An Everyday Event

The kitchen sink is full as always. I am alone with it, it calls my name. I respond not but take note. It is a sink full of mismatched human technologies trying to clean themselves up (NOT) but who call out my name to what? To clean them. Someone has to do it, why not this maid? I wash a few spoons (take a photograph) and then I write in order to build an ethnography of what is going on around me.

While washing the spoons I contemplate the collection of 'things' upon the kitchen shelf. There are all kinds of things for different reasons whose material reality clog up the shelf, prohibiting the cleaning of the ledge upon where they precariously sit. Being severe earthquake country, these objects should be classified as hazardous objects, let's not classify them, however, let's finish cleaning our spoons and write to the heart of the matter. Which is? I am sick of some objects! There are too many of them and they are all different and usually dirtier than the pallet will allow.Someone has to clean them, move them about, make way for them, be their keepers and lie down with them. What objects are worth that amount of energy and intimacy, well let's see which objects are? The answer depends on who or whom you ask. To who am I addressing? The new sociologist in me that is moving house, the person who studies people for the benefit of people but foremost for understanding herself alongside so many different objects including people, some dirtier than others, some made of metal, some plastic and some for specialised uses....things and people are legion! How to make sense of so much? And, how to move it all efficiently without breaking the objects and/or other hearts attached to them. Do we get to decide who and what we interact with the most? Are all the objects on the shelf a matter of personal concern? You bet they are, they need cleaning, sorting and moving and somehow they all landed inside my house. This entire household is on the move now because we are changing address, place and lifestyle in a matter of weeks. Every thing here is demanding consideration to stay for the next occupant, go with us or purchase a one way ticket to somewhere else to be recycled and become someone else's matter of concern. I washed a few more spoons.

Clark came back from the market and brought more objects, but he was forgiven because they looked like proteas.

Then, I went out into the garage and got two boxes, one for things to go to our new home and one for things to be donated to the Salvation Army. What a name, Salvation Army, something desirable coupled with an act of war. The war on objects has started here, I intend to be ruthless, unsentimental, practical and efficient.This will be my first box packed. While I was in the act of the doing of it I scrubbed walls, washed and squeegeed windows and emptied out another cupboard besides what was on the kitchen shelf. Things that needed doing grew and the kitchen sink was cleaned, too. Sparking from my motivation, Clark got his own two boxes and sorted his gardening and cooking books in-between reading sessions.

All in all, three boxes were taped shut, demarcated as to what was inside of them and deposited under the living room table for now.One box full of castaway objects sits in the utility room floor awaiting a speedy exit. There are less objects on the kitchen ledge now and the kitchen sink is empty. I am sure this will be an everyday event for some weeks, no months to come.

O Kaitiaki

My linguist friend that is educated in the Māori language has advised me that a better name than Kaitiakitanga for our special place is O Kaitiaki. Already the input from others that I embrace has created a more appropriate name. I told her that being originally from Oklahoma, whose abbreviation is OK, makes this new name feel intermingled appropriate with my past life and present life that feels bestowed rather than obtained. So, O Kaitiaki it will be. The Māori dictionary states that the 'O' without the macron means:

1. (particle) of, belongs to, from, attached to - used with this meaning when the possessor has, or had, no control of the relationship or is subordinant, passive or inferior to what is possessed. This includes actions that are regarded as part of the nature of people or animals

The Māori dictionary states that 'Kaitiaki' means:

1. (noun) trustee, minder, guard, custodian, guardian, caregiver, keeper, steward.

The Māori dictionary states that 'Kaitiakitanga' means:

1. (noun) guardianship, stewardship, trusteeship, trustee.

I feel O Kaitiaki is a better reflection of the type of relationship I intend to hold with this place that will serve as a home for my immediate family but with the understanding that we possess it passively and inferior to the rights of the land and its historical significance for others before us and those yet to come. There are already others called to come and celebrate the joy that is found when we achieve something together rather than individually. O Kaitiaki is not MY place, O Kaitiaki is OUR place through an environmental stance of kaitiakitanga. And, in saying that I will try to remain open and aware to the needs others might have to enjoy this plot of land bordering Lake Forsyth (known to Māori as Te Roto o Wairewa) that currently needs all of us to be better stewards of the environment for the many generations that continue to come. Haere Mai! (Come Here!)

Kaitiaki Kathy

Clark and I found our next home (and a venue to share with many) on June 21, 2016, the longest night and our thirteenth wedding anniversary. The photo above is one of the views from the back of the section of our new home. A friend who saw the picture called me Kaitiaki Kathy Kise, Kaitiaki meaning a guardian or trustee of the earth. I am very pleased to be the guardian of this property which is a heritage site for indigenous Maori. The entire history I do not know yet, but feel deeply. I will learn about the history as I go through my life at Kaitiakitanga, the name of this old but new place for us to share with others who feel the need to come and be with nature. Those needs will be met here we are fairly certain of it.

The above picture taken from the back of the section is Lake Forsyth, or traditional for the Maori, Wairewa.

Wairewa means water lifted up. Te Roto o Wairewa was the last lake to be dug out by the legendary Rākaihautū. On completion, he thrust his famous kō (digging stick) into Horomaka (Banks Peninsula) forming Tuhiraki (Mt Bossu), this act constituted the lifting up. Traditionally, Māori have sole eel fishing rights on this lake. Up until whaling times the lake had a permanent outlet to the sea and waka could travel right into the forested inlet, which was then known as Māori Harbour.

Christchurch City Libraries http://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/ti-kouka-whenua/wairewa/ There are no trees now, but the remnants of past hunting and gathering procedures of the Maori still mark the landscape. It is a very sacred place where food has been gathered for centuries, battles fought and Maori dead laid to rest. There are bones (though which tribe I am not apprised of yet) buried on our property we intend to turn into a Whānau Trust. It is a peaceful resting place and one that called to me a few weeks ago as I walked by and suddenly noticed a sign advertising it For Sale. I had never noticed the property before. It was as if, it suddenly just appeared.It is a very private place and perhaps it is invisible unless one needs to see it. I had walked past it many times over the past year, not a glimpse of it in my memory. There is so much to see in this place of Birdlings Flat, it is no wonder that I might miss a large part of it for some time. I am grateful that nature often puts on a display that feels designed just for me and lifting my spirit. One day I went down to the beach, fell on my knees and then suddenly this rainbow appeared.

Nature is playful that way if we engage with making meaning for ourselves in relationship to it. I can tell you I felt held on that beach as if I was not only allowed to play upon the rocks (many of which are agates) but entertained by the most amazing colours. Who amongst us can look at the colours in this ocean and sky and not be transformed by the awe of it? I sat in awe that day. Little did I know that less than two weeks later I would be coming out of a real estate office in Lincoln after signing a contract to purchase the property and without yet knowing whether we would be the winning purchaser (as it was a multiple offer), I noticed this vague full rainbow in the sky and snapped its picture right before it disappeared.

I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz repeating silently, 'there's no place like home' as this land claimed Clark and me with all its mythical presence and quirky habits laid down by its past lovers. I feel I have found a good enough place to die and THAT is the beginning of wanting to live again after five and a half years too long stuck in a city I had become allergic to. I love the people of Christchurch but I no longer have any love for a landscape haunted by traffic noise, rebuilding pounding, thumping, ringed by limitless road cones that spring up each morning in new places like a virus. I have vowed to leave this tortured city to the younger at heart and help them heal from the outskirts. There is no one who feels the way this city has made me feel that I would turn away from the gate (or portal) of Kaitiakitanga. This is a place to heal through nature.

Perhaps this Granddaddy San Pedro holds the keys to heaven on earth for the Kaitiaki Kathy and Kaitiaki Clark currently entrusted to help them (and us) remain standing. Peace to you if you are reading this and if you feel the need to come to a place for increased wellbeing, Kaitiakitanga will be available for the public to come and overnight by December of 2016. Come one, come all, just not at the same time. Bookings necessary, deeply appreciated and may be reciprocated by work in lieu on the property or a modest donation.

WOW (ways of wellness)

I found this old space again, had virtually forgotten about this blog. Ironically, I was just an hour ago reading Can't Remember Shit by Shelley Klein and laughing out loud at its apt description of me. Then, like a magic act, this blog reappeared on my Facebook page providing me with a link so that I could find it. The technology knows, I know nothing!

I literally wander around looking out into the deep blue and wonder what happened to us all? But then, that would take more time than I have left to fully consider. What's happening now? Well, that too, is a mighty deep topic that I currently study when looking for how people and things produce subjective wellbeing. My way is to go directly toward nature, not the highway, but the rocky coastline along Birdlings Flat that does something for me that no other place on this planet ever has. It allows me to heal. Movement + South Pacific Blue by my feet = I don't give a shit what I can't remember, this is okay and when I reflect on the deep blue something inside me remembers to take more time to simply be a part of the tide...

Good Friday For You, Too...

This is Good Friday.

I awoke and remembered I needed to get in touch with a woman whose son died a year ago this past February in a one car accident.  This young man’s death was listed in the paper and my husband and I read about it and decided we needed to go to his funeral. 

We did not know him or his family, but there were things said about him in the article that made us feel this was the passing of a great soul; and so, we did something we have never done before, we went to a funeral uninvited.

The funeral was held outdoors in a park to accommodate the hundreds that showed up.  Prayer flags were waving through the trees and the memorial program was handed to us with a recent photo of him grinning and resting on top of Mt. Maud after a tramp up this mountain.  It was a picture of him in the environment he loved—the great outdoors. 

But, to counter-balance this picture, on the back of the program was a picture of him with his logo for a muffin making business he had developed.  The memorial program had the Muff Man sitting on Mt. Maud, and inside this tribute was printed for him:

There are some men

who should have mountains

to bear their name to time.

 

I had a friend:

he lived and died in mighty silence

and with dignity,

left no book, son, or lover to mourn.

 

Nor is this a mourning song

but only a naming of this mountain

on which I walk,

fragrant, dark and softly white

under the pale of mist.

I name this mountain after him.

Leonard Cohen

My husband and I sat in awe as people came up before the crowd to reveal what this young man had done for their lives.  It was an incredible display of a life lived at a normal pace with hyper-drive results.  This twenty-four year old had affected as many, if not more, than any eighty year-old statesman.  He was already a legend and we never knew him, but had intuited him to be someone of Great Spirit by what was said in his death notice.

Ironically, this young man and I share the same birthday.  And so, my husband called this young man’s mother on our birthdays and put her on the phone with me so that I could tell her this:

For the first six months after Mark’s death, his funeral program sat on top of our refrigerator where he had the pride of position in our kitchen.  (He loved to feed people so much that one day he dug up his parents’ yard to plant vegetables for the neighbours.  And, his muffin making business was born out of his desire to share good food with friends). 

A few months ago I moved his program to my ‘family alter’ next to a picture of me with my father.  There are candles, a bell, a heart painting my daughter made, little sculptures the grandchildren made and three sweet treats lying at the bottom of Mark’s feet for the memory of the three things he shared with me after he died…

Faith, love and hope….the faith that there are mighty souls everywhere in our everyday lives that for the most part go unnoticed; the love of doing simple things that strengthen others for a life time and the hope that comes when you are pulled to a funeral unawares by a powerful spirit that lives forever…

This is what a Good Friday means for me…

Looking at Chaos in the Rear-view Mirror (a tribute to 2012)…

 

Looking back over 2012…there were many shifts, both seismic and metaphysical. Emerging from our traumatized environment after living as if the entire world might fall down around us at any moment day after day, from September 2010 until now, finally, we are beginning to feel like we might live again…

How long we shall live is open to debate and wagered

against and/or for us because of vices and/or virtues

perceived by those of us with little else to do and/or

too little consciousness—and so we criticize and/or

judge.

How often  I am aware of it in myself  is not easily weighed.  I am told that becoming more aware is part of self-realization. One can only hope, until they decide to do something.

Christchurch has no time for worrying about what it cannot reshape. It’s time to throw a new pot and it’s time to shut up and carry on— It doesn’t do any good to yell during the noise of crisis—it’s  best to conserve energy for the trekking, dodging and running because:

Freaky natural events happen all over the place…

it’s only different, unique, unseemly, unfair, horrible and unacceptable when it happens to you. If it’s not happening to you, it really isn’t happening to the degree that reality dictates to a real body, otherwise, it is all pictures in your head, awesome photos, someone else’s stories.

Surely, this experiential necessity to evoke reality is recognized by everyone over whatever historical and/or untimely events necessitates an invisible meridian line from childhood to maturity. The course of this planet navigating the same ship with so much technology advanced beyond a cannon, well, the network for interconnected mayhem and hems mended is palpable.

Elton John can be heard singing ‘Rocket Man’ in some places in the world at no particular time and date, like a twinkling, now you hear it, now you don’t. Magic or mayhem, are two sides of the same coin.

I am, I said, not even the chair heard me anyway, and a diamond can be a girl’s best friend in verse to break the curse of being alone. The earth has settled down now, our imaginations restructured and the ‘real bad guys and gals’ have revealed themselves from our mis-conceptualized guise of believing that because we are paying them to protect us, they will in return protect us. hahahahahahahahahahahaha!

I won’t discuss insurance companies and the bureaucratic nightmare they create to withhold payment to tens of thousands of befuddled Kiwi residents in Canterbury—it is a can of worms for better fishers of ‘bad men and women’ than I can be.  My style is more of going around the objects blocking the road rather than through and/or over them. I have watched wildlife in their natural surroundings curve away from, rather than confront impending disaster.  It feels like an appropriate time to do that.

So in rear-view of that, it is summer in Christchurch and earthquakes are old news and there is a much needed reprieve for the folks of Canterbury…I’m curving away from the cracks in the road…

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Christmas Day 2012

Destiny, Clark and I had a wonderful ‘easy peas-y’ day, filled with Clark’s traditional potato salad with savoury and sweet mixtures of dates, cranberries, olives, capers and of course a few potatoes, yum!  The beetroot mould was made with the beetroot we canned last summer and a blackberry jelly (or jello for my American audience)…The small slice of watermelon suggests how expensive it is here.  There are no large watermelons to be had within New Zealand and a small one can cost up to $25.00.  Herein lies the vegan portion of my story…

The Christmas Day tradition in this portion of the world has become a date with Destiny and the barbeque… the one built by my brother John, and so, he is forever here in spirit.  Destiny is one of those patient, unpretentious, meticulous cooks where everything is gently brought to perfection!  The kebabs were unbelievable to look at and consume with many thanks cast about to one another and the produce available…we had a splendid meal together as Destiny’s picture of Clark and I captured what she said, ‘Ah, you look happy for a change’…

And then, the music came on and we were all whisked away by the sounds of George Harrison to begin with, Helmut Zacharias playing the violin, and then Destiny picked Joe Cocker because he looked like a ‘freaky dude’ and she fell in love and proclaimed that Clark’s and my generation’s music was so much better than her own.  And yet, one of Destiny’s friends, Sam, got caught on Youtube singing a pretty mean Halleluiah http://youtu.be/0lwfeKZueHk

I think in view of how well these young New Zealanders do this song…we have a lot more Merry Christmases to come…With this we send our love and good wishes for a fabulous New Year.

 

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