TIMES, PLACES AND MUSIC

Pohutakawa at Macandrew Bay, Mount Cargill on the right

Today is such a glorious day and I just have to put the above photo in this blog.

 After my last blog I had a wonderful email from my friend Cocky and I want to insert part of it in this week's 'edition'.   Her words brought back so many memories and although they are in Dutch, I thought it would be good to put her voice on memory.

--- Dierbare en gekoesterde herinneringen. Vroeg in de ochtend zwemspullen verzamelen en samen op weg naar St Clair. Zwemmen in het heerlijk warme, zoute water. Met de zon op ons gezicht onder een strakblauwe lucht waarin af en toe een krijsende meeuw over vliegt. Ik kon jou onmogelijk 'bij benen' en dus zwommen we ontspannen in eigen tempo afgewisseld met korte! 'babbelpauzes'. De bonus voor de ontspannende inspanningen was een cappuccino/ espresso op het terras. Met een verse abrikoos. Uitzicht op de Pacific, plezier om de stuntende surfers, de warme zon en warme vriendschap. Het delen van gedachten, ervaringen en zwijgen. Het constante, rustgevende geluid van de golven. En terwijl het hier vriest dat het kraakt, de eerste schaatsmarathons op natuurijs worden gereden en de voorspellingen over een Elfstedentocht steeds luider gaan klinken, voel ik geen kou maar de warmte van vriendschap in zomers Dunedin.---

Dit zijn de beelden en gevoelens die voor mij gekoppeld zijn aan St Clair hot water salt pool. Een dagboek heb ik nooit bij gehouden maar sommige gebeurtenissen en indrukken staan in het geheugen gegrift. 

Thank you, Cocky, for sharing memories across hemispheres.  And I feel the same way and realise how fortunate we are, not only to look back on favourite times and places, but also to have access to so many ways of direct communication.  For our family the past week has been fraught with difficult situations which we luckily enough now could share straight away with our family and friends overseas.  And when, in a few weeks' time, we hear the results of these difficult meetings, we can do the same again and live in hope that the outcomes have been favourable.

We are also fortunate to be able to listen to music, as much as we want.  Classical music for us and now and then country or any other kind of music, but for Miriam it's Andrea Bocelli.  Every Saturday morning approx 8.30 we go to our fantastic Farmers Market near the Dunedin Railway Station and every Saturday morning a personal carer arrives at that time to help Miriam getting ready for the day. But before that I'm regularly reminded I have to put a CD on.  I then ask Miriam, 'which will it be today?'

  Miriam has always listened (and danced - before the stroke) to music, the favourites have been numerous but the last few years she loves to listen to Andrea Bocelli, and her favourite CD is still 'The Best of Andrea Bocelli Vivere.  She must know it by hard, tries to sing along in her own way, has the cover with her, looks at it (HIM!) constantly, and her favourite is the Celine Dion duet 'The Prayer'.   Miriam never lets me forget this routine since routine has become so important to her, more now than ever before.  Sometimes it's hard.  Very hard.  At five past twelve:  'Mum, lunch!'   'All right, darling, but I just need to hang the washing first.'  Grumbles, sighs and then a gracious 'thank you' when lunch finally has been made.   But I'm diverging, as I wanted to say something more about music.

Bart had a nine-hour melanoma operation in September 1998.  He was told to get his affairs in order as he most likely wouldn't see Christmas.  As part of his recovery, even during the radiotherapy stage, he would lie on the sofa and listen to J.S. Bach's cantates on the portable CD player which his work mates at the Otago Regional Council had given him.   The skills of an amazing surgeon, the power of positive thinking and the power of music have all worked wonders.
Thank you, Tony Allison, for taking this photo.

Bart on our balcony.  Photo by Tony Allison.

I'll end this blog with a photo of Penelope Todd and I sitting at the St Clair Cafe (again???  - do I do anything else?).  We not only share the love of books but also love swimming (calling it our medium!) and we have had some special times at this place, much as Cocky describes, the talking, the listening, the quietness, and then the amazing view of looking out to sea, just about pretending that we're on an ocean liner.  Penelope has written several books and has set up her own most interesting digital publishing place, Rosa Mira Books.

The sad news is that Penelope and her husband Raymond  (also a writer) will leave Dunedin at the end of this week, initially heading north towards Auckland.  We will miss them both so very much.  GO WELL, YOU TWO!

On dry land again:Penelope and Huberta, January 2013

SWIMMING FOR MY LIFE

My friend Cocky Janse from Holland at the Hot Salt Water Pool in 2009. 

Before I went swimming this morning I filled my No. 2 boobies with dacron.  I was so glad I found the bag with fluff (bought at Spotlight) while I was cleaning out the hot-water-cylinder cupboard which not only houses the hot water cylinder but also sheets and pillow cases for Miriam, scarves, handbags, table cloths for our round dining table, larger table cloths for when the table is pulled out.  Later out came the lacy doilies, more crochetted stuff,  a shoe box with pieces of soap, two swimsuits (one since thrown away), tablecloths, serviettes, lots and lots of 'nice' bags to put presents for others in, and lots and lots of brown bags saved for situations that need brown bags.  I'd been looking everywhere for the fluff bag and was glad I'd started the cupboard cleaning after having postponed it for months.

I need to ('want to' is probably a more correct word) insert these No.2 boobies into the top of my swimsuit before I leave the house for the swimming pool.  My excuse is that I do feel more 'dressed' this way when I'm swimming.

I have to give the background which made me think of numbering my falsies.  My husband, Bart, belongs to the Dunedin's Returned Servicemen's Association choir.  Twice a year this choir performs at their official concerts, as well as a concert on Anzac Day (25 April) and they sing at St Paul's Cathedral on Remembrance Sunday in November.   They are often asked to sing when it's time to finally farewell a singing companion.

For official concerts the men wear the No. 1 uniform - dinner suit, white shirt, bow tie, but for the other less official performances they have to present themselves in their No. 2 uniform - black trousers and, from this year on, a red jacket with a black collar.  They'll be looking so good.

Now back to the numbering.  After I'd had life-saving surgery in 1981 I was left with a painful arm.  My much respected surgeon suggested I'd take up swimming.  I was working full time and used to get up five days a week at 6 a.m. to swim before I'd go to work.  I have kept this up, but now only twice a week and starting a bit later.  It has helped enormously and I have always been grateful for Mr S's advice.  There's something about swimming, the regular breathing, the freedom of movement.  I am a different person then.  My only sadness is that I can't take Miriam with me in the water, she used to be such a good swimmer before she had the stroke.

A second mastectomy made me feel more 'balanced' and I then tossed up whether to become a flat-fronted swimmer.  I decided against it, and so the numbering system came into force.  My good No. 1's are left at home, they are heavy in the swimming bag and I don't want to damage them as they are very, very expensive.  But my No. 3 falsies go into the bag and I use them after swimming, they are light and much smaller, soft filled substitutes for my previous female glory.  They won't get wet and don't need replacing as often as the No. 1's.  Once home, I put them back into the swimming bag and so the routine is complete again.

I am glad I have this triple-spare-parts choice.  Don't get me wrong, it's taken me a long time to adjust to the status quo but I count my blessings that I have seen my children grow up and that I regularly can go to Dunedin's wonderful Moana Pool or the invigorating St Clair Hot Salt Water Pool (see photo of my friend Cocky who loves swimming as much as I do).

So here's to LIFE and to Numbers One, Two and Three.

SUMMER DAYS

Keeping up with the internet

 Not only was it a very hot day in Dunedin - our thermometer here in Opoho reached 35 degrees Celcius in the shade  but also my new website was lifted into the internet space: www.huberta.co.nz

 Thanks to the amazing fast and professional work of Doug Lilly I am now the proud owner of a website. Scary, yes, but also exciting since the new year has begun with lots of serendipitous moments and I don't want to stop this flow.  

 Doug has created a modern, colourful and easy to operate website.  Of course I hope that it will promote sales of The Madonna in the Suitcase  but it especially provides a wonderful opportunity to show the paintings Miriam did before she had a stroke.  In those days she used to go to Queen's High School and produce a painting in exactly the one hour the students in the final year arts class had.  Her fellow students didn't understand how it was possible that she knew how to paint.  After all, she'd never learned about techniques or placement.  But she knew about colours, bright and bold colours, full of life.

Summer Saturday in January 2013.

 And now she works on her Word Find books and was intensely pleased when I recently managed to buy the latest February book. 

 Jumping from a summer's day to a summer's evening: at this time of the year I often see a kereru trying to find food in the Vergilia tree outside my study's window.  This photo is a few years old, the recent photo I took showed too much of my dirty rain-striped window.  

Kereru

  Talking about birds, tomorrow the Christmas tree will go back to its box and the ornaments carefully placed in a large plastic container.  One of the ornaments is an owl, given to me by my American friend, Kitty Guthrie.  I met Kitty in 1990 in a Stage Two Greek Tragedy class and, as adult students, we had much to talk about.   Kitty died just before Christmas 2000 but I still miss her and her loving and stimulating company. 

Close-up of Kitty's owl.

Our very airy Christmas tree, Vergilia just visible through window.

   Kitty was a wise woman and each year I treasure her owl in our Christmas tree.   She showed love to us all in her own wonderfully spontaneous way.
She would have liked the following poem by Marion Woodman and Jill Mellick (Coming Home to Myself) :

There is no growth without real feeling.

Children not loved for who they are

do not learn how to love themselves.

Their growth is an exercise in pleasing others,

not in expanding through experience.

As adults, they must learn to nurture

their own lost child. 

'Their Sound Is Gone out ...'

And their words unto the end of the world. (Handel's Messiah)

In 1997 Radio New Zealand invited writers to send short stories based on the text of G.F. Handel's Messiah.  Both Bart and I had often sung the choruses as members of Dunedin's Schola Cantorum (now City Choir Dunedin) and I submitted a story with the title of 'Their sound is gone out into all lands and their words unto the end of the world.'   This was aired on Boxing Day 1997, and beautifully read by Kate Harcourt.

 The story is about a Dutch woman (Juulke) who decides to visit her dying mother in Holland, and the extended stay waiting for the quiet ending of life.  Flying back to New Zealand Juulke thinks about her mother's life, about the village where she was born with its legends, its history and the lonely graveside she has left behind.  She remembers her own experiences as a young immigrant. 

 The story is probably too long to put out as a blog but I have thought a lot about the above words of the chorus and about the words we use when we face new challenges.  Sometimes we are fortunate to share our fears with friends, sometimes we have to dig deep to rely on our own strength so that we can cope again, to find meaningful living at our own end of the world.  Here is an excerpt from this story:

 

"She thinks back to a Christmas story her mother told her years ago. She thinks about the legend and its tale of love. Her stay in the area of her birth has made this story alive again.

  Think back child, her mother had said when she sat on Juulke’s bed on a cold Christmas Eve, telling her the story from the past about a girl named Stella. Think back to the days when there was no electricity, no running water, only wild morasses and forests around the small huts in which people lived. There were the landlords but they were a law unto their own, they had servants to do the work.

 But there was one family who were set as an example for the other villagers. The father and mother went to church, the children attended school and did their tasks in the house. Then one day the mother died and however hard the father tried to keep his family together, he found himself wanting. There was the washing, the scrubbing and the cleaning, how could he do it all and work so hard on the land as well? He found a woman to marry him who turned out to be a bad stepmother for the children.

 On Christmas Eve one of the daughters escaped from her stepmother after she finished her duties in the house. Stella had polished the furniture, washed the floors and peeled the potatoes for the evening meal. She wandered over the fields, far, far away, all the time dreaming about her real mother, talking to her in the cool frosty air, her breath showing from her mouth.

 As she approached a mound in the clearing of the forest, she heard the sound of Christmas bells ringing beneath the piece of elevated soil covered with small bushes and trees. Stella could hear her heart beating, when she heard a voice saying:

“Move on Stella, do not be afraid, we bring peace.”

  Slowly she moved forward until she stood in front of the mound.

 Oh, but then, she saw something she could not have imagined in her dreams. Through the wide open door she saw a long table, decked with a white damask cloth on which stood tall silver candelabras, their candles flickering softly, gently in the quiet winter air. Around the tables women danced, floating in white robes, a pure and heavenly radiance around them.

 

  With their hands they invited her to enter and together they sat at the table with its pure white tablecloth and ate the most beautiful meal she had ever tasted. There was tender white roasted pork, its crackling glistening in the candlelight, there were the freshest of green vegetables on gold dishes, the juiciest of bright orange carrots, roasted chestnuts. They laughed together, the air was cold outside but inside the mound it was warm, cheerful and merry.

 When it was time to go, the women gave her a silver candelabra with three candles to light her on the way home. Stella walked carefully, clutching the precious silver in her hands and hardly dared to breathe for fear the flame would be extinguished. As she walked she remembered the words of the women in white : you will find peace.

  As the plane moves through the still night, close to the silver stars, close to the white moon, Juulke remembers her mother’s voice, all those years ago when she was a child listening to the words of the Christmas story. Even now her mother’s words are with her, unto another end of the world.

  She thinks of the warm summer Christmas she will have. There will be enough food on the table, the wonderful spring lamb with its mint sauce, a decadent dessert. The Dutch Christmas cake with its golden pastry and rich filling of ground almonds.  She thinks of the story she will tell her grandchildren at Christmas, a story from the other end of the world about a girl finding silver and gold beneath a plain looking mound and taking the treasure home.

Their sound is gone out into all lands and their words unto the ends of the world.

She thinks about the riches her mother gave her, the wealth of silver and gold stored within her which she will take to her new home to treasure and nourish. This will be a wealth created from inner richness found in the darkness of death and loss, in the shadows and in the light of Christmas."

Rowan berries, Autumn 2011

 

 Warm wishes to you all for a blessed New Year.

MIRIAM's CHRISTMAS CARD

REINDEER ON ROOFS

It starts in October: 'Mum, Advent Calendar!'   'Yes, darling, I'll start looking.'
On 1 December she opens the first window of her Advent Calendar and from then on every morning I get shown the picture she has just retrieved.  There's hope.



It is unbelievable touching to see Miriam's face whenever I mention anything with a connection to 'Christmas.   Our 50-year old daughter still likes me to put out a saucer with milk for Father Christmas on Christmas Eve.  She believes in reindeer who travel on roofs.  She categorically denies any suggestions that there is no Santa Claus.  And I have never wanted to break that faith. Who am I to suggest something differently? Others have tried but I am glad she believes in magic, in wonder and in looking forward to receiving gifts that are given lovingly.   The child that slumbers in my soul also wants to believe in good things.  To wake up on Christmas morning with joy and wonder to receive the gift of still having family, friends and good neighbours.

This will be a poignant Christmas for our family.  Miriam believes in those miracles created by love.  Unconditional love.  But now we have reached the stage in our life where we have to let her go - today we heard that her name has  been placed on a waiting list to go into permanent residential care.  It will be so hard to let her go.  I can only do this by believing in the miracle of receiving strength, wisdom and grace.
  
 

Miriam's Madonna

The following is an excerpt from my book The Madonna in the Suitcase (2009, pp92-93)

 One Saturday morning in September, while you were sipping your cappuccino, I asked, ‘Would you like to make me a painting of a Madonna? I thought it might be nice to send it as a Christmas card to our family and friends. Everybody loved the other card you made.’

Your body language and the expression on your face was clear enough.

 I said, ‘Of course I’ll pay you!’

Your face changed into a smile.

‘Think about it.’

 Nothing more was said about your plans for a Madonna Christmas card.

 In October you were invited to be a delegate at an IHC conference in Tauranga where you would be interviewed about your art work. You’d had quite a bit of publicity by then: the IHC in Dunedin had bought a number of paintings for their office and for some flats and the clients enjoyed your work.

 I’d also written an article about you and your art which the Australian Women’s Weekly published in September 1997. A similar article was published in the IHC’s Community Moves in October 1997. Later I used some of the material for a short story which was produced by National Radio. Although you enjoyed hearing about these exciting happenings you stayed calm and focused and did your work.

 After you’d told us about the invitation to go to Tauranga you said, ‘Can I get a suitcase, please?’

 The day before you left for Tauranga we dropped off a suitcase for you. You straightaway packed it with everything you'd need for the next few days. I wanted to ask you about the Madonna but thought the better of it. You had enough on your mind.

 You rang us soon after your return, your voice full of excitement about the conference. ‘I’m home! Can you pick up the suitcase? No room for it in the flat.’

 ‘We’ll be over after dinner. We want to hear about the conference and the interview.’

 We arrived in the early evening. You beamed as you and Janine gave us a cup of tea, and, once we’d heard about your experiences Dad picked up the suitcase and put it into the boot. I hugged you and Janine, and after we’d settled ourselves in the car I wound down the window ready to wave goodbye. But I knew there was something you wanted to tell us. And then you said, an edge to your voice, ‘The Madonna is in the suitcase.’

 My mind jumping from Tauranga to a Madonna, I said, ‘What? Oh, I see! You did it? That’s wonderful! Thank you! I’ll ring you.’

 When we got home we opened the suitcase and I cried. There she was: your Madonna, proudly showing her child to the world. There was no meekness, but only a mother holding her child safe in her arms from where it could look out into the world.

 I said to Dad, ‘Aren’t we lucky she told us about the painting? We would’ve put the suitcase into storage and might not have seen it for years.’

 ‘She would have reminded you about the money!’

Remember how we sat down together and wrote those Christmas cards, you writing your name on them as well? The cards went to our families and friends in New Zealand and overseas. And even now, each year we get cards saying, ‘Miriam’s Madonna will have pride of place again amidst our Christmas decorations.’

A FEW CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS

 

 Approaching the longest day

 After having celebrated Christmas for 53 years in the southern hemisphere I still have this quiet longing for a winter Christmas.  As a young mother in the early sixties I was quite homesick until I realised it was up to me to start 'traditions' rather than long for the way I had perceived the festive season of my childhood.  Guided by the Dutch 'Margriet' Cookbook I learnt how to make Weihnachtsstollen and Gevulde Speculaas.  I defied the challenges of working with flaky pastry to make almond rings (Kerstkrans) but sometimes the almond mixture would burst out of the pastry - to great delight of the children who could nibble the sticky sweet mix left on the baking tray.  Later I became more sensible and now I use ready-made pastry to make long 'sticks' which I spread with apricot jam and decorate with red and green dried cherries.   And each year we say: oh, this is good!

Made in Germany, the Christmas Star below (small light bulb inside) was given to us in 1992 by Bart's sister Lien and her husband Piet.   Each year on the first Sunday of Advent we hang it in our window with Flagstaff (see blog 'A Certain Hill') in the background.  A huge Herrnhuter star hangs high up in the renovated Frauenkirche in Dresden. 

Our Herrnhuter Christmas Star

 
Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve

I put candles in the windowsill

For a few hours their shape is safe

Until the sun contorts them.

Midnight is the best

Time to burn candles in a window sill.

Contrasts of hemispheres

come together

In memories and food.

For tea we eat home-made Christmas bread

Thick slices of

Weihnachtsstollen

Covered with brandied butter and icing sugar.

Darkness brings an image of closeness,

A forgetting of bright sunshine and bended wax

But sometimes memories come back of

Walking my dog in thick snow on Christmas Eve

Going home to

A house with a roaring fire and aniseed milk,

And candles in a windowsill.

Huberta Hellendoorn

December 2012

Late summer sun disappearing behind a Dunedin hill

Te Puna Women's Refuge

HELPING WOMEN 

 Lesley Marshall of Editline was my mentor when the New Zealand Society of Authors awarded me a mentorship to work on my novel 'The Orange Garden' (as yet unpublished).  I have previously mentioned the tremendous support I received from Lesley and am still very grateful for her suggestions while I was working on the novel.  A few years later I completed an on-line Editing Course through Northland Polytechnic where Lesley was my wonderful tutor.

As Lesley writes in her letter below she has offered a Christmas Raffle where funds go to Te Puna Women's Refuge. Her gift to the winner of the raffle is her time to help a writer with critiqueing a novel or any similar piece of work.  Several years ago Lesley lost a son and this is her way to remember him.
Fantastic, Lesley.  You are truly amazing and I treasure the time we had together.  And that novel will be out next year, hands on heart!!! Most likely Amazon but then ... why not?  Thank YOU!

Dear everyone

As I've been doing for some years now, I'm offering a Christmas raffle for a critique in memory of my son, with funds to go to Te Puna Women's Refuge.

To enter, simply send a cheque (made out to Te Puna) to me (Editline, 20 Beverley Cres, RD 9 Whangarei 0179), and I'll put you in the draw. Alternatively, you can direct debit money into Te Puna’s account (Account: 123101 0056429 00; name: Te Puna o Te Aroha Women’s Refuge) and let me know what you’ve paid them so I know how many chances to give you.  If an overseas writer wants to enter they can donate to their local refuge equivalent.

I'll do the draw on 16 December so that gives you over a month to get your entries in. The critique is for a novel or any similar piece of work, and the winner can send it any time in the next year, either on paper or by email. The costs for entries are as follows:

One chance = $20; 3 chances $30; 6 chances $40; 10 chances $50.

I hope the refuge makes lots of money - I know they get very short of food during the festive season, though one year they used the money to create a children's playground for the families there, and another year they bought clothes for the children.  Whatever they use it for, rest assured you’re creating a lot of joy with your entries.

A heartfelt thank you from both me and the refuge.

Lesley Marshall

PS If you have a blog, I’d be very grateful if you’d pass the word round further – the more entries, the better Te Puna’s Christmas!  


GO WELL!!!