An Iconic Childhood

I grew up in Auckland but most holidays my family and I would visit my grandparents in Coromandel. They actually live well past Coromandel in a little bay called Te Hope, Colville, on the Port Jackson Rd. There they have a house with all the modern amenities like hot running water and TV, but they also have another house, which was the original house on the land, that doesn't have all the modern amenities. It has occasional electricity, cold running water from the stream and no TV. This house, known as the Old House, was where we stayed. It was brilliant. It was full of old creaky beds that sagged in the middle, an old table with mismatched wooden chairs, walls that didn't go all the way to the ceiling so you could hear every sound, a space were the old coal range used to be and a red corrugated iron roof that made a hell of a great noise when it rained. There was one corner set aside for Granddad's tools, seeds and knickknacks with strings of garlic and onions hanging from the rafters.

Our beach and the Old House.

This property was right by the beach and even though it was a rocky beach it was "our" beach. We always considered it "ours" as we were the only ones ever on it. We knew which rocks to jump from into the water, where the huge purple crabs lived, which rock pools had anemones in them and exactly how far out we had to swim before we got to sand. After a storm we would go hunting for quartz crystals and other treasures that had washed up on the beach.

Purple crab in a rock cave.

My grandparent's property was full of pine trees and native bush. When we were young we would have to bathe in the cold clear stream, which I hated, but we also got to explore the waterway and surrounding hills. In gumboots, shorts and t-shirt, my cousins, brother and I would be let loose with pocket knives and snacks to spend the day building huts, trying to catch eels, mining for dog-tooth amethysts (there was a hillside at the back of the property with them) and generally having a good time.

Fern.

We had been warned never to pee in the stream (it was were we got our water from), to not play in the water above the dam or we would get dirty water, and if we ever got lost to head downhill, find a stream and follow it out to the public road.

There are so many more things I could say about this place and the memories that I have: the long drop toilet that we had to be held over when we were little so we wouldn't fall in to it, the blue penguins that often nested under the house, target shooting as we got older, camping up the hill either in the huts we built or in tents, the kingfisher that always nested in a clay bank, sitting in grass so long no one could find you, looking for glow-worms, fishing and eating fresh-caught snapper, seeing dolphins and amazing sunsets. About the only thing I didn't like was the long, windy drive to get there that, to this day, makes me car sick.

Kina, beach treasures.

As I have got older I haven't been to my grandparent's place as much. Life has been busy, first with uni and then with work and other interests to partake in. But now I am sitting on the beach, most likely for the last time before I go overseas for a year, and I realise what a privileged, iconic, kiwi childhood I had. I also see the next generation coming and spending their school holidays here and hope they have just as much fun as I did. I also wonder how much I will miss this place and what it means to me and my family.

Sunset on our beach.

Of Words and Writing

As you know I have been cleaning out the house of unwanted stuff. I came across lots of scrap paper and notebooks with writing on them, dating back to when I was a young teen. They are all my old stories and poems which I had written in a fit of creativity, but never seen by anyone as I was far too embarrassed.  I always hoped they were brilliant and  amazing stories, but of course the writing never lived up to my expectations.

Sacred Buddhist Books in a Monastery, Nepal. Each text is individually wrapped and preserved.

However, going though these old scribbles I have discovered some of them are actually OK, especially if you take into account I was 12 or 13 when I wrote them. Although I am still too embarrassed to show anyone. I have also discovered that I don't remember how to write.

Oh I have written many many words throughout my lifetime but since going to university the words have all been for scientific reports. Then once starting work, all the writing I have done are patient reports. These have all been factual and straight to the point without any imagination to them. The only other writing of significance has been when I have been travelling. I always write a diary everyday and send mass emails to friends and family about once a week. Hopefully on these travels coming up I will just write this blog and people can read it if they want instead of me filling up their email boxes.

There must be a story in this scene somewhere, surely? Dozza, Italy.

And so I am having to re-learn how to write again. It is a skilful art in getting a fictional piece of writing to be liked and well red. One that I now know I need to practice if I want to write a decent story or poem. I need to learn to show and imply instead of stating outright that this or that happened.

Early attempts at writing. San cave paintings, Spitzkoppe, Namibia. 

On the subject of words and writing, I have been learning how to play scrabble. I have never played it before, but Justin introduced it to me about 2 months ago. Since then we have played several games each week. And every time Justin has beaten me. I have become better at constructing words and finally in the last game I beat him by 1 point! He had 235 and I had 236! Finally success!!!!! Now I just need to replicate this success and I will be happy. I also need to carry on this success in my writing. This game also seems to be bring out my inner competitive spirit.

A story within a story within a story, Dozza Italy. 

With all of this word play I have rekindled my love of writing, but still find it difficult to sit down everyday to write something. I seem to have developed a sort of love-hate relationship with writing at the moment.

Packing Up

I know I'm not the first person to say this, but wow, it's amazing what people collect over the years. I have been spending the last few weeks sorting out "stuff" in the house. Packing, selling and throwing out some of it. There is also a pile of things I'm not sure what to do with. Things I'm still attached to, that are actually useless, but I can't bring myself to part with them yet. They (mostly clothes, books, and hats) are sitting on the spare bed in a big pile collecting dust and being squashed by the cat. I still have books and papers from when I was a child, things that hold great memories for me but actually have no other function than to take up space.

Jack, the cat.

In trying to sort out the clutter, I have thrown out a large pile of clothes I haven't worn for ages. Some of them I have never worn! (I know I'm not the first person to have new clothes in the wardrobe!). Books have been hard to sort and throw out. I am a definite bookworm and as much as I love my kindle, I love the smell and feel and look of books. I have managed to pack away 4 big boxes of books I want to keep, and have 3 boxes of books I am trying to sell. However I'm not even half way through all the books.

It is my first adventure into selling on Trademe (NZ's version of eBay). So far I have sold 2 books! It was actually very exciting  and prompted me to place ads for many more books. Now it is waiting game. I also placed an ad for my car. I have a great car and I will be disappointed to get rid of it. I took it for a drive today and almost cried thinking about having to sell it. But it is only a car, a material thing, I keep reminding myself. It has been as interesting experience. I have had 2 people come and look at it so far. The first person said it looked too dirty, although I had washed it. So the next time someone came, I made sure it was immaculately clean. And they said it was too clean and fancy!!! You just can't win sometimes.

Justin, not winning.

Then yesterday I had someone emailed me with an offer for less than half the price I am selling it for. He admitted he was being cheeky and offered me an even lower price the first time, then upped the offer by a $1000 the next time. All because he needed a car for the next day. Unfortunately both offers were well below it's worth and I said no.

Anyway I still have a long way to go before I have this place all packed ,cleaned and ready to go. At least I still have time to do it all. And that brings me to another dilemma. What to pack for a year away from home?

I managed to pack for a tramping trip, but how about for a year?