big bellied band player

Like a zombie. Most of the zillion meetings and deadlines for this week have been met and although I may die younger because of eating mostly carbohydrates today (the pinwheel scone for lunch was most pleasing on the tongue) and fish and chips likely cooked in canola oil for dinner and red wine for right now, sleep and happiness shall be mine tonight and there is only one more alarm clock day this week.

I have been thinking about things like national identity a bit (an excellent alternative to considering the merits of rest homes and the size of the washing pile) lately, prompted by my Bill Pearson phase. A man who came out of nowhere to me, who was invisible until I saw a brief news feature on his biography a few weeks ago. Now, I have options on the book as I have reserved a copy at the library and even more exciting, someone blessed by winning superfluous prizes would like to send me my very own copy, which is very nice indeed I got the 1970s book of Pearson's essays out of the 'stack' at the local library and read a few sentences before two x three year olds jumped on me and clamoured for the story of Humpty Dumpty's sister and drinks of water all at the same time. Today I even found the latest copy of New Zealand Books where C K Stead has reviewed the biography and called Coal Flat possibly our only regional realist novel.

Which got me thinking a bit more about the distinctiveness of West Coast living, often overplayed for the tourists, but there is something in it. Favourite Handyman and I went on holiday to Westport once upon a time. Indeed, we saw the new millenium in there and decided to commit to each other forever. My abiding memory of New Year's Eve coming into the 21st century was being in a pub when the pipe band came through, well before midnight. The person playing the largest drum was an extremely fat man with the distinction of carrying all his weight out in front of him, a beer/pot belly of admirable proportions. How he managed to get the drum and himself through the doorway was not clear, but he did.

The extremism of small detail flavours life here.

On Sunday I will meet more people from Wetville and its equally wet neighbours who like to write. Joan Rosier Jones is running a workshop. I've played a small part in organising it and people have been asking me what to bring for food for the shared lunch. I tell them whatever they like. I tell them this because I am not their mother. They also ask me what else to bring. I desist from saying frilly red knickers and clothes pegs and try not to wonder what they imagine they could need. What I do say is a pen and paper. I don't suggest two pens in case one runs out because like I said, I am not their mother.

In other news which is not news, the chooks are still alive and the garden is so neglected by my workingmotherplayingsolowithlotsofdeadlines ness that I have not even picked anything to eat from it this week.

Apart from rocket. If I die young, you will know it is the absence of kale this week. If I grow hale and prosper, you can tell yourself to grow some rocket and eat it every day just like that Sandra woman on her blog.


Anonymous said…
Argh, tried to eave a comment before and I'm not sure if worked or not. Have been thinking of you lots lately! Will write more if this works...
Anonymous said…
Oooh, it looks like it did work. There's a small South Islander's crafting forum that needs you ;) If you think you have time to check us out LMK and I'll send you an invite. Most are from Dunedin/Chc, some from WC. We are doing small co-ops, having retreats, some of us are combining stock together for stalls, lots of chatter & inspiration. I'm sure you'd fit in well ;) weeweka @ if you want an invite. I hope all is ticking along well for you all, F & B must be so big now as it was a few years ago since we met up. Love to you all, Leanne xxxxx
Heart Felt said…
Hi, thanks so much for visiting Heart Felt and leaving your lovely comment. I really appreciate your encouraging words. Speaking of neglected gardens, I walked around ours with Oscar this afternoon....sighed a dishearten sigh and went back inside. Too much to do....and it's so wet! Have a great weekend. xx

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