art School. He also had some truly superb images by a German photographer. She was studying one of these black and white seascapes when Claus returned to stand beside her.

 “Ah you like photography yourself?”

“Well I learnt it at Uni – it was part of the art course you know? It’s the one thing I have done ever since, of all those skills we learned.”

“Well artist Rhona did you ever learn about your namesake at the Uni? I have one of her pictures just arrived. It’s for my Canterbury group.”

“My namesake? Oh you must mean Rhona Haszard? May I see it please?”

“Sure I shall set it up here on this easel for you – one moment.”

Claus disappeared again and returned a few moments later looking very animated.

“I am very pleased with this.” He placed the small watercolour on the easel with a little sotto voce “so” and stood back for her to see it.

“Well,” Rhona said after pausing a breath or two. “This means a great deal to me.”

She turned to him, reaching out to lay her hand on his forearm. “My maiden name is Hagar. Isn’t that strange, how similar the names are. Don’t you think it strange?”

He was watching her with an uncomfortable expression when she turned back to the easel. She looked again a moment before saying “This must have seemed very modern at the time.”

“I think,” Claus was choosing his words carefully, “some found her directness discomforting.” He coughed lightly.

“Oh. Yes I see.” Rhona blushed.

Claus went on. “It was one of a number of drawings of France, Brittany in particular. This was the only one of hers amongst them.”

Careful now to keep a bland expression on her face she said “Congratulations. It is a beauty.” She made her polite smile and moved back down the gallery saying “Thank you for sparing the time to show me.”

He walked with her to the door as if partly regretting the interview was ending. “Come again now you know where we are.”

“Oh certainly. Soon I hope.” With a final lift of her hand she slipped back out into the sharp breeze.

Our red eared slider has thawed out over the last few days and started to engage with life again. Like his faltering attempts to reuse his legs, I too have had to begin with small steps, as I establish a new framework for my life. We are not alone in this, Slider and I. Across the road my neighbour is teaching her daughter to drive the family car. Their tense faces tell me this is early days yet. "Go girl", I whisper. 
It might feel strange right now, but the awkwardness will pass eventually and we will soon be wheeling around in an intoxicating state of freedom. 

The Story continues:
Part 2 of Chapter 1 - Enjoy and please remember I value your opinion tremendously.

When Rhona let herself in at home she could tell her eldest daughter was still there, spending a day off work at home. The stereo was thumping with some hip-hop thing. In the shower the warm high pressured jet ran over her head and body, thawing out the chill of the morning. When the water ran cold she got out and rubbed herself viciously until she was red and blotchy all over and her hair stood out in a tangled helmet. At least no one she knew had been at the Museum.

She closed her eyes and listened to the repetitive base of the music track, observing some sinuous reptile unfurling inside her stomach. When she opened her eyes the towel was curled tightly in clenched fists and she hurled it at the bathroom door. Viciously stabbing her limbs into garments, she dressed, wrestling with ugly layers of poly-cotton knit.

Rhona cast herself supine on the bed. Careless of damp hair on the cover, she lay staring at the ceiling. Why did some grey haired men have dark side burns?

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Are you OK Mum? Can I come in?” Here was Sarah, coming to investigate.

“Yes” a whisper. Rhona cleared her throat, “Yes come in missy”

The eldest girl popped her head around the door and came in, flopping down on the bed beside her mother. “I heard you come in. Worn your self out Mum?”

“No love I’m fine, nothing the matter.” Rhona swung her legs off the bed. “Come on, let’s have some tea.” Her daughter followed her to the kitchen and sat down at the table, watching as her mother moved about boiling the water, fetching the cups, clearing up as she went with automatic practiced movements.

Eventually the girl said quietly. “I’ve got some news Mum, but you may not like it.”

“Go on then”. Rhona turned from the bench and folded her hands over her stomach.

“I’ve found a flat with Katey. You know Katey from work? I’m going to move at the weekend.”

“Well that’s good.” There was a definite tone of relief in her voice.

 “Oh. But look Mum I … what will you do with only Gracie left at home? You’ll be OK won’t you?”

“Of course, I’ll be just fine. I’m really pleased for you. Make me a list of anything you might need and I’ll see what I can spare for the flat”

“Thanks.” The girl got up, taking her mug from the table. “Look, I’m going out. Could you just leave my dinner for me and I’ll get it later? Oh and Dad rang.”

Rhona turned back to the bench. “Did he?” she asked, staring at the kitchen window ledge.

“Yeah.” Sarah sounded defensive. “I didn’t know where you were.  Well you never said did you?”

“You were asleep when I left,” her mother replied in a flat tone of voice.

“Oh right. Then he wanted to know why you didn’t use the mobile he gave you. Do you want me to show you how to use it?”

“Not just at the moment Sarah.” Rhona glanced over her shoulder with half a smile on her lips, “Maybe another time when you’re not going out.” As she began to wipe the spotless chrome taps she asked, almost inaudibly “What else?”

“Sorry? Oh Dad you mean? Just that he won’t be home tonight again and could you pick up his dry cleaning. Where did you go anyway?”

Rhona shrugged, drawing her cloth across the bench with a blank expression on her face “Oh nowhere interesting. It doesn’t matter.”

Rhona got through the weekend in the usual way. Gracie was off at school netball and out with her teenage friends. Sarah and her prospective flatmates emptied the back bedroom and carted it all away in a rental truck- after she had made them lunch. The husband was away again- golf and something vague to do with work. She cooked and cleaned and got things ready for the next working week, ironing all his shirts and changing the beds.

Monday lunchtime a neighbour rang wanting Rhona to collect her children from school. She agreed. She was used to it.

It was a short walk to the Primary school. As Rhona came past the playing field at ten to three she saw her friend Valerie coming out of the school gates as the teacher on crossing duty. They had first met when Rhona’s eldest son had started school, twenty years ago. She watched Val’s black haired, brick shaped figure gesturing to one of the girls to fix up her sash. Her commanding voice could be heard urging both monitors to get a move on.

“Hello Rhona” Val barked when they came into hailing distance. Her voice had all the carrying qualities of a parade ground professional. “On duty again?”

Rhona waited until she was alongside before replying. “Yvonne rang at lunch time, some appointment.”

“You’re always picking up for that woman.”

“Oh well. I don’t mind I suppose. Think of the twins. It’s not their fault.”

 The school bell rang, releasing a trickle of parents coming back with their children.

“Here comes the stampede” Val said. “Give me a ring tonight will you? I have something to tell you.”

Rhona collected her six year old charges and agreed to their desperate appeal for some time on the playground. Watching miniature figures hanging upside down on the jungle gym, with her mind gone quiet, she noticed that feeling in her stomach again, just like she had in the shower last Friday.  On the phone later that evening she noticed the same sensation. Val was saying

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Colin and I went to one of his boring finance crowd dinners last Saturday night. There were a couple of guests, you know, from various other firms, and you’ll never guess who was there. Your husband.  Himself. Did he mention it?”

“No, I haven’t…”

“No I bet he bloody didn’t. He had some P.A. woman with him. Looking very smug she was. Had some ridiculous name – some flower.

“Oh. Do you mean Jasmine?”

“That’s it. Christ how pretentious is that?”

“Anyway- your bloody husband tried to avoid me.” Val’s voice was loud enough to be heard across the lounge where Gracie was doing homework on the floor. Rhona moved up to her bedroom, out of ear shot. “I baled him up for twice as long just to make my point. Hacked me off I can tell you.”

When Rhona made no reply Val continued with less volume in her voice but greater urgency. “You listen to me. John has been playing up on you. I asked Colin afterwards and he as good as confirmed it.”

 Rhona sat wearily on the bed and said “Val I appreciate…”

“Shit. I don’t want your appreciation. I want you to get pissed off or something.”

Rhona sat on a while afterwards, staring at her wardrobe doors with a gentle, amused expression. Gracie came in with two mugs of milo and perched on the bed beside her mother. At fourteen she was already much taller, but in all other respects the likeness between them was striking. There was a closeness between them too, which the older children had never shared. She wanted to hear Val’s news.

“What was that about Mum?”

Rhona made a comic, wide eyed face. “Val is upset with Dad because he didn’t notice her at a work dinner.” She shrugged and took her cup.

Gracie looked blank disbelief at her. “How could he miss her? She’s always the loudest.”

They sat together a bit, sipping their drinks a while until Gracie asked “So what was she saying about Jasmine?”

“Oh, I don’t think Val liked her very much.”

“I don’t like her either. She’s always sort of, you know, patronizing. Dad likes her though. You can tell.”

Rhona caught her worried, sideways glance and made an effort to smile convincingly, hugging her daughter with her free arm. “Well, he’d have to like her to work with her all the time wouldn’t he?”

Gracie shrugged her shoulders. “You never say anything mean about anyone do you? It’s murder having a saint for a parent.”

 Parenting is such a privilege, but it tests us doesn't it? Feeling like raw beginners ourselves, we are asked to steer youngsters through the shoals to adulthood. Ultimately we can only do our best, but finding that best within can be a real challenge.

John Ruskin gave a lecture in Manchester in 1864 entitled "Sesame - of King's Treasures." At that time he said "A nation cannot last as a money-making mob."

I was reminded of statement the other day because the youngest of my two daughters is leaving school this year. Adults are pretty free with their questions and advice at the best of times, but just now everyone she meets seems to be a self appointed careers advisor. "It's all about jobs" and "Be sure to choose a profession with good earning potential." "Arts? What do you expect to do with that?"

Is this healthy -to encourage people to make choices on the basis of fear and scarcity? Why do we not enquire :What would you love to do? What contribution would you like to make to our community? How can we help you achieve it?

Whatever age you are, whatever choice you have to make I have a suggestion for you test out.

Try to choose on the basis of what makes your heart sing. 

Look to your own interests and talents.

Ask yourself what ways you could make a difference in the world - it may be big or small.

Remember there is no such thing as mistakes - only alternative paths to be explored. 

Trust that your own unique note rings out truly. 

Follow that note and this abundant life will certainly support you. 

Here is the opening of a story for you. Your comments and criticism would be valued.

Regards 

Meg

Rhona Manners could have been murdered at the Museum that Friday morning and no one would have missed her until tea time. She was standing in the café, where her face was reflected in the glass of the food cabinet, but no one noticed that. The rest of her was hidden from view by the other, larger people around her. As she advanced one place in the queue a tall man dressed in a sports jacket and narrow corduroy jeans came and stood behind her. He was holding a swipe card on a key ring in one hand and jingling coins in the other.

When Mrs Manners found herself at the counter she smiled politely at the young girl beside the till whose jaw rotated rhythmically around a piece of chewing gum .

“Long black please.” Her words were clearly enunciated, in a pitch which was low for a woman’s voice.

“Sorry?” The girl looked away to her till, chewing with open mouthed consistency.

“Long black please” Rhona increased the volume of her speech slightly and continued with her smiling.

The girl looked past her and said in a distracted way, “Look, can you just wait a sec’? I got to… look just hold on will you?” She disappeared into the back of the café.

Rhona turned slightly towards the man beside her and smiled at the space between his elbow and the counter. She said softly “A kitchen crisis I suppose. It doesn’t matter.” When the man made no reply she added, “I can wait.”

An interval of time passed in which she studied the formica counter, the cash register, the menu board and the little metal stands with the plastic order numbers on them. Using her middle finger she made small circles on the place between her eyes before she turned and, with jerky steps, walked away from the counter. She was looking at the floor. Unaware of where she was going, she bumped a girl with her brown leather shoulder bag and a latte was spilt. Hurrying now she passed rapidly through the entrance hall, catching her shoulder on the automatic exit doors before she emerged on the rain-swept porch outside.

There Rhona sheltered beside one of the monumental urns while she dug about in her bag with unsteady hands.

 The man who had been behind her in the café also came and stood under the porch, sheltering there like she was. He said something to her but she so intent on rifling in her bag that she didn’t hear him. He came and stood near to her, not very close, and bent down a little to say “Have you lost something?” The gusty storm wind blew his long grey hair across the lapel of his jacket.

“No….”  Rhona stood up, clutching a bus card. She rearranged her coat to keep off the weather saying “Thanks though.”

“Have you had enough for the day?” The man straightened up to tighten the tie on his pony tail and stood back from her as he spoke, so that she could see his face.

Rhona tipped her hood back a little to look up at him. “Yes…in a way. I …what about you?”

“I work here.” He indicated the swipe card in his long-fingered hand.

“Oh right, well …” She stood holding her coat closed at the neck, gazing at his black boots.

He tried to capture her glance by gesturing to the entrance way and said “I was behind you in the café. I wondered- neither of us got our coffee. Would you..?”

“Thanks all the same …it was just that… no I may as well get back ...I’m Rhona by the way.” Close to, her wary green eyes dominated a pale face.

“Bill.” His smile was meant to reassure and she did look up briefly as she said “Oh.”

 “Look are you really all right?” His tanned face showed real concern. She was still shaking.

“Oh. Yes. No …look it doesn’t matter does it? I’d just better not…”

She raced away in a panicky sort of dash down the stairs and off across the Domain, back towards Parnell Road. Bill Egan watched her run, holding her bag to her side with one hand and her hood in the other.  Stepping back under the porch to shelter better from the weather, he lit a cigarette with an old bakelite flint lighter. Rhona disappeared over the rise, slithering a bit on the wet grass. He pushed up the sleeves of his caramel coloured jacket and leaned comfortably against the stone exterior of the building as he stood smoking.

The first time Bill had seen that woman was when he was working in one of the aisles that led off the Decorative Arts hall. He was up a ladder adjusting the lighting for the new display they had opened there previous day. From that vantage point she was right in his line of vision, facing him but unaware of his presence. He could see her standing with her head on one side, smiling a cat smile to herself, alone. It was the set of her head, all that curling auburn hair, and her expressive stance that made him study her as a subject- that and the fact that she was tiny. Not a dwarf or anything, she was perfectly in proportion, but barely five feet tall he reckoned.

When she came to the Sieffert wine table her whole demeanour changed. She had dropped to a crouch with easy agility, both strong hands to her face, as she studied the marquetry with parted lips. Her hands had slipped up to rake her hair as she stood up effortlessly, stepping back to admire the whole piece. Seconds later he saw her retreat into herself again as she turned away. The bag went back on one shoulder, her hands returned to the rain coat pockets and her shoulders slumped.

Like turning out the lights Bill had thought at the time, recalling the job in hand. In a few minutes he had reset the fixture and gone to return his equipment to the maintenance room. It was morning tea time and he had headed out for coffee. There he had seen her again.

He supposed she would be all right. God knows, she wasn’t your type Bill, he thought, as he drew on the last of the cigarette and wandered to the ashtray in unhurried elegant strides. He moved like a dancer.

A Fresh Start

It began around Imbolc. While you were sweltering in a heat wave, the wheel of our year turned to Spring and I began to write again after a silent winter nearly two years long.
Outside my window there are jewels from other homelands, recently emerged from the sodden ground. Daffodils here,see? A tiny crocus - look closely - here are my favourites - those pastel hellebores who conceal their star shaped faces from any casual glance.
Some of us are like them aren't we? Our outward show is unobtrusive, blending in the conventional monochromatic way. Yet under that bowed head what brilliant symmetry does character display?

 What does it take for you to throw back your head and show your magnificent complexity to the world? What wonderful star lies back of who you are?