You Can File Me Under Miscellaneous

Miscellaneous:

2. Having a variety of characteristics, abilities, or appearances.
3. Concerned with diverse subjects or aspects.

My Mum used this word (and the phrase "mixed bag") to describe me (in a nice way) today, when I once again regaled her with my struggle to be myself. When I try to be who people expect me to be I only end up feeling frustrated and unfulfilled, like I've cheated myself.

It's like looking at a cube and only seeing a square. Presenting the same side every time only reinforces the idea that that is who I am. I am a certain way. Inextricably stuffed into my allotted box.

She gave the pertinent example of the time in form one when I declined the option of even signing up for "Force 5" (an outdoor adventure elective). Force 5 would've been good for me: camping, kayaking, orienteering, rock climbing, abseiling, going bush etc. All things I was interested in and came to enjoy when I finally experienced them years later.

Instead I chose horticulture (because that sounded good too) only to find that no one wanted to be in that class as it was their last choice. After all this was what was expected of me. No one expected me to exult in the thrill of the great outdoors, to heed he call of the wild, but to paint rubbish bins and tend my dowdy tomato vine. They only saw me as a mouse to torment, who would rather read, knit, dance under the trees by myself or hide in the toilets. Surely, such a person is incapable of being adventurous.

To be fair, with a maximum of only two from each class, the odds were not in my favour, but the point is: I didn't even try because I was worried about what people might think.

And the truth? I thrive on the outdoors. I'd take trails and mountains and beaches and rivers and bush and campfires over screen-sucking and paper shuffling any day.

I have a mind for science but art is in my fingers. Sometimes I carefully place each stroke of paint, others I squelch my hands into the clay. I admire the gentle breeze for presenting my nostrils with a subtle fragrance and relish the wild winds of a perfect roller coaster. I like to shoot the breeze but only in a small group. I bake dainty cakes and cook a mean curry (seriously, it takes no prisoners, slaughtering all but the hardiest of stomachs). I've dabbled in ventriloquism, memorised books, played the tambourine. I dress up and put on silly voices. I take long walks as far as my legs will carry me and sometimes I just lie on the grass and watch the clouds or name the stars.

But usually you do not ask so usually I do not tell.

Fantastic Figs

Ah, 'tis fig season as evidenced by my quite literaly stumbling across their flesh strewing the footpath. I happened to be playing that game where you sense your surroundings using only four of the five senses. On this occasion it was minus sight and the first indication that anything was out of the ordinary was the overwhelmingly sweet figgyish odor wafting directly up my nostrils. (Then came the inevitable smushing of said figs into the unyielding macadam). What a pity they lie wasted; rotting where they fall.

Figs make me think of 3 things: Astronauts, strangling and paradise. Let me explain.

1.A few years ago I was walking from Henderson out to Piha on the west coast via West Coast rd which wound up through the Waitakare Ranges. On my way I got chatting to an old lady and her two little yappy dogs about her laden fig tree. But whilst I was angling for a delicious morsel she was more intent on regaling me with adventures of her space travels. It was quite weird.

2. Next, they remind me of the massive 500 odd year-old strangler figs lurking deep in some tropical rain forest and my desire to climb one. The young figlet starts life nestled safely in the branches of some unsuspecting host tree. As it grows it sends down roots that fuse and wind their way down the host binding it into a living chamber and causing it's eventual death. Now, that's pretty impressive in my books.

3.And finally, yes, back to the garden where it all began. Human's vain attempt to cover their nakedness. The fig leaf was probably a good choice as it is rather large on the scale of fruit tree leaves but also inadequate as it rips and tears far too easily to be of any material use (believe me, I have tried).

Celestial Bodies

I seem to be obsessed with celestial bodies at the moment. I just have to stop and stare at them wherever I am.

After discovering my last name in the Bible, surviving an earthquake and gale force winds, wresting my kitchen utensils from the Big Bad Wolf and his mangy predecessor, I'm pleased to announce that Saturday's grape-juice making effort was a rather satisfying and rip-roaring sucess. Now to bottle it all before it ferments on the bench top.

8th Webolution

Last night as I was walking through to the house, I met a spider in my face. The light as glowing from within and illuminating the web from behind. My eyes happened to glance on a spider suspended between the branches, perched on no more than a shimmer of light (like the rounded streaking on a newly polished car, you catch it out the corner of your eye, but never sure if the dancing light is really there).

It wasn't a proper web yet, only the "spokes" were in place. Undeterred by my breathing, I patiently watched as he completed the eight revolution of the spiral in two minutes flat, climbing in what seemed to be the clockwise direction. I soon realised the illusion, as he was completely in silhouette it only appeared to be that way, and he was, in fact, moving counter-clockwise.

And yes, he had his breakfast of flies on toast out there this morning.

Speaking of webs... the other day I was trying to write a word starting with "web" but all that would come out of the pen was www. So I tried again, and got ww out before I scrubbed it out to start again, again, slowly! And this time I managed it; I've never been so proud (well, Ok. I have).

Tree Climbing

Why I ever thought a skirt and jandals would be respectable attire to go tree climbing in I'll never know. But somehow I found myself up the top of our crabapple tree emcumbered by said articles of clothing. It proved to be worth the effort and we now have two jars of mighty fine crabbaple jelly(jam). That is, after I stewed them up and strained the juice and added the sugar and boiled the blackbird germs completly away. Now, who will help me eat the jelly?

These Shoes Were Made For Walking

Time to shed some light on the dimness of my wit. I have new walking shoes, and for some reason thought it would be good to christen them with a three hour walk. Oh why?

Took the day off yesterday -just because I could, annual leave building up and all that. I felt I needed time to recharge and do some beholding. So off I went up to Victoria park, did the H.G.Ell walkway (goes from the Sign of the Takehe to the Sign of the Kiwi).

The wind was whipping a mighty gale through the pines or so it sounded. From there I took the loop tracks round Sugar Loaf Transmitter. Once I rounded the leeward side the wind dropped completely off and all seemed relatively silent despite the roadworks going on in Dyer's Pass.

Now I could fully appreciate the birdsong: the grey warblers were warbling, the skylarks were larking, the yellowhammers were hammering, the bellbirds were tolling, the slivereyes were silvereying nah? Well maybe that's a bit much. But it was lovely. All was harmonious. And yes, I did see all those birds plus: chaffinch, dunnocks and blackbirds. The grey warblers are a favourite of mine, like little mice with wings.

“What if someone's sitting on 'my' seat?” I thought, as I drew nearer to the stone seat with my picnic. But no one was, so I could enjoy the view over the harbour by myself. Just me and my lunch and my book.

As I was coming back down I heard an invasively loud droning like an aeroplane flying just overhead but it didn't recede. Then I looked up and saw the transmitter festooned with all it's dishes and realised it was just the wind. Walked a little further under the cliff and the sound went off, walked back a few meters and it was 'on' again. Sound goes on, sound goes off, sound goes on, sound goes off.

Which reminds me, does anyone know what the thing on top of the hill is? Not the actual transmitter but the huge round concrete thing? I saw it when I went off the path, I didn't go right up close to look and to be honest I probably shouldn't have been there at all. But just curious.

Coming back down, the wind was amazing, I'm sure my hair was actually standing on end (see photos). I had to lean in to it to get anywhere and I would've toppled over had it suddenly stopped. Yeah, it gave me a wind headache but it sure was worth it.

Then I came home and made pizza for tea. A topping finish to a brilliant day. And yes, my feet survived the breaking in of the new shoes without so much as a blister afterall. How nice.