Miss 10 had to pull me out of the way of these guys ...
Saying Goodbye ...
I remember ... trying to be too much in the world or, perhaps, of the world while my dog companion of so many years was dying.
I had Sandie for 15 years. She was old for a long time and she was a soul-mate of mine. One of the best. I carried her on and off our beloved beaches for another year after she couldn't walk up and down the dunes or along those pathways that led to the sea.
Perhaps I kept her alive too long, I really don't know but I still remember the day the vet 'put her to sleep'. Sandie dog wasn't ready. Nor was I.
I had been planning to bury her alone but I arrived at my Dad's, my dog dead in my arms, crying so hard that I couldn't speak.
Dad said, 'Oh Annie', and then he set to work, digging a massive hole, deep into the clay under his vegetable garden, while I sat there with Sandie dog in my arms. I wrapped her up in my big old woollen jersey then Dad and I said goodbye to her.
She was my best friend ... for a very long time.
I loved this story of Denali. So much.
Sweet Spring Rain, Antwerp
Today a storm passed through, reversed/returned or swirled back on itself and crashed and over the city again ... a storm so powerful that, for now, the air is clean and sweet-smelling. It's reminds me of New Zealand ... where I know almost all of the scents that you will find in the South Island air.
The thyme-filled Central Otago air, the rainforest lake air of Te Anau, the merging of beech forest and ocean spray down at Tautuku - photographed at the end of this link to another rain post. Then there's the glacial rock and ice scent, mixing with the huge forests on the wild west coast, and jasmine-scented harbour air on the verandah of my Broad Bay house back in Dunedin ...
And that's me, the woman sitting next to my open window here in Antwerp while Spring rain continues to splatter nosily down. The rain is so juicy and sweet-smelling that I am compelled to stop and open the other side of the window occasionally, undoing all of the good that the insect screen does, just to lean out and inhale the delicious scent of wet vegetation ... created by a garden so lush that the smell of it reaches my first floor window here.
For years now, this song has been one of my favourite songs. On Paul Kelly's cd version of Midnight Rain, he opens with the sound of heavy rain ...
Gabrielle, Photo-Workshopping in Genova, Italy
A Photography Workshop With Gabrielle in Italy
I can write, without exaggeration, that every single photography client I've worked with has made me feel so very privileged to know them.
Gabrielle was no different to all those who came before her. And perhaps it's the fact that the workshops are all about photography & travel. Or that they happen in Italy or Antwerp or that they attract women who are ready to wander or already wandering. Like-minded souls out there in the world.
I end up feeling like I'm working with old friends. People I would choose to spend time with. People who somehow manage to pack so much life into the hours we have to work together.
Gabrielle and I walked all over Genova, ate some divine food, met at Douce every morning for breakfast (and returned there whenever we could think of a reason). We dined at Il Genovese and enjoyed it intensely, we explored Castelletto and Boccadasse, found exquisite gelato and took a million photographs too.
It was a special few days. Grazie mille, Gabrielle!!
A Early Morning Post from Belgium.
An early night, as in anything before midnight, means I'm almost guaranteed an early morning.
5am and my mind kicked into gear, with remarkable clarity, driving me out of bed to escape the court hearing I seemed to be hosting in there.
Downstairs I made the usual selection, choosing between the Dutch-speaking Radio Nostalgia, and something similar in French. I take that forgranted now ... rarely wondering how a life would be lived in a country where radio was once again heard only in my language.
In Genova I slip easily into a routine that involves a glass of sparkling water, an espresso and a crema-filled pastry at breakfast. Here it's quite different. My coffee machine doesn't come close to making good espresso. My brioche becomes a couple of slices of a particular bread, covered with butter and peach jam. And the view is of the dining room and lounge here, as opposed to that piazza called Matteotti.
Soon there will be the chaos of an extended family going in different directions, each of them with their different needs. Dutch mixing with English, 'cereal or toast', an Earl Grey for him, water for her ... bicycles being rolled out the front door from their week-day resting place in the hall.
Then sometimes it's me rolling my bike out. Miss 10 and I ride through the massive park nearby, cycling to a school much closer than her previous one. We ride through the park, and then under the massive motorway that cuts our section of Antwerp city off from the centre. Sometimes we hold our breath as we pass under it but it's pointless I know. I see the brown air is all over Belgium when I fly from this country. As one of Europe's hubs, pollution levels are high.
It's almost 7am as I write this. Soon people will wake and, as something different, electricians are due at 8am. Something about the power company changing fuses ...
And so it begins ...
