Feeling Lucky

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It is two years since we moved to our apartment in Devonport, a village at the end of a peninsular across from Auckland, where ferries, tankers, cruise ships and yachts fill the watery divide. It is a moving spectacle. Daily, I look out at the scene thinking how lucky I am to be living here.  I am also lucky to have met the people I have since arriving. On Sunday 1st December we held an early Christmas party, as is our custom, and invited many of them to our home, plus others we have known a long time.  Continue reading

Passing it forward

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As Christmas approaches, I attend to jobs that need finishing in order for me to complete my gift-giving. My sewing machine had long needed a service; it’s almost as old as me. But even old things can still be good (yeah!), and my machine is a good example. What stories it could tell… from sewing baby clothes to teenagers’ dresses, to shorts and shirts for my son, until he learned to sew on my machine and made baggy shorts for himself, and covers for his surfboard. Continue reading

Deadlines

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Deadlines are something usually associated with the workplace, school or universities. Who hasn’t sweated to complete an assignment or task on a specific day? Those days were over, I thought, when I began writing to suit myself, when I could apply my own rules to the short stories, or novels I wished to produce. This worked, for a while, but when I was no longer in the paid workplace, or engaged in study, I found that the earlier discipline I’d applied to both my art and writing, was lacking. Continue reading

The week that was

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At the lagoon

It really was a week of extreme contrasts and I wondered if I’d be able to get a post out at all for a couple more weeks. The story goes something like this, beginning and ending on a Sunday, the day I left for Rarotonga and the day I returned home with my two oldest children. Rarotonga is a small popular island in the Cook Islands and the stay was ultra relaxing.

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A silly selfie

While my son worked, my daughter and I walked, paddled in the lagoon and lay on the sand watching palm trees sway overhead. We drank cocktails, ate way too much and had a thoroughly good time. The only minor negative was the dozen roosters cockadoodledoodling at four am as they chased their girls around the yard. We were staying inland near the hills which were often shrouded in misty rain. We looked out onto lush plants, palms and grass, and the aforementioned roosters. It was the perfect place to relax, after our terrible time lounging or walking beside the sea. Watching others on their paddle boards or snorkelling was also quite fun. Continue reading

What should have been on my bookshelf.

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‘Do Not Say We Have Nothing’  is not a title supported by my new bookends, sadly enough, but it was on loan from my book group. The author of this moving novel is Canadian Madeleine Thien, and I am pleased that I was given the opportunity to read her work.

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Domestic sketches

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To wind up this series of what I found in my art folders I have decided to show some  sketches – people, plants, animals, and objects – which I drew in and around my house. I have always loved using graphite pencil and this aluminium teapot was a perfect object to draw, given its shape and sheen. I really like the contrast of light and cast shadow. I must have placed the teapot near the edge deliberately so the curve of the table showed in the composition. Continue reading

Finding more than I bargained on

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As a pulled art pad after art pad from my folder and turned the leaves, I smiled, laughed and occasionally grimaced. I found sketches of my children, pets, and articles from around the house. The more I looked the more I realised the stories I’d been telling through my art. One story was perfectly clear. Continue reading

A bolt of love from the blue

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I have been writing a story for sometime now about my father, John Frederick Lingard Fowlds, who died when I was a teen. He never got to know how I, or my brothers and sister turned out as adults, or ever got to meet any of our children, and grandchildren. I began writing his story, fictionalised to some degree, to give the wider family some idea of what kind of person he was. Writing about him has been relatively easy, as he was a funny, warm and loveable man. Very artistic too. The hard part is the loss I still feel for him after so long, and maybe the reason I am taking so long to write his story, is that I don’t wish to lose him again. Continue reading

One arty day in Villefranche

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Villefranche-sur-mer, on the Côte  d’Azur

It is always interesting how one idea can trigger off others, and writing about travel diaries got me to thinking about the major unfinished travelogue of mine, which is idling on my computer. I have salved my conscience a little, by uplifting some passages from the longer story and posting them in various blogs. This post is adding to that list, and shall focus on a single day in Villefranche-sur-mer and a fleeting look at some of its art.

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A southern experience: part two

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The weather changed to wild winds and rain on our last day on Stewart Island. Foveaux Strait was difficult even in fine weather; but foul? There was nothing to do but wait. So, I sat for a while sketching the view out the window, hoping the small plane would not be grounded come morning. My husband and I were continuing on to The Catlins, a stunning coastal region, with wildlife, native bush, and splendid beaches we were itching to explore. Continue reading