Chuffed

Feeling quite chuffed. An outdoor exhibition project that I was working on at the Gardens has now been installed! It's called Writing home from the Gardens, and is a celebration of 150 years of the Christchurch Botanic Gardens. The task was to choose ten sites representing various events or places from the last 150 of the Gardens, to make a followable trail, with a fictional family writing their experiences of the sites. So we start at 1863 and the planting of the first tree, to celebrate the marriage of the Prince of Wales, and end at the Peace Bell with the 2011 memorial ceremony for the victims of the earthquake. I invented the family (the Pauls) and their backstory, then wrote letters/postcards/texts from the family members. The context for each missive was given, images chosen and then the designers put it all together as storyboards, with an accompanying booklet that tells the story of the family. We even used some of my artwork for a fictional rose catalogue, and it looks great, just like a real artist did it! It's strange to see something that existed for so long in my head now out there in the world. Hopefully the public will enjoy it, I certainly enjoyed making it up and doing the research. I can't post pictures because the images are copyright and once they get on the 'net who knows what can happen to them, but if you're in Christchurch they are out in the Gardens now. You can 'do' them as a trail or just happen upon single boards, they read OK as either.

Not much to report

See title above. One of those days when I seem to spend a lot of time and energy accomplishing nothing. Very cold night last night, our first real winter's night, loads of hail that hung around, still thick on the ground this morning:-

 

Thomas thought it was great fun, though

 

 

I stayed in bed till late, so missed the coldest part of the day. The cats are driving me to drink at the moment, the cold weather is making them eat their heads off. Even as I write Emma is howling for food, but she's had heaps already tonight. Gardening was postponed for today, it's not much fun digging into ice. The only thing I really got done was the supermarket shopping. How depressing. I thought I'd bought wisely and the final amount would be smaller than usual but no. A whopping great $107.00. Where does it all go to? I'll have to try and buy nothing but the most basic items - no coffee, no wine, no fruit, no meat, no fish and just eat rice and baked beans.  Somehow this does not appeal at all.

I'm watching "Babette's Feast" on DVD at the moment, so that doesn't help either. First saw this many years ago, it's even better the second time round. There is a horrible sort of stew made of dried cod, stale bread and flat ale, boiled for hours and served up that makes the viewer go Ewwww! I bet the Danish Culinary Society hated this movie. Read a funny thing the other day (wish I could remember where) that Europe is divided between the cod people (Northern) and the sardine people (Southern). Hmm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Aspects of domestic economy 2

 

Made a favourite cake last night, Chocolate Honey Cake. It was one that Mum used to make a lot. She got it from the Governor's Bay Recipe book, produced in 1956-7 as a fundraiser for the Governor's Bay Community Centre. The recipes all came from women living in the area. I also decided to drag out Mum's old scales, Farringdon (Made in England of course; this was when we were a dutiful colony, before our politicians decided we'd be better off buying container loads of cheap rubbish from China).  The scales are in the old pounds and ounces, and are great for those old recipes because you don't have to do the conversion to metric. They are very good scales, very accurate and very sensitive, unlike my el cheapo metric one which seems to get jammed from time to time.
  You will notice that quite a lot of the cake is gone. I did say it was one of my favourites. Sometimes chocolate cakes go a bit dry (apparently this is something to do with the chemical reaction between baking powder and cocoa), but because of the honey, this one stays nice and moist. Not that it ever has a chance to get old in this house. I'll post the recipe tomorrow.

 

The Great Chuck-out is creating much fun for cats. This is not a chest of drawers, it's the cats' apartment block.

 

And there are BOXES! too.

Aspects of domestic economy

Decided that my next project is to go through every single object in my house and decide to keep it or to get rid of it.  There is so much hidden in cupboards now, some things that I haven't even looked at for years, kept mainly for sentimental reasons or the 'it might come in handy someday'. One of the keys for this is being honest with oneself; I have kept clothes and bits of material, intending to alter or use them in some way, but I must be honest. I am no needlewoman. It's all very well saying, yes, this will fit me if.. or this will be in fashion if..., but I know deep down in my heart of hearts I will never willingly put needle to cloth. I do not like sewing and never will.
       I keep broken things too, like broken electrical appliances, intending to get them fixed, but no one fixes things these days, they just go and buy a new one. I also have lots of things that are duplicates. When my mum moved into care, I inherited all her household goods, so I now I have two of everything, double the number of serveware, dinnerware, two toasters, two irons, two rubbish bins, etc,etc. So some of this can go. And I was 'looking after' a lot of her things. She liked to go through her stuff every year at Christmas, just to confirm her identity I think, to reassure herself that she had been an independent person with her own life, so I daren't throw much out when she was alive.
       But today I did get rid of the old TV sets. Now NZ has gone digital they don't work, and as I don't watch TV anyway, there was no point wasting money on a new one. We've had a recycling scheme going here; they take and recycle your set for only $5 which is a lot cheaper than the per car dump fee of $25. So this frees up about 1x .5 of a square meter inside my house. And I hope to have a roomier house after I've completed The Great Chuck-out. Some of my crappy furniture can go too, because its only be used for storing the junk that I'm getting rid of. Simplify, simplify.

Violets

 

We've had a warm autumn this year, although the past three days have been very wet. The weather cleared this afternoon and I went out and raked leaves, which seem to have all fallen all at once. I found these violets too. They are very early, normally they flower winter/early spring, same time as the snowflakes and celandines. Some bulbs are already showing above the earth, but I haven't finished planting yet. There are several kinds of violet in the garden. Most of them have been given to me by friends. There is a double mauve given to me by Maggie, a freckly one given to me by Jacqui,  a dark bronze leaved one given to me by Rose and an apricot one given to me by Elisabeth. Perhaps the flower should be a symbol of feminine friendship, but the symbology guides say it represents humility and modesty, also faithfulness in love.

 

                              The maple in the corner of the garden is starting to flame up

 

Memories of Venice

 

The doorway of the Istituto San Guiseppe di Caburlotto, Venice

 

 

 

My room, up in the roof

 

 

 

The view

 

Thinking about my trip to Venice in 2011. It's funny, although I loved Florence and Rome, it's Venice that seems to be uppermost in my memories when I think of Italy. I stayed in a convent called the Istituto di San Guiseppe del Caburlotto, in a little room up in the roof. It was very conventual, just a bed, a chair, a wardrobe and a desk, but I did have an en suite bathroom. I liked the spartanness of  it, so few things to look after, and this view was oddly peaceful. There was a young man across the courtyard practicing Mozart on a piano, and the back courtyard of a restaurant, where food was delivered every day by a hand trolley and the workers came out to have a smoke. On my first night, at midnight, I was woken by the tolling of  the great bell of the Campanile in Piazza San Marco. Why it tolled I don't know, some religious festival perhaps, but the sound kept on ringing for a long time after it had stopped. I can still hear it in my mind.

The bell was the Marangona, and you can hear it here http://www.casesf.com/VeniceBells.htm
I'm sure it tolled slower that in this recording though; it was more sepulchral.

You should still watch the whole movie.

Autumn colours

Went for a little walk around the neighbourhood today.

                                                         Cherry trees in the park

 

Sasanqua camellias

 

 

Phormium "Yellow wave" down by the river

 

 

Persimmon - gorgeous colours

 

 

 

More sasanquas

 

 

"Bob's Tinsie" sasanqua with its distinctive petaloids.

 

 

This is the biggest sasanqua camellia I've ever seen. It's a tree, probably thirty? years old. Pity about the ugly power pole.

 

My garden, the neighbours trees looking a bit bare. Hydrangeas are still flaming away.

 

 

Dahlia imperialis. This is usually really hard to photo, because it grows so tall, but a wind blew this one down to knee height so I can admire it better.

 

 

"Golden delicious" apples. Beautiful for cooking.

 

 

Thomas in the hydrangeas...what a cutie.

 

So still plenty of colour around. We've had a long autumn this year, hopefully this will make for a short winter. I've been busy today, starting the big clean-up for autumn/winter. Raking leaves, planting tulip bulbs. Picked the Chilean guavas today, will probably make jam with them, and scored some feijoas from outside the Vicarage. I have a recipe for a feijoa sauce, so I should try this - it's supposed to be good with lamb. Here I go, thinking about my stomach again. One of those signs of ageing.
    Reading E.F Benson's Mapp and Lucia at the moment. Very amusing, but I keep wanting to talk like the characters. How tarsome!

Today's pic pick

Last light on Mt Cook/Aorangi. Taken at Braemar Station, February 2013.

Crazy day and crumble

Crazy day at work today. All those difficult questions seemed to come to me during my hour 'floating' as they call it ( also meet and greet). How do I scan to my USB, why isn't my card working, can I pay with a credit card, why isn't my card working, where is this book, the computer says it's here, why isn't my card working? We also had a musical performance. Every year during New Zealand Music Month (May) we have a one-hour performance on Saturday or Sunday in  the library, of some local music group. Today it was a very nice harp ensemble, but of course someone complained. I suppose this may seem inconsistent with my condemnation of music in the supermarket, but this is for one hour, once a week, for one month of the year, and the musicians are carefully selected, so that the music will not be of an intrusive type. But someone complained. I don't know what they expect us to do - cancel the performance, and turn away eighty people because one person doesn't like to have music in the library for one hour, once a week, for one month of the year?      
    There seems to be an exponential increase of people who think that they are the only ones that matter. This is particularly noticeable when driving; the number of arrogant drivers who want everyone to give way to them, because they are more important than you and their journey is more important than yours. The number of pedestrians who just walk blithely out into the road, convinced that some magic talisman about them will make sure that you don't hit them. They feel no  responsibility for their own welfare; no, you have to stop for them. It's your business to make sure they are safe. The whole overriding philosophy these days is "How can I make my problem someone else's?" Therefore: If someone steals my newspaper or my recycling bin, I'll go and steal someone else's. I could ring the paper or the council, but no, this is too hard. I'll just pass my problem on to others. The selfish arrogance is mind-boggling, but I guess that these days this passes for intelligent problem-solving
  Anyway, rant over. I've made a lovely apple crumble with my own apples which I am now going to enjoy. Life does still have some compensations. Ooroo.

Mother and baby

More leaves, both from a sycamore tree, one very old and battered and one little one.

Went to the supermarket today. I don't usually go in the afternoon because it's too busy, but for some stupid reason I went in the afternoon today. I hate the supermarket. There's always god-awful music playing (would it kill them to play classical music, or jazz, or something acoustic?). The music this afternoon was someone going Woooah! Wooah! over and over again. I wanted to leave so badly that I threw some stuff in the cart and left some of the non-essentials for another time. It reminded me of the time I had a panic attack at one of the malls (another slice of hell); the noise level was like being physically assaulted. Why? Why does everything have to be so BLOODY LOUD?
    The demographic in this area has changed too. I notice more and more people who look like trailer-trash from People of Wal-Mart. Everyone seems to look like they stepped out of "Deliverance". Baggy overalls, visor caps, baseball jerseys, and fat women who like to flaunt what they've got. I suppose it's now hip to look like poor Americans, some sort of reverse snobbery that I'm not up with. Everyone looks so down at heel, and miserable into the bargain. The best news lately is that the people who run the supermarket (very state of the art and posh) are now going to put in a liquor store right next door. Perhaps they've noticed the new demographic too. We have such a problem with alcohol in New Zealand, so of course the thing we really need is more liquor stores, particularly in an area inhabited by beneficiaries. They can drink themselves into a stupor, while the booze-barons make even more money, to spend on McMansions in gated communities where they can lock out the poor that they created in the first place. We live in a sick world.

Melancholia and depressing books

Watched the movie 'Melancholia' last night. Some amazing visuals that will remain in my mind for a long time. The final sequence is stunning; the pity is that none of the characters who witness it will live to tell the tale. And at the end, you realize that unlike all other stories, there is no 'what happened next". The people didn't live happily ever after, they didn't live at all. Such a contrast to the way Hollywood likes to portray disaster, by concentrating on a few frightened people, rather than a cast of screaming thousands. One of the characters kills himself rather than wait for the end; I don't think I would do this. Even though I knew that I would not live to tell the tale, I'd still be curious enough to want to see it through. It's one of those movies that you keep thinking about long after the final credits roll. In fact, it almost seems like seeing this has changed something in my mind, as if I really had seen the end of the world. And it was terrible and glorious and sad and happy and brave.

But I've given up on my current reading "Sacrifice" by Karin Alvtegen. It's just too bloody depressing. The main characters are two deeply twisted, damaged women, for whom it's difficult to feel any sympathy or fellow-feeling. They've both suffered tragedies, yes, but have let these take over their lives to such an extent that they no longer function, or function abnormally. I kept reading bravely on, ploughing through the Slough of Despond just to find out what happened in the end, but the gloominess defeated me; I realised I just didn't care enough about them to finish their story. Unlike "Melancholia" which left me feeling I had experienced something special and profound, although dark, "Sacrifice" just made me feel dirtied, like a walk through a rubbish dump. Why did it get published? I'll never know.

Isaac Theatre Royal, Christchurch

Here's a link to a news piece about our grand old theatre, much damaged in the quakes. (Sorry about the adverts) The object I photographed several months ago, thinking it was the Mayor's spaceship, is the dome, all shrink-wrapped. It's painted with scenes from A Midsummer Night's Dream. The theatre is right next door to New Regent Street, our Thirties/Spanish/Hollywood street that I've taken pictures of in an older post.

http://www.3news.co.nz/Saving-Christchurchs-grand-old-theatre/tabid/309/articleID/291121/Default.aspx

Google doodles and body image

Google has a great doodle today, celebrating Saul Bass, the graphic designer whose animated credits sequences gave a distinctive look to many Hollywood films during the fifties and sixties. (The accompanying music is Dave Brubeck's "Unsquare dance" - good choice, Google doodle people.) I like the Google doodles; they've put me on to some good stuff, things I've never seen before.
http://www.google.com/doodles/finder/2013/All%20doodles

Reading the celebrity news. An article about an Indian movie star's "amazing weight loss" had me thinking.  Why do we still believe that self-denial is praiseworthy, particularly when the person who is self-denying is a woman? Someone (who I don't remember) said that we have replaced Victorian sexual puritanism, where women were not allowed to enjoy sex, with a food puritanism; now women are not allowed to enjoy food. The woman who loses weight is praised for her self-control; the woman who gains weight is condemned for her self-indulgence. Meanwhile, men are allowed to do as they please. But this is changing; apparently more and more teenage boys are getting anorexia and steroid poisoning from body building. Not that this is a good thing, don't get me wrong. I'm not advocating young men damaging their health just out of a sense of getting-even-with-men. I just wish we could all forget about what people look like, and taking that as some sort of indicator of intrinsic worth or virtue. The idea that good people are beautiful and bad people are ugly seems hard-wired into our social consciousness. I blame fairy-tales. Was there ever an ugly princess or a homely prince?

Drink!

 

Here's a leaf I drew a few autumns ago. I must get out tomorrow and get some autumn photos for you.

 

I bought some whisky today, to brighten and warm up my winter. I cashed in my FlyBuys and got a nice bottle of Glenfiddich, and had a wee dram tonight by way of celebration of my recovery from the Cold From Hell. I still have a few annoying symptoms, like breaking into coughing fits every so often, but my mind seems to be working again and my mood is way better. Anyway, the Glenfiddich was very good, sort of butterscotch and caramel with an infusion of pine needles and coal tar. I am convinced that my liking for whisky is deeply genetic, the call of hundreds of years of the Scots ancestors on my mother's side. These are the same ghosts that stand at my side when I'm throwing things out of the fridge - "Och, ye're no goin' to waste that, now are ye, hen? Just you knock the mould off, and it'll fry up nice wi' yer tatties".

And welcome to Elephant's Child, a new member among my readers. I do like your tiger avatar, it's classy and exotic. Are you a Kipling fan?

Italian roses

I

 

These were taken back in 2011 in Este public gardens. I loved Este, but it is a very expensive place to live, as are most places in the Veneto.

 

Otherwise all is very boring here. Winter continues to close in, everyday it gets colder and darker, as does my mood. I don't think I'm suited to this climate, I'd like to spend life somewhere warm and dry and sunny. Back to work tomorrow, the last day of the school holidays, so thankful for that. Still have the remnants of my mini-flu, it's taking ages to clear up, which makes me irritable and depressed at the same time. Boo hoo.

The joys of being a grown-up

Not having to eat the crusts on your bread.

Not having to eat your vegetables before you get dessert.

Eating dessert for breakfast.

Deciding for yourself what time you will go to bed.

Deciding for yourself what time you will get out of bed.

Reading "unsuitable" literature.

Drinking alcohol.

Putting off till tomorrow what you should do today.

Leaving the dishes till tomorrow night.

Not going to church.

Not being nice to other people.

Not having to visit boring old people for afternoon tea.

The list just goes on and on. Of course, this was the appeal of  Pippi Longstocking, a child who did what she wanted when she wanted to. Now there's a feminist icon...