So Many Months Since That Previous Post ...

I found a home, one that I love more than my beloved Genova … which is good, since that Italian door is so closed to me in these days. If we leave our country, our government won’t allow us back … except via a lottery system which is, as you can imagine, a nightmare.

I have access to the most beautiful river, in the world, ever … And a beach I adore, like those beaches I loved in those days before I flew from New Zealand, escaping a very bad marriage.

I am beach girl again, living by the tides, when I can.

I have a casual job, that I love and I finally purchased a laptop, screen and memory that allows me, once again, to claim that I am also a professional photographer.

I have been reunited with my external hard-drives, after not having them work via my ancient and dying laptop, that one that has been dying, since flying back home to New Zealand.

I lost my father in August.

I met a man, and he has become my anchor, my partner, and my most-loved friend.

The doors have opened, as we have found the courage to step through them … and now, in these days, I am finding the tribe I belong to.

We are blessed.

I hope you are doing well too.

Love, Di

a new morning routine ... in another new place.

I woke this morning, wandered out to the open-plan living area, heard the precious old pup following me, fed him his possum pet-roll, noted the mighty river had returned to its pre-flood boundaries,and realised that we are 6 sleeps into this new life and things that were new, have taken on their own peaceful familiarity.

I swallow down my teaspoon of Apple Cider vinegar, in a cup of water, then quickly reward myself with a small Lavazza coffee. (We have learned to carry the coffee machine with us, beginning each day in the best way). Then there's lighting the fire, making up a small pot of porridge. Peeling pears, leaving them bubbling while I take my place at my laptop …

My laptop, in front of the massive picture window, with a view of the mighty Mohikinui river mouth meeting the Tasman Sea - here at the huge round dining table that sold me on this rental cabin, out on the edge of civilisation … bottom of the world but top of the South Island, New Zealand.

I am resting, truly resting, after so many years of fight or flight; of making-do, of finding ways to celebrate a life that has been so determined to be anything-but-normal.

Sitting here, I remember other morning routines in other countries with other people.

Istanbul, where I spent my first morning awake at a barred window, the soft heat of summer and the scent of flowers I knew no names for … listening to the call to prayer float out over the city, wondering if this time I had leapt too far, alone, in search of financial stability after a long marriage failed.

My new abode was located in a modern suburb ... last apartment block, under one approach to Istanbul's busy international airport. The Marmara Sea was off to my left when I stood on my balcony. My breakfast routine was a lonely one.

I found ways to love it.

Belgium was another kind of life. I had more than one kind of coffee machine during the 10 years spent there but a noticeable lack of any kind of fire for heat. Fires have only really reappeared in my life since I moved to the mountains. I love the invisible, instinctive feeling of making a fire. Wood-smoke and warmth …

Italy and a morning routine of long walks. The quiet joy of being recognised and welcomed by baristas who were so kind to that stray Kiwi who slipped through their Genovese streets with her camera; passionately in love with their city.

Often there have been dogs in my life. And incredible locations, like Berlin, Portofino, Stavanger, London, Oxshott, Naples, Cairo and that tiny Swiss village. And people. Remarkable souls who wove their way into the tapestry that my life has become.

After the Belgian divorce, I kept saying Yes as the world called by and invited me off on yet another adventure. I used to smile sometimes, comparing myself to Alison in Wonderland; slipping down rabbit holes following those that I trusted.

Home to New Zealand, and there I was, almost back where I had begun, living with Dad as his mind slipped away.

That was another new life. I returned in the summer, my breakfast was sometimes taken in his quietly lovely backyard. Roses and fantails, on the best days.

Manapouri: dog-walking and fog, wet fields and mice. There was another kind of breakfast routine. And on and on and on, I wandered … till now.

Out here, on the edge, we have created another kind of life … far from the voices who scold and advise; who judge, without taking care of their own lives. And the peace is exquisite. Finally there is time to reconnect with the selves we used to be … as children, almost.

The mornings are my quiet time … where I get to read and write while looking up at a view that is so empty of people, in a place where there are absolutely no expectations beyond what I expect of myself.

So I potter these mornings, quietly cooking and fire-lighting between writing and reading and thinking, delighted to have someone to nurture. This someone I can nurture but who, more than just accepting these gifts from me, nurtures me in return.

These quiet days are the days we have stolen, before we move on into the next stage of Us, and they are all about recovering from difficult years and disappointments.

They are days full of shared music, good food, resting walking and reading. Of sharing our space with his old dog … that dog who has made me one the pack, gifting me his unreserved love.

The Tasman Sea, and the landscape in front of me, both shrouded in a soft sea mist that blurs the horizon, blending the grey and white sky with grey and white water. It's a soft morning, startlingly warm to this woman who has become used to the lower south-west corner and its mountains. Van Morrison is playing, my porridge and pears are ready to eat, the fire is ticking … life is good.

Ciao, from this place of quiet rugged New Zealand beauty.

the edge ii.jpg

A Smaller, Quieter Life ...

IMG_3864w.jpg

My days here, are so different from those beautiful days back in Genova.

I miss the bars, and the lovely people who worked there, making the best coffe in the world.

I miss the noise of the city, and the quiet of the medieval centre.

I miss the musicians, and the everyday presence of ancient places. I miss passing by people whose faces look like faces painted in 400 year old paintings. I miss good pasta and sauce, pizza and walking. 

I miss the Genovese.

BUT, I am learning to love hanging my laundry out on Dad's old clothes line, in the garden that smells of roses and all the other flowers he has there. And it makes me so happy to climb into my bed when thesheets smell of fresh air & sunshine. 

I love the sound of the birds ... one of the only sounds as I hung out my laundry at 7am this morning.

I was always passionate about driving ... about wandering, and so I am happy to be driving again. Even if I enjoyed the kilometres I walked on Genovese footpaths, and the buses and trains. And I'm not sure how to avoid weight gain, other than via that boring path called self-discipline.

Reading. I have just finished 3 books, one after another. Reading late into the night, just as I did as a child.

My espresso machine is making me happy, I just need to go find 'the' coffee. 

I love 32 celsius days (yesterday) and sitting here in the kitchen, back door open to the garden, and working. 

Mmmhmmm, I called the plumber today. The bathroom tap is broken and it has leaked for days now. 
Another thing to love, after a life lived in Europe, I phoned the plumber at 8.50am and he said, 'Okay, I'm doing a job just round the road, I'll come to you after it'. It was the same with the washing machine repair guy. That's quite marvelous really :-)

Here I am, just trying to find my balance again, in this smaller, quieter life that I'm living. 
Buona giornata ...

Foto: these chairs, were just there, in this ancient ruin in Genova. I had my photograph taken in one, and couldn't resist the beauty of this still-life moment, Genovese-style.

Where The Magic Happens ...

One version of B.jpg

The magic happens, sometimes, in that space where you break all the rules ... or accidentally bump the Mode setting onto another, entirely inappropriate, setting.

I love this photograph, taken with my Canon 5D MkII.  It seems like a water colour and is, perhaps, the only way my daughter would allow me to publish a photograph of her.

She's crouching, photographing her exquisite Romanian rescue dog.  Sahara and Sander are there too.  As is the snow.  

I'm up in Scotland today.  -6 celsius this morning, and frozen feet.

In huge news, for me, I managed to light the fire but while applauding my own cleverness, the vent knob fell off.  I went from feeling like Pioneer Woman to Ms Bean - Mr Bean's twin sister, in a heartbeat.

I opted to leave my slippers out of my packing and so,  feet masquerading as blocks of ice, are my new normal here in the north of Scotland.  I'm also missing my external harddrive, my hiking boots ... and my flatmates loved the Italian Christmas cake I left behind. 

I have never forgotten having to throw away quite a bit of my stuff, at the airport, for the flight between the UK and Italy.

Photographically, I am loving Scotland.  But in other ways struggling with the cold.  It seems I have softened in Italy.  That long hot Spring, Summer and Autumn in no way prepared me for this but but but ... it is so good to see family, to catch up on their news, to eat English food :-)

All of that.

 

Golden Days ... Genova

My mornings begin slowly in this golden city in Italy. Morning after morning, I wake to soft blue skies and 30 celsius.  It's changing the pulse of my body ... of my mind. 

I am finding my feet but so slowly. 

Every time I move countries, I have to relocate everything.  The names of simple things change with the language.  Favourite places and people need to be discovered.  And I search for that new rhythm for my days ... for my life.

My holy moment, those breakfasts I love, have to be hunted and gathered again.  Reframed by what is available.  I haven't quite found 'breakfast' here ... not yet.

My skin is becoming brown, my feet have become accustomed to open leather sandals, and I wear that silky clothing I found in the secondhand shops in Surrey.  And I'm bemused because I've never been a silky clothing kind of woman.  But it's hot.  Really hot.

I have this idea now, that wearing clothes only happens because we have been civilised.  In Genova, the heat and humidity dictate that we only cover the skin that we must cover because any more coverage is just plain insane.

But the city and its colour... I began this wanting to try and describe the peachy, golden glow of the buildings here. 

In the past, I've always lived 'in' the city but this time is different, just for a while.  And as my bus rolls down the hill into the city, I see the glow of the buildings and begin to understand that colour is one of the things that has made me fall in me love this ancient place.

Even here, looking out from my borrowed balcony, the buildings are shades of pale yellow through into gold and terracotta.   And yes, then there's the blue sky, arching over it all ... every single day so far.

Life feels soft.  The air, the sea, the colours that surround me.  It's early days and I'm letting myself sink into them slowly.  Knowing I shouldn't but unable to help it.  To rush, to be stressed, to worry ... would be to waste it all.

I have half-constructed that precious breakfast.  There's a coffee machine here so I have my espresso.  Peaches are ripe and cheap at the moment ... they remind me of Christmas, long summer holidays, and home.  And there's cereal but this is definitely only an 'under-construction' kind of breakfast.  The search continues ...

My dinners are mostly about salad.  Paysanne Salade might loosely identify the mix of ingredients that find their way onto my plate.  Sweet lettuce and baby tomatoes,  and a little cooked bacon.  Sweet potatoes (New Zealand's kumara) cubed and lightly fried in some oil, with pieces bread falling into that pan too ... after the bacon.

I'm not sick of it yet.

I have so many stories of good people and marvelous adventures.  It's time to start telling them but first ... you understand, I had to mention the colour.

And so it goes ...

I'm realising how extraordinarily privileged I am, in terms of people I know.  I have so many unplanned adventures gifted to me, like Norway.  And friends who simply step up next to me when they see I need help ... because I'm not good at asking.

When I head off on these adventures, I'm only packing my camera, my laptop and myself, nothing more usually.  And best of all, I get meet more marvelous people who often become new friends.

And so it goes.

These days in Norway have been spent on the edge of Ren and Egil's world, sharing the house with their lovely friends ... Becky and Japhet, Joshua & Jonah.   

And at their wedding I met some of the 'legends' I had heard stories about, people I was so glad to finally meet ... like Lydia Lápidus Radlow, who is as marvelous, or perhaps more marvelous, than I could have imagined.

I met and photographed Richard Pierce, the writer and poet, and count myself extraordinarily fortunate to have been introduced to his writing.  I have been dipping in and out of one his books, Bee Bones - 'sharing' it with Becky (whenever she puts it down) but will buy my own copy when I'm back home.

I met Richard while he was photographing an iron gate at the church and then photographed both he and his beautiful wife, more than a few times.

So many people met on this visit.  I had the luck to sit next to Kjetil and Sølve, with Odd, Marianne, and Kristin, making the dinner so very enjoyable.

And then there is Sissel, captured in the photograph at the top of this post.  Isn't she truly divine.  And her husband, that guy from Scotland, I adored him too, and his stories.

This morning, Marcelle messaged me, offering to pick me up from the airport when I return to England and I almost cried with gratitude.  I had mapped out my route, and was fine with it but to be picked up and taken home ...that's truly unexpected.   And so very very kind.

And so it goes ...