myhelrav

[myhelrav]

The Winds of Change

Musings on the 50-something years

While I’m rapidly reaching the end of my 50s, a friend has just entered them. When she reached out to “old timers” asking for tips to navigate her birthday, it got me thinking. Too many thoughts to squeeze onto her Facebook page! This is not the post with which I’d planned to get back into blogging, but after a winter hiatus I’m very grateful to find myself writing again. With special thanks for the impetus she unwittingly gave me to do so, I’d like to dedicate this piece to that newly-minted 50-year old. 

I’ve been sitting on it for a few days, playing “shall I, shan’t I?”, feeling diffident about dishing out advice so publicly. In the meantime, I've been interacting once again with the online Aging Abundantly Community, the women whose support I’ve found invaluable over the past 2 years. It reminded me of how willingly they share their own challenges and what they learn along the way. They give me confidence to go ahead and share my musings.

The 50s seem to me to be a decade when the winds of change blow stronger, stirring up our lives big time, bringing a whirl of surprise and grief, challenges and opportunities. We often find ourselves being pulled in different directions. I think this is especially so if you are a woman.

I can’t speak for men of course, but I can safely say it’s almost impossible to come to terms with midlife changes in female bodies without having to form a new picture of ourselves as a woman. Sometimes the changes can be quick and straightforward, but it’s probably far more common for the process to be complicated, often long-drawn out, seldom linear. It brings both grief and relief in its wake. 

Equally non-linear, and definitely complicated, is the change that all of us who are parents dreamt of – the increasing independence of our children. As they spread their wings and start flapping out of the nest, our inner lives shift just as much as our outer ones do. That independence can come sooner than we’re comfortable with, or conversely, much more slowly. Any which way, you can be sure that there is just as much opinion out there, waiting to judge how we handle it and what we do next, as there has been at any other stage of the parenting game. Some of those voices are, sadly, in our own heads…

For all of us, lurking in the future if not actively charging towards us at full speed, are significant changes in our parents’ generation and our relationships with them. And then there are our relationships with significant others, the world of work, and even our oldest, most comfortable friendships, none of them immune to buffeting by those winds of change.

An unexpected bonus of Project Tauranga has been the impetus and the opportunity it’s provided to reflect on the challenges thrown up by so much change in my own life. These past few days, I’ve been musing about what advice I might give on how to take on the 50’s. Depending on the day, I come up with different variations on “Lean into them”. Today my advice is simply “Trust’”.

Trust your feelings – even when they are all over the show. You know, none of us have done this before, not as an individual.  It’s no surprise it can feel hard! To quote Dorothy Sander* (who writes ever so eloquently about mid-life transformations and whose writing has been an enormous help to me):

“There is no way to prepare for our reaction to experiences we’ve never had before.  It helps to think about this time as a period of transition, not just an ending. And like all transitions, we are in a state of flux and we are going to feel uncomfortable. The discomfort is an invaluable shove to process the experience in order to move forward.

When we welcome the discomfort rather than resist it, we allow the feelings and thoughts we have to move through us. Resistance and avoidance keep the feelings locked inside of us, prolonging our discomfort.  It takes time to process life��s difficult experiences, but we can get through them and we will. Life will feel “normal” again.” 

Even when it’s a new normal...

Trust that these years bring opportunities of their own. I think one of the big fears most of us have about growing older is that doors will start closing on things we treasure in our life. Maybe a bit of that is inevitable. However there is something magical about discovering other doors opening, maybe in places we never thought to look before.

Trust that there is a world of kindness waiting out there for us, sometimes from people we’ve only just met.

Trust in kindness itself. The winds of change are particularly hard on relationships and they can react unpredictably. We’ve probably all seen memes proclaiming that “true” friends are those who are always there for you. I’ve come to reword them for myself as “your true friends are there for you to the extent that whatever’s going on in their life allows.” Sometimes we find ourselves letting people down in ways we would never have expected; other times we find friendships slipping away after a shift in the things that brought us together. Looking at such nasty surprises through the eyes of kindness can really, really help.

Trust that “Me” time is coming. When you’re really, really busy this can be unimaginable (and the journey there can be pretty blimmin’ painful) but, oh my goodness, can it be wonderful! 

When the busyness changes and a void starts appearing (to quote Dorothy again), “rather than filling the void with fear and guilt, we have been given a perfect opportunity to learn and grow and discover.  Dare to just “be” in this time, this in-between time. Tune into your inner voice and listen to the callings of your heart. Follow where it leads.”

If you feel your defining routines and roles slipping away and you find yourself wondering “Who am I now?”, trust that behind the scenes space is being created in your life and your head to reinvent yourself, reinvigorate yourself. If you feel it’s not happening, trust in yourself to start doing the work when the time is right for you. It doesn’t have to be right now.

Trust that “We” time is probably coming too. This one also takes work. Before I even started looking outward from my absorption with my boys when they were little, I was blessed to have the shining example of a friend who consciously set out to work on her friendship with her husband while their children were in their early teens. I’ve thought of her often as Rod and I find ourselves reworking our own friendship, having stripped away so many of the props of our family life in Wellington. 

At the same time, I’m meeting women whose closest relationships haven’t survived these years of change. They are my newest shining examples as I watch how they trust that new relationships will come their way. I’m in awe of their bravery and am loving witnessing that bravery gradually bearing fruit. 

Trust in authenticity. We also see memes about giving less of a **** as we grow older. Not all totally true of course, but it does seem to get easier to care less about being judged, to be more relaxed about being the person we are truly comfortable being.

Our life in Wellington was spent largely with people younger than us. Here in my new home and in my online life, I hang out mainly with women in their 50s, 60s, 70s and even 80s (the oldest person in our yoga class is 80 - now there’s a shining example to look up to!) The joy I’m finding in these connections often stems directly from moments of authenticity. People being themselves, sharing their vulnerabilities, trusting me to meet them where they are. It’s liberating and it’s beautiful.

While my friend wasn’t asking me about the years beyond the 50s, that is the future I’m pondering. Here’s a gorgeous analogy** that I’ve discovered recently (particularly apt for life in the beautiful Bay of Plenty.) May this be the way I take on my 60s!

* the quote from Dorothy Sander comes from Beyond the Empty Nest:  https://www.agingabundantly.com/2013/01/22/beyond-the-empty-nest/?fbclid=IwAR0oRT8hkSFWH-2fxavpij954ZVWKoHQO1O0bKH4K3UW6SVQ23_N-_fBt-Y

**This just an excerpt from Bernadette Noll’s full piece which can be read here: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/i-want-to-age-like-sea-glass_b_5317199

[myhelrav]

Moments of Joy

Our first Christmas in Tauranga #2

One year ago, Rod had already arrived in Tauranga while I was in Hastings with Mum, waiting for tenders on her house to close. Has it really been only been a year? I feel as if I’ve been on more than a year’s worth of journeys in that time. Having mainly shared road blocks from our momentous year here in this blog, I now find myself in a mood to focus on highlights, beginning with a look back at some highlights from our first festive season here.  

This post is dedicated to my sister - who’s always been there to share special Christmas moments with me, in cyberspace if not in person; who's possibly been Project Tauranga’s cheerleader-in-chief; who’s occasionally been brave enough to include a sterner word or two in amongst the “Ra ra ra, go Team Tauranga!” that has encouraged us all in this adventure.

It was thanks to Chris that my pre-Christmas blues started to lift, with the arrival of a parcel from Nelson, that included, with her typical flair, just the thing to put a seasonal sparkle in my eye. The Christmas spirit which had been inconveniently missing in action came dancing in as I tried out a shiny and very Helen hat to add to my smorgasbord of festive traditions...

That is my favourite memory of the random moments that brought me joy as traditions old and new wove themselves into the tapestry of our seasonal stories. Here’s a selection of other such moments:

Receiving touching evidence that Christmas traditions from his old working life in Wellington were living on - although Rod wasn’t there in body, he was being held in heart and mind.

Taking absurd satisfaction in observing my boys interacting with this house in ways that were, oh, so very familiar: one rearranging a series of books on display into the correct order; the other playing with moveable features in our fancy pants new kitchen - their parents grinning like Cheshire cats as our quiet nest came to life with shenanigans and banter.

Taking quiet satisfaction in Team Tauranga turning my hazy Christmas card notions into reality - albeit only in time to post a (very) few on Christmas Eve. Celebrating how the garden here had started delivering on its promise from day one.

Finally having the house clear of the double-glazing team who’d been giving me nightmares about what state we’d be in over the holidays. Setting out to fill the spot we’d always designated as “where the tree will go”. Selecting a rather smaller but much better-looking tree than we used to buy at Wellington’s Aro Valley fundraisers. Finding out all about his family Christmas tree farm from the young boy who sold us the tree. Adding “where we buy our tree” to our new auto-pilot.

Rod, bless him, encouraging hours of Christmas music playing over the stereo (yes, even Boney M!) as I came to grips with decorating this smaller tree in this smaller space. Revisiting the memories captured in so many of our decorations.  Wondering how many more years our favourite one will see - a tatty old bird that came to us from, you guessed it, my sis, with the funny whanau story that it has to tell.

Amusing myself by wrapping the base in paper left behind by our removal firms.

Solving a dilemma posed by Eleventh’s Ave smaller living room shelves and displaying some of my beloved Christmas china on the old art deco trolley that came to us from Mum’s house in Hastings.  And in the process creating a new tradition - ta da! - the Christmas trolley.

Trusting myself to wing it with style when I realised late on Christmas Eve that I didn’t, in fact, have all the decorating elements of our Christmas Day table sorted. Winging it very happily when our garden yielded an early morning harvest of red and white roses - they went with our table theme so beautifully, you’d have thought they'd been planned all along...

Soaking in the special pleasure of seeing my table plan coming to life in the expert hands of my baby. Taking quiet joy in telling him that his granny had noticed an aspect of his attention to detail that everyone else had overlooked. Nobody does it quite like him.

Soaking in the different-but-equally-special pleasure of seeing his goofy big bro model my beautiful new floral dressing gown over the top of my beautiful new floral apron, with the added frou frou of a necklace of my new fairy lights. Nobody does it quite like him either.

Appreciating their cousin’s witty take on the tradition of buying men socks.

Feeling grateful for the loving support of the whanau who helped us put down these seasonal roots by travelling to us for the day - and not batting an eyelid when I opened the door to them late on Christmas morning, still dressed in my shorty PJs! 

And, of course, the all-important Christmas kai:

Discovering that my random pages of favourite Christmas recipes, were, for the first time ever, conveniently all in one place. Sharing my best go-to recipes (some of which are, of course, my sister’s) within my new circle of friends. Indulging in a Treat Me order of Hawkes Bay cherries and kick-starting our feasts with cherry sorbet, my most must-have of those recipes. *

Looking forward to the Tauranga Christmas Farmers Market and that market living up to all expectations. Choosing Bay of Plenty specialties to include in our festive fare. Ordering a whole “Black Gold" loaf, an eye-catching and remarkably black rye bread produced by a local bakery. Mentally adding it to my must-have list while watching our guests enjoy it. 

Finding out, almost by accident, that the steam oven we’re still figuring out has a setting that roasts poultry to perfection. Taking confidence from this (and a lucky last-minute find at New World supermarket) that I could put turkey on our Eleventh Ave table, thus stepping into the dauntingly big shoes of the friend who would put beautifully cooked meat on our Karepa Street Christmas table. Remembering to take said turkey out of the freezer in time. Phew!

Sharing an online giggle with Chris over the mysterious greige colour of the strawberry and orange custard I’d invented for my strawberry and orange trifle. Camouflaging it with cream and delighting in being able to dish it up in a crystal bowl that came to us from my grandmother (sitting undisturbed in an unopened box all our years in Karepa St!) Playing with that crystal bowl after the trifle was hoovered up at Christmas lunch.

Going to bed exhausted in the wee hours of Boxing Day, relieved that so much went so well after my shaky run-up to this first Christmas, although a little down after having missed our old house a great deal on the day. Sleeping that feeling away, then looking at photos and realising that this new house, too, makes for great-looking celebrations. Eating yummy leftovers, feeling spoiled all over again that I have such a fab kitchen to cook in.

Learning from that experience of missing Karepa Street at its party best and deciding to take New Year’s Eve in a new direction. Chilling out with Rod and one of our boys as we quietly saw the old year out, enjoying the company, the balmy Tauranga night air - and the discovery that our Eleventh Ave garden gives us views of, not one, but two of the multiple council fireworks shows with which this town sees in the new year. How good is that!

Taking heart from these and other moments that brought me real festive joy. Deciding to preserve them here in this record where I can look back and see that, in amongst the bumpy parts of our journey, we were truly blessed in being able to create good memories. 

Feeling more confident about the road ahead...

*For those who would like to add this yummy moment of (vegan) joy to your Christmas traditions, here is that recipe for cherry sorbet:

[myhelrav]

Towards a new Road Map

Our first Christmas in Tauranga #1

Part of me has been blogging ever since we arrived in Eleventh Ave, observing and recording, talking to my invisible audience. While often a bit of a rollercoaster, the experience of settling into such a new place and way of life is something I find enormously interesting and I’m both fascinated and humbled by the interest that others have also taken in it. Only a tiny proportion of my observations have made it to the blog. A number of posts were percolating away as our first summer in Tauranga went on and on… and here we are in late autumn already!  Finally, long after the fact, here is part one of a collection of memories heading into the end of the 2018 and the start of the festive season. When I first began blogging, it was with a post revolving round the bittersweet nature of our last Karepa Street Christmas, and so I really wanted to share our first Tauranga Christmas too. 

We had preliminary plans for Christmas already in place before we arrived in Eleventh Ave. Mum was always going to be joining my sister in Nelson whereas Rod and I would be staying here, putting more roots down in Tauranga with the help of some of our Thames whanau. Thanks to New Year’s sales, I even had elements of a festive table sorted. But, as we’ve been learning, the journey that is settling into a new home isn’t a linear one – there are roadblocks and detours and downright getting lost along the way. In hindsight, the only thing that’s particularly surprising about Christmas proving to be as bumpy a part of our story as any other is that it caught me by surprise.

If you’re reading this in the northern hemisphere, take a moment to thank your lucky stars that your Christmases aren’t mixed up with the end of the school year and the start of the summer holidays. It can get crazy! Here downunder, the silly season is also the time of year when our beautiful red pohutukawa, the “New Zealand Christmas tree” comes into flower. Back in Wellington, pohutukawa season was always a thing of joy for me. There were trees right by the supermarket, in particular, that seemed to be at their reddest, brightest best in Christmas week, the smile they put on my face always compensation for the clogged traffic and aisles battled in the dash for last minute supplies.

Here in Tauranga, the first of my surprises came when I found the start of pohutukawa season not so much bringing me joy as putting something suspiciously like a frown on my face. You what? Where had my Christmas spirit gone?

As we got closer to Christmas, my Christmas spirit remained AWOL, and I began to feel more and more unsettled. It felt like a blessing when Mum left for her holidays down south. It removed the risk that my distinct lack of enthusiasm would spoil her enjoyment of a time of year she’s always thrown herself into, and it freed me up to do some serious navel gazing.

Some of my unsettledness could undoubtedly be blamed on the state of our house at that time. The tidy aura of calm I’d so carefully created downstairs was mightily disrupted over most of December, when we had to move everything away from walls and windows to clear room for glaziers to work on our long-awaited double-glazing. “It’s not looking at all like Christmas” was a refrain that constantly played through my head, especially when I looked at the empty spot where we couldn’t yet put up a Christmas tree...

I got a bit of an insight into what else was going on for me when I came across this reflection online:

“Finding ourselves quite suddenly, and sometimes unexpectedly, alone during the holidays, isn’t an easy experience to navigate. Our home rattles with the ghosts of the past and feels disturbingly quiet, even as the rest of the world is amping up and giddy with expectation.”  *

Rod and I weren’t going to be alone at Christmas, but our lives were feeling very quiet and there was definitely something lacking. Funnily enough, one of the things missing was trying to get tasks finished at work in time for the summer break. The flip side of no count-down stress was that there was no count-down excitement either. It’s been a couple of years since we had anyone in the house hanging out for the last day of school, but while I was working with small children in Wellington, I’d still been part of that feverish “how many sleeps to go” excitement. I realised that semi-retired life in an empty nest had fewer of the markers that inform our unconscious minds where we are in our own seasonal timetables. Nothing much was looking or feeling like Christmas at all!

I began to understand my antipathy to Tauranga’s pohutukawa trees. Here in the sunny fertile north we are constantly surprised by how early everything blooms. Whereas in Wellington I knew where and when individual pohutukawas started flowering, I had little experience here to tie natural seasons to human ones. As I became aware of this, I could start looking around me in a different way. I had a truly lovely moment standing on our lawn with a fellow ex-Wellingtonian who’d come around for a pre-Christmas meal. As we looked down at the view, talking about needing to learn what our local seasonal markers are, we both suddenly realised we could see a pohutukawa tree, blooming a bit later than the ones up on the main roads. Right there in front of us was a marker for Eleventh Ave - when that tree starts blooming Helen, it’s high time to be doing your Christmas cards!

Ever since my boys were very small, we have made our own Christmas cards, a process that they were always involved in. I had a plan (of course!) for 2018′s Christmas cards. I was running terribly late but the photos I wanted to use were finally taken and I was waiting on a bit of Photoshop magic from our youngest son, due here on holiday.  A last-minute change of his travel plans meant an urgent change of my card-production plans. Rod created his own sort of Photoshop wizardry and the cards suddenly happened. Too late to reach anyone much by Christmas but in plenty of time for a new card-making tradition - involving just the two of us on the job - to be born. I started taking pleasure in realising that we were creating other Tauranga traditions, such as my “Christmas trolley” (a story for another day), and my Christmas spirit finally turned up. A new road map for how Rod and I do Christmas was under way.

It had been its own roller-coaster, as interesting a detour as any other on this journey.  Along the way I realised that next summer I need to keep an eye out for jacaranda season. Up here in the beautiful sub-tropical north, that will probably be my marker to get the silly season on the road. Now there’s something to put a smile on your face!

* Many thanks to Dorothy Sander from the Aging Abundantly Community for the quote

http://www.agingabundantly.com/2017/12/08/navigating-holiday-stress-loneliness/

[myhelrav]

In memory

Pausing to grieve and give thanks

A lovely blog post by my sister Chris has inspired me to write this one. We were both pottering away on a number of drafts for our different blogs when the Christchurch mosque shootings stopped us all in our tracks on March 15. To quote Chris, the grief has been palpable. There was also a sense of a nation holding its breath. What else was to come? Where to from here? And for each one of us not directly affected, how do you return to the daily concerns that can feel so trivial in comparison? I’d like to follow Chris’s example and pause here to remember and to reflect.

Tauranga’s mosque is in 18th Ave, an easy walk from our home in 11th Ave. I happened to know where it is because, feeling terribly homesick for Wellington’s multicultural vibe, I’d gone looking for it in my first few weeks here. The mosque was not easy to find, inconspicuous as it was on its peaceful suburban street corner. It’s not inconspicuous now. 

The first of the flax fronds that now adorn the entire fence had only just appeared when Rod and I first went to pay our respects the morning after the shooting. The flowers were fresh and beautiful. They were beginning to create a beautiful space. And even though there were heavily armed police officers parked across the road, with Armed Defenders Squad cars regularly arriving to check in, it still felt like an incredibly peaceful place. 

In the spite of our distress - mirrored on every face as ever more people arrived carrying flowers while Rod and I stood there - something inside me was responding to that peace and to the love that was so tangible in the reactions of everyone who was drawn to the mosque.  I’ve returned several times and each time I have a sense, not only of that amazing aroha, but also of sending roots down into the very ground, making me feel more connected to Tauranga than just about anything else that has happened here. 

This was a deeply personal reaction that took me by surprise, but I can only feel grateful. It’s such a cliché that even in the face of terrible tragedy, other lives inexorably carry on. However, March 15 and what happened afterwards has woven itself into, not only the story of our time here in Tuaranga, but also the story of how Tauranga is gradually becoming home. 

We were drawn in our thousands to our local mosques over the following days. Like hundreds of other Tauranga folk, I headed back to 18th Ave on the Friday afternoon after the shootings, to join in the “chain of love”. Like the majority of other Tauranga women who went, I wore a headscarf. The decision to wear one was not something I had to think about for very long. Tossing a scarf round my head on a Wellington winter’s day is something I’ve been pretty comfortable doing for decades. Of course, walking through the streets of Tauranga wearing one on a summer’s day proved to be a different experience altogether. One of the perks of becoming a woman of a certain age has been the comfort of feeling largely inconspicuous out in public. Suddenly feeling incredibly conspicuous was pretty uncomfortable - until I drew close to the mosque. There I was in the company of an extraordinary mix of people, all of whom felt like friends. 

The words “just extraordinary” kept playing in my head. It felt both a privilege and a precious gift that I had time and space in my life to be there. The forecourt was packed with both Muslims and non-Muslims – and a row of Harley Davidsons parked along the perimeter wall.  Patched gang members from different gangs mingled with people like me who’d never ordinarily be anywhere near them. The strangers I chatted with included a high school teacher, an early childhood lecturer, a mother of 2 pre-schoolers, 2 heavily tattooed women there with their gangs, a Muslim woman I’d met at a vigil during the week, an armed Sikh policeman. The visibly armed police presence was so very jarring. A friend who’s been working in Christchurch tells me that many police officers are extremely tense, convinced the threat level is still high. Here in Tauranga, where that tension was less visible, people were strolling up and chatting with them, posing for selfies even. And lest this sound all quite jolly, the underlying anger heard so clearly in the Tauranga boy’s college haka, the grief that kept breaking through as people choked up while they were speaking, the profound respect that came through in the 2 minutes’ silence when truly all that could be heard were tuis in the trees - these were all powerfully, palpably, present.

Equally powerful were the symbols of love and compassion. Including a small, very touching, gesture of a 1-year old: intrigued by my tears during the 2 minutes of silence, he solemnly offered me his dummy for comfort. The smile it brought felt like hope.

Earlier that incredibly sad week, I had the chance to take part in a vigil organised by my yoga teacher.  Stephanie, and a florist who spontaneously arrived with floral arrangements and 50 wreathes, turned Hart Street platform over at the Mount into a beautiful gathering space. The vigil had been advertised as “from dusk to moonrise”, which proved to be just perfect. The gentle weather, the gorgeous fade of sea and sky from blue through gentle pink to black, the absolutely spectacular appearance of a glowing red full moon over the ocean, the Southern Cross brilliantly clear overhead - they were all perfect. In another unexpected gift, it felt like a sacred space, a time and place where even those of us who don’t belong to a faith could feel that our tears and our hopes, both spoken and silent, could be could be heard and felt.

It was my privilege to help Stephanie out on the day, and I had the chance to speak if I wanted. I chose not to, something I find myself regretting a bit.  Hindsight, huh? If I had spoken, I might have expressed some of the hope that filled my heart that beautiful night:

We know that we will never forget the fact of the massacre. We will most likely always be able to recall the afternoon the news unfolded and the enormity of what had happened became apparent. We will remember THEM, the 50 people who lost their lives as they gathered in their sacred spaces. May we also always remember US. The shock, grief and rage we felt. The aroha that drew us to the mosques with our flowers, candles and prayers, that inspired us to organise and attend vigils, that manifested itself in those “chains of love”, that was demonstrated in the food donated and the millions of dollars collected online. May we remember who we were, both as individuals and as united communities that stood together. We saw the best of ourselves as a nation - may it not all fade away with the changing news cycles. May lasting good come out of the evil.

Back at the mosque, the crowds have disappeared but people still come to visit, passers-by still pause, a patrol car with armed police keeps watch at every prayer time. The flowers are fading, the wind has ripped some of the messages, the rain has washed away many of the words. New messages still appear. They include those from the Muslim community, replying with words of peace and gratitude. 

With love, respect, grief and gratitude. May we remember. Arohanui.

(crowd photos sourced online)

[myhelrav]

“Don’t worry, you don’t look that old”

A “guest post”, written by me for another forum, and posted here with kind permission of that forum.

Replanting our lives in Tauranga has produced, almost as side shoots, plentiful impetus and opportunity for reflection and introspection, laying bare some Very Big Questions that are often buried when family and work life is settled and keeping you busy. 

There’s nothing quite like turning your back on the house where you brought up your family to bring into focus the painful reality that family life, as that house knew it, has ended. In this house that was chosen with some of our future needs in mind, we are confronted with questions about what that future might look like, what we might look like going into it. All we know for certain is that we’ll never be our younger selves again.

I’m still a mother, but what does it mean to be a mother living far from her children? When I’m not actively mothering and, for the time being, not regularly teaching either, who am I, what do I want, what am I meant to be doing with my life? How do my husband and I live together in the absence of so much of the structure we built together, now left behind? How do I shift back into being primarily my mother’s daughter after having been primarily her grandchildren’s mother? (Imagine what Dr Seuss could do with this!)

These are not comfortable questions, especially as they come carrying baggage - grief, regret, trepidation. They come bearing gifts too, but those can take longer to unpack…

It has seemed to me for quite a few years now that, just when you need them, angels can appear in your life.  At about the time I started documenting Project Tauranga in one place on Facebook, I became part of a group in another place, the online Aging Abundantly Community. These women who choose to lean into the aging process rather than allow it to define us* felt like the new angels in my life at a time when I needed a place to be honest and seek help while I grappled with all the changes Rod and I were putting ourselves through. 

In the early weeks and months here, I felt constrained about how much it was OK to complain to the friends I’d chosen to leave about how hard it was to be without them, too raw to open up the floodgates around the new people I was meeting, and inconveniently inarticulate whenever I tried to record or reflect through my blog. It was a relief to be able to go blah, blah, blah to the caring souls in the Aging Abundantly group who have been there and done that, who patiently read my long posts on their pages and who always came back with thoughtful perspectives.

When I was asked to draft a guest post for that community’s blog a while back, I was happy to give it a go, grateful to have a concrete way in which to show my appreciation. What follows is a slightly edited version of that piece. It’s a snapshot of some of my thinking 3 months ago. It answers few of my questions and raises yet more. It’s dedicated to those online angels.

In the past 9 months, my husband retired, our youngest son left home, we sold our family home of 19 years to shift town, my mother sold her family home of 47 years to move into a “granny flat” attached to our new house, and my stepson also moved in indefinitely while he searches for an elusive new job. Changes abound!

Positives also abound: all 4 of us are healthy, the house is gorgeous, the garden is delivering unexpected treasures that feed the soul, the climate is kind, the living is easy, my mother is bubbling with happiness as she creates her “little nest” and, thanks to a generous Facebook community I stumbled upon, we are surprising ourselves with a more active social life than we had imagined.

My 3 housemates have reasonably clear roles and tasks as they create a life for themselves here. I’m the odd one out; unsettled, missing my friends, my work, the beautiful city I called home for half my life, the lifestyle I had there; trying to figure out what work-life balance I would like to have here. 

The last job that I actually had to apply for was way back in 1989! Since then, all my work has come through word of mouth. I’m a teacher of very young children – babies up to 5-year-olds – and for quarter of a century I’ve been older than my workmates, most of the parents, and, increasingly, many of the grandparents too. I’m worried about looking for work in a town where I don’t have a professional reputation, therefore needing to sell myself all by myself. Wondering how age will factor in.

Blessed with my father’s youthful skin, I have been told “you don’t look that old” all my life. At work it morphed into “don’t worry, you don’t look that old” Usually pretty good at taking the compliment that was intended and assuming people weren’t intending the subtext I could hear - being “that old” is something to worry about - I now find myself wondering if “that old” will become a stumbling block.

With ample time to sit and think, I find myself musing about what “that old” actually means...

My age in calendar years? I am 58.

My stage of life? I’m in transition.

My stage of family life? I’m a newly minted empty-nester.

My dependants? I have co-habiting with me a mother living as fiercely independently as possible (albeit financially at risk now that she’s cashed in her equity) and a young adult who also aspires to be independent in as many ways as possible in the face of little employment or financial certainty.

My financial status? I was very fortunate that my husband’s profession meant he earned far more than I ever could, enabling me to work as part-time as I wished and supporting a very comfortable family life. His retirement brings in its wake a less financially secure life, already having an impact on issues such as how much we can afford to spend if we socialise with people who, still earning, are able to spend more freely.

My employment status? I have yet to find out how easy or otherwise it will be to find work in my field in my new town.

My time and place of birth? I was born into a stable Western family at a time when upwards mobility was still the norm. I’m educated to a higher level than my parents and am more materially well-off than either of them was at my age.

My life history? I was born in a time of peace and have spent most of my life in New Zealand, this remote peaceful paradise I adore.  

My family history? My father died at 68 and only 1 of my 3 grandparents lived into her 90s.

My body? I inherited a fast metabolism, low blood pressure, beautiful skin, strong teeth, a skeletal structure causing extra wear and tear on my knees that was picked up in my early 30s, eyes that started needing a bit of help for close work in my late 40s, hair that, back in my teens, started spotting grey and now, in my 50s, is starting to thin (right at the front where everyone can see it), a long drawn-out passage through menopause, and the shared belief that everyone in my family was born uncoordinated and therefore unlikely to be good at sports (a theory that did not prepare me at all for my sports-mad older son!)

My physical history? I have borne 2 children, the wear and tear that comes with that mitigated by the fact that they were problem-free conceptions and births.

My physical habits? Oh my goodness, have I looked after myself badly! After a lifetime of eating and drinking as much as I wanted while exercising as little as I liked, it’s proving tough to change those habits.

My physical state? The face is pretty OK, the body is pretty overweight, the knees are pretty worn, and when I sneak into “Yoga for Seniors” on my husband’s coat-tails, the lack of flexibility makes me look like I well and truly need to be there!

My state of mind? A work in progress…

My blessings? In my current musings, this is the most interesting of all.  As I strive to find my way in a newly-configured family grouping, I find awe and joy in reflecting on how lucky we were to have a largely settled, happy, healthy family life in the beautiful home that we designed, built, loved to pieces and finally sold. I feel enormously blessed that my mother’s big brave move in casting her lot in with us has got off to such a happy start. I know I would not be missing my friends so much if I hadn’t acquired such a fabulous posse in the first place. I’m grateful in bucketfuls for social media and the way it is helping me find new communities. And I’m revelling in the virtual company of the wise women of the Aging Abundantly Community. I suspect these women are highly unlikely to say to me “Don’t worry, you don’t look that old”

In so many ways, yes, I am indeed that old. And in this new place where I am finding opportunities to redefine myself (a tidy me seems to be emerging and shy me seems to be flying out the window), I am learning to answer that old phrase, not with an inwardly wincing “thank you” for the intended compliment, but with a smiling “yes, and if I’m very lucky I will get to look and be even older than this!”  

* the phrase “women who choose to lean into the aging process rather than allow it to define us” is quoted, with thanks, from http://www.agingabundantly.com/community-home/

[myhelrav]

In Search of Wellbeing

Tales of Transition #3

As I started assembling my words and pictures for this post, it was 6 months to the day since Rod and I left Wellington, one of us heading north to to start the hard work of turning this beautiful renovation into a home, the other detouring to the South Island. That felt like quite a milestone. It was wild and wet here in the Bay of Plenty. It felt wonderfully appropriate for an anniversary of leaving windy Welly. 

While I was contemplating this particular post, the words of the Navajo Prayer, In Beauty May I Walk, played through my mind over and over. Reminding me that I have indeed walked in beauty since I left my beloved city. Telling me how much the everyday beauty of our new home has helped ease transition.

A while back I read a piece suggesting a difference between happiness and wellbeing. A lightbulb came on! It’s no secret that I struggled for happiness as Rod and I adapted to the many changes of the previous 6 months. Yet in the midst of bouts of unhappiness, I was experiencing moments of what I have come to identify as wellbeing. Almost always outdoors, it might be feeling the mild northern winter air, soft on my skin. Revelling in the novelty of rain falling vertically (!), often so gentle it could barely be heard. Feasting my eyes on treats such as sparkling blue waters, our garden glowing golden against a dark sky to the east as the sun dropped in the west, yet another treasure discovered in that garden as the seasons started to unfold... Breathing in the heavenly aroma of our own citrus fruit. For however long that moment lasted, I felt at ease. 

Those moments all felt like gifts, as did the notion that wellbeing and happiness could be separated. Letting go of happiness as a goal was liberating. It was a remarkably helpful strategy in helping me begin to deal better with the emotional conflict that, somehow, didn’t magically disappear after the excitement and turmoil of arriving in Eleventh Ave. And if you know me well, you know that I like my strategies! Here are some of my other strategies for this phase of Project Tauranga:

To create a sense of peace and order so as to counteract the many ways in which lack of peace was frustrating me

To attempt to forgive myself for the ways I was not coping and to concentrate instead on the ways I was contributing

To focus on gratitude

To seek out beauty

Peace and Order

Box city is not a peaceful place in which to live. No surprise there, but what did surprise was how long it continued to be a struggle to adapt. 

Initially nothing had a place so nothing looked out of place. Locating phones, keys, or any other random thing put down “for now” was the first challenge. The pace at which we could create order out of chaos was limited. How fast could Rod could build shelves? How many chests of drawers - an item of furniture we’d had no need for in Karepa Street - did we need to find?

My heart was aching for the sons and friends I’d left behind, my resilience was undermined by week after week of very poor sleep, my body was wearied by prolonged hay fever - the legacy of dusty downsizing, cleaning product overload and far too many flowers in far too many rooms while Karepa Street was on the market... The energy and team work that brought us this far took a big hit. Rod, although faring better than me, was also exhausted. It took far longer than either of us anticipated to find our mojo as a team again.

We had also both anticipated that we would quickly adapt to the background traffic. “You’ll get used to it” everyone said. Except some don’t get used to it. Yup, it seems I’m one of those. The noise intruded on my thoughts, affected my moods and, even through earplugs, disturbed my sleep. 2 miserable months passed before I managed a decent night’s sleep. It was even longer before the noise stopped feeling like a malignant foe. In the wee hours I’d find myself staring down at the trucks that drive through the night, angry and hating them, wanting to scream back at the road, just shut up!

It probably sounds overly dramatic and I did feel as if I was becoming unhinged. Strategies were desperately needed! And so we set to work. To help turn my ears away from the traffic we put gently ticking clocks in the rooms I spend most time in to listen to instead. After months of investigating and pricing our options, I’m thrilled to report that work on double-glazing our windows will start in the next few days. Changes are also happening within. Rod and I started doing yoga and our lovely classes have helped calm my mind. I am learning to listen to my breath rather than the noise when it wakes me at night. My foe is shrinking...

Box city shrank too, but gradually, wearyingly, and not completely. In the garage, wardrobes and upstairs rooms, it still lurks in wait... As it retreated, we were able to create ever larger pools of calm beginning with my favourite corner chair, where I look out into the garden on two sides and back at the beauty that surrounds me indoors.

We may not have peace and quiet but we do have spaces that look peaceful and calm. I am working to keep them that way - in this new life of ours I am reinventing myself as a much tidier person! 

Contribution

Forgiving myself is such a hard one. Luckily I have an ally in making this strategy work. Rod is thriving on the freedom to beaver away at his enormous list of home handy work but sees our physical environment as just one piece of the home-making puzzle. For him, making connections with new people and places is of equal value and he is very generous in treating the time that I spend seeking these as important work. Who knew that my addiction to Facebook and love of cafés would be seen as useful?   

And so I ferret out new things for us to do. From watching live music in tiny venues to watching ride-on mower racing at a huge school gala - with a variety of weekend markets in between - Rod has cheered my efforts and said yes to most of my suggestions as we try to get used to life in this very different town.

We were incredibly lucky that I stumbled across an active women’s social networking group on Facebook early on. Thanks to this group we learned about the yoga class, joined a pub quiz team, hosted a book club, helped cater for a fundraiser, found friends to join me and my mother on a garden jaunt to the Waikato, found someone new for Rod to go biking with…  

I am, of course, getting to know Tauranga one café at a time. All with Rod’s blessing and support. Go Team Tauranga!

Gratitude

I am grateful that Rod shares the need to go back to Wellington often. To drink in the comfort of familiar places and to wrap ourselves in the aroha of beloved family and friends. To lay aside the task of reinventing our lives and just be ourselves for a little while in the company of those who know us well. 

We both feel very fortunate that we had time and means to say yes to nearly every opportunity that came our way to catch up with old friends, not only back in Wellington but in other parts of the country too. We are especially grateful to those who took the trouble to come and add to the new chapter being written in Eleventh Ave. Each visit replenishes our kete and feels like a blessing on this house.

Oh, how much I miss my “posse” of friends, to quote one of my new friends. I am so grateful for the women I have met here who help ease that ache. Who don’t expect that we can possibly take the place of old friends overnight but who are here for each other in very meaningful ways in the meantime. Who might just feature in a blog post all their own one day… 

I feel very blessed by how much easier adapting to change has been for my partners in this venture. To be able to focus so much on putting myself first with Rod’s help is an enormous luxury that I have seized with both hands. Seeing how happily my mother potters around her “Little Nest” has given me and Rod profound joy every single day since she arrived.

And we are all grateful for our bountiful avocado tree. It has been delivering a big dollop of wellbeing every lunch time for weeks and weeks now. How lucky is that!

Beauty

The natural beauty of the Bay of Plenty is one of the things that drew me and Rod here in the first place. Has it ever delivered! Being so spoiled in the choice of beautiful things to see and do has helped immeasurably whenever I’ve tried to focus on the positive and give less energy to the negative.

We thought we’d miss our dramatic Wellington view but very soon discovered that our Tauranga view is equally mesmerising in a different way. Mauao, the iconic volcanic cone at Mt Maunganui, is a constant presence, drawing our eye and grounding us. We’re intrigued by unfamiliar patterns of clouds above us (we truly are living under a different sky.) We love to watch the ever shifting patterns of light and tide in the estuary that’s close enough to escape to for a very nice bike ride or walk. 

Walking on the beaches at the Mount is also an easily accessible treat. Closer to home, trees and flowers provide endless inspiration to reach for my camera. The photos with which I bombard my friends on Facebook are but a tiny fraction of the ones I have taken, feeding my soul even while my spirits sagged. The variety of species that thrive here means there is garden colour to be enjoyed everywhere we walk or drive, no matter the season. We are beginning to learn the pattern of the seasons and are looking forward to next year’s arrival of feijoas and mandarins, magnolias and cherry blossom.

And the tiny first steps we have taken in growing vegetables fill us with hope that our dreams of a garden to nourish body and soul will come true.

To quote another of my new friends, “being out of your comfort zone is not comfortable!” For what seemed like the longest time, I felt lost and broken. Now that I find myself able to look back and write about those bleak times, I cherish the fact I am feeling more whole and more at peace. 

This new sense of peace feels fragile. Bad days still strike without warning. Knowing that they’re not guaranteed, I am all the more grateful for the good days. For the beauty that cushions us through good days and bad.

In beauty may we continue to walk as Project Tauranga moves into a new year.

Arohanui

[myhelrav]

Day 1: the Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Tales of Transition #2

“The Good, the Bad and The Ugly” comes from a Facebook post back in June. I was trying - with no idea if I was succeeding - to hide how much I was drowning in a whirlpool of emotion after finally arriving in Eleventh Ave. 

Poor Rod. Accompanying box city to Tauranga on his own had been strange, surreal even, and he was incredibly pleased to have me join him. Pleased but also apprehensive. I hadn’t seen the house since the builders began work in early January and he was, oh, so nervous there would be some detail of the reno that I’d hate. It started fantastically. 2 bottles of bubbly and virtually no sleep later, it had all turned to custard. I can’t find words to describe how horrible that was for us both.

But sometimes the gods smile at you in the strangest ways. Rod was booked to fly to Wellington the next day (yes, we know, the irony!) leaving me on my own. On my own with time and space to cry and rage, poke around, gather myself for his return, and luckily - for the purposes of this blog - scribble words in which I tried to capture this most enormous of milestones. 

I’m pleased to say we managed to reset when Rod returned that night - with the help of yummy takeaways from the neighbourhood Indian restaurant that may well be worthy of a blog post all its own one day... 

I’m also pleased to deliver a scrubbed up version of the words that came to me that surreal day on my own:

Arrival

Relief to have made it safely, especially to have aced the very tricky turn into our lane for the first time ever. Phew! Such pleasure in Rod’s warm welcome, especially the roses gracing the dining table. Bubbles and selfies to celebrate the moment.

Curiosity about how the house would look and feel. I knew it well enough in mind but had yet to experience it in body. Instant excitement at the big glamourous items. The cork floor which is gorgeous beyond expectations. The extremely sexy granite benchtops. The chandelier that I had totally managed to forget (duh!)

Whirlpool

Feeling overstimulated by the brightness of our lighting scheme, unable to tell how much that was because I had come straight from the gloom of my old family home. Enjoying not feeling cold at night after the bitter cold of the fridge that was my old family home. Luxuriating in a very long, very good shower, having definitely not luxuriated in the aging water pressure of my old family home.

Dismay at damage to our treasures in the move. Anger at the delivery company’s response to our concerns. Worry that Mum’s annexe wasn’t going to be big enough. Confirmation of my fears about how much work we still have to do here and how we still have TOO MUCH STUFF! 

Sagging under the realisation that my lovely road trip had merely been a break from the decision overload I thought I’d left behind in Wellington. There was a weight of decisions waiting in Tauranga too. 

Talking, talking, talking...

The house and renovation had instantly delivered much of their promise. The spaces flowed. Visually, they were beginning to come together in a way that delighted us both. They were generous, relaxed and completely different from the jaw-droppingly beautiful, high-maintenance city house we had moved on from.

Despair

The house also delivered on its biggest drawback – the roar of traffic from State Highway 2 immediately below our property. The noise kept intruding on my thoughts and my comfort. And it was an insurmountable obstacle to sleep when I finally got myself to bed, too tired, too hot, too wired, too thrown by unexpected little details...

What a terrible start to my first full day here! Being able to relax in your own bed is such a fundamental part of feeling at home somewhere, anywhere. But not here, not on that first night. My sleepless hours were filled with not only anxiety and discomfort, but also irrational anger at the decisions that had taken me down this path. And despair, fearing that we had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Quite the challenge to shrug off the dark thoughts when morning eventually dawned. The day seemed to do all it could to help. It was ushered in with the first of the sunrises I’d been looking forward to, followed by the sort of sunny morning, drawing the garden into the living area that had drawn us to the house the very first time we saw it.

Exploration

The whole body joy of having doors open in June. The sense of lightness that comes with needing just one layer of clothing, a short-sleeved tee at that. The shifting tides constantly drawing my eye. The grounding presence of the Mount in the distance.

And in the foreground, the promise of the edible garden we’d long dreamed of. Up high, avocados and how much they had grown since we saw them in January provided an instant buzz. Maybe we were actually going to be able to eat our own (#living the dream!) Within reach were mandarins which smelled absolutely divine as I picked them. They tasted just as good in this sunny warm context as when Rod had brought a sample to Wellington, tangible symbols of the natural abundance that beckoned us north. At ground level, feijoas waited to be gathered as the windfalls I had grown up with, in contrast to the overpriced supermarket supply my feijoa-loving son had grown up with. 

Hope

Also at ground level was the self-sown broccoli that made me truly smile for the first time that day. The broccoli has long-since gone, but its memory lingers, dear to my heart as a symbol of the dreams we had for our life here.

It’s good to look back at how awful I felt that first night and for much of that first day. To realise that though there have been difficult times since, none have ever been quite as bad.

And to realise that everything that looked good on Day 1 is still very, very good.

[myhelrav]

Gifts of the road

Tales of Transition #1

Greetings from the other side. The other side of winter, the other side of the Kaimai ranges, the other side of months of writer’s block...

Playing with this blog in the early months of this year brought me so much pleasure. Resuming this 3-way conversation, between me, myself and an imaginary audience, once I made it to Tauranga was a treat I was genuinely looking forward to. After all, one of the reasons I embarked on the blog was to share the process of settling into our new life here. Imagine the disappointment as I gradually realised that - along with a set of yoga DVDS, my newest and prettiest summer hat, the Bay of Plenty telephone book, and other random stuff still playing hide and seek - my muse had apparently been packed away deep within the box city that ruled our lives for so many months of transition...

We’ve found a lovely yoga class to attend over at the Mount and I live in hope that the hat will emerge this summer rather than next... But as my Google-free mother was hanging out for the phone directory, Rod decided to live in certainty rather than hope. With the prompt arrival of the replacement copy that he ordered, he and I both expected that the missing one would emerge within days. Because life’s like that, isn’t it? 

Imagine the surprise when, instead of a phone book, what has reappeared, gradually, almost shyly, has been the ability to string more than a few words together when the goal in mind is labelled “BLOG”. 

I had managed to produce vast screeds for Facebook of course. And I was particularly grateful for that outlet in in the early weeks of not sleeping and feeling overwhelmed as we struggled to shoe-horn the contents of box city into a space far smaller than the one that gave birth to it – more tales to be told perhaps... But for this audience? All I had were short strings of words scattered through a variety of notebooks and word documents. Most will be laid to rest. Others, however, have continued to impact my thoughts and actions in the intervening months, especially words that came to me on the solo road trip that I embarked on as Rod followed those boxes up to Tauranga. 

Here then are some of the tales that stay with me still. Blessings that came my way on that trip. Gifts of the road.

Breathing Space 

Breathing out some of the worry and stress, fear and sadness of the months of packing, cleaning, saying goodbye. Feeling my smile growing on board the Cook Strait ferry as the cold Wellington winds started blowing those cobwebs away. Taking in a big breath in preparation for the challenges awaiting me at Rod’s side.

Aroha

The small boy who joyfully showed me his precious collection of pebbles, one of which I was gifted as a keepsake. The generous lunch I was treated to at a boutique winery. The pamper package awaiting me in my Nelson home away from home. The big belly laugh that those clowns, my boys, provoked as the 3 of us walked round a naked 15 Karepa Street for the last time. The perfect choice of Wellington café by the last girlfriend I had to say “E noho ra” to – and the perfect gift that she brought to that morning tea. The reunion lunch that was organised, at very short notice, at a time and place to suit me. The offers of a bed to stay in Hawkes Bay after our old family home there has gone.

So many different ways people found to make me feel loved at this vulnerable time in my life.

Conversation

Reunions with people I hadn’t seen in a while, some of whom I hadn’t seen in decades. In each case there was enough shared history to get conversations started. What we have in common now kept us talking and laughing, effortlessly, sometimes for hours. Realising that whatever brings us together is really just a starting point.

The beauty of the mature women I knew as girls in times past. Love and loss seems to strip away so many of the insecurities and preconceptions that burden most younger folk, leaving in their place such compassion, warmth and appreciation of the moment that time in their company left me feeling like I’d been bathed in light.

Opportunities to compare notes and learn from others who have lived through some of the challenges we are taking on, especially moving town and learning to live with a parent again. The insights I squirrelled away to pull out and mull over when I need them in times to come.

Reminders that there are wonderful people everywhere, many of whom are waiting in the wings for us…

Memory

Never feeling lonely as I drove along roads that I have travelled so often before but, rather, communing happily with ghosts of past Helen. Luxuriating in the freedom to pause and revisit places that became favourite stops over years of holidays with our children. Mourning again the recent loss of another mother’s child. Realising that, along with everything else that boy had given up, was the chance to create stories over many different stages of life such as those keeping me company on this trip. 

Counting my blessings again and again, that I have had over 5 decades on this beautiful earth in which to accumulate such a wealth of memories.

Metaphor

The rainbows that appeared everywhere I went. A symbol of hope, that sunshine might as often brighten my (oh so-frequent) tears. The particular joy of roads I've never before driven, when Google Maps delivered me back to the main route after a long-awaited detour to Lake Taupo’s L’Arté Café and Gallery. The unexpected discoveries that delighted me along those new roads, which I stored up to share with Rod. The (now blindingly obvious) metaphor, which I missed at the time, that discoveries lie in wait to delight us along the paths that he and I will travel in this new journey of ours, …

Feeling both foolish and optimistic as I recall these signposts to what lies ahead for us…

Homecoming

Reaching Marlborough, Nelson, and Hawkes Bay and having the same reaction each time: “Oh, it’s just gorgeous! How nice it is to be back here again!”

Having exactly that same feeling when I called back into Wellington for the pre-settlement inspection and to hand the keys over: “Oh, it’s just gorgeous! How nice it is to be back here again!” Seeing that the flip side of losing Wellington as a home is that we're adding to our homes away from home.

Feeling so much at home in the atrocious weather that welcomed me back to Wellington that I laughed out loud as I staggered in the southerly I was trying to video. Knowing that, however much Wellington felt like home, it is home no more. Knowing that up north, Rod was, just like me, not feeling like Tauranga was home, even though that was now his answer to the question “where are you from?” (The casual question I was asked several times during my progress north, to which an equally casual answer had proved quite difficult.)

Pondering the possibility that maybe home will prove to be wherever Rod is. 

Crossing the Kaimais, and mastering the tricky turn into 195 Eleventh, both of which I’d been quietly dreading. Arriving to bubbly, flowers - and a deluge of good wishes from those standing on the Facebook side lines. 

Beginning the process of celebrating the abundance of beauty with which this house is blessed.

Gratitude

For Rod’s understanding of my crazy scheme to head north by first heading south (a pattern followed by my mother a couple of months later!) For the self-confidence, time and means at my disposal that meant it was even possible. For the people who sheltered, fed and spoiled me along the way. For the weather gods who smiled on me when I was driving and entertained me with drama when I wasn’t. For this country that my immigrant whanau can claim as home. Its beauty takes my breath away, time and time again.

For the shared love of the road that has seen me and Rod take every opportunity we’ve been given since then to get back out there again...

I am deeply, deeply grateful.

[myhelrav]

Letter to my friends

Giving thanks

When I started blogging, I was worrying about adjusting to life in a place where I know very few people. I hoped that social media, which works very well for me, might be a lifeline I was sure I’d need when I can no longer communicate face to face so easily. As I write, I’m never really sure how much I’m talking to my friends and how much I’m talking to myself. I do know that for some time I’ve wanted to write a “letter to my friends” post but not known how to begin. Then of all of a sudden I found a starting point in these words, reproduced here by kind permission of Jill Clarke https://www.facebook.com/jillclarkecherryblossom/

This really spoke to me and opened up the floodgates (I hope you don’t drown in the words to follow!) 

The vast majority of my friends have been and are women and I have revelled in the webs of women I have moved in throughout my life.However, although “the web of women” was my starting point, this letter to my friends is also addressed to the men who have been my friends thoughout this journey of mine. So any blokes who’ve got this far, cheers and I hope you read on. And any women who’ve got this far, cheers and I hope you read on too.. 

You all have a place in my heart. Some of you I’ve never thanked, most of whom I haven’t thanked enough. I want to acknowledge you now:

To my whanau. The ones who are well and truly stuck with me, who are my first friends and my forever friends, who rejoice in my joys and share in my griefs. My in-laws, who have always made me feel welcome in their whanau. The four men so dear to my heart, who wrote the first chapter of the story of the house in Karepa Street alongside me. 

To friends of old. From Kenya days, Hastings, Palmerston North and Auckland days, days before children and marriage. Some who stayed in my life and some who have reappeared. You share memories of different times and places, different schools and universities, different stages of the life cycle. Who would have thought that one day you would be part of my big virtual community? How truly awesome is that!!!

To those I flatted with. What a vital part of life’s journey those day were. Together we cooked, partied, cleaned occasionally, drank far too much, listened and watched, protested and marched, loved, lost and grieved. Together we started to emerge into adults. 

To the men and women I’ve taught with in early childhood.  How lucky I have been to work alongside so many creative, talented, warm-hearted, caring people who share my passion for our tamariki iti. You mentored me, encouraged and supported me, celebrated my strengths and were patient with my failings. You shared everyday happenings in every day life. Whenever I left a position, how much I missed having people to tell the little things to, who didn’t need a long catch up because I saw them every week. I continue to learn from and be inspired by you.

To the parents who left your children, your taonga, in our care. How much I learned from you too, both before and during my own experience of being a parent.

To those who set out on the teetering steps of late pregnancy and new motherhood at the same time as me. This incredible but incredibly daunting thing we had in common. The relief of learning "it’s not just me”. How much we’re still really, really interested in each other’s children, those terrifying, all-absorbing creatures who were our new babies.

To the friends who share this amazing journey of being a parent. Together we cherish the fun bits and lean on each other through the harder bits. You cared for my sons as your own. You entrusted your children to me in turn. You formed the village that nurtured Rod’s three sons. 

To the friends who don’t have children. Your interest in my life and the ways it diverges from yours. Your patient understanding of how parents get swamped and leave it far too long between getting in touch.

To everyone, both present and from afar, who made our wedding such a special day.

To those who taught my sons. How blessed our family was to luck into remarkable individuals again and again, both at the boys’ schools and in their wider interests.

To those who coached and managed their sports teams. How I valued what you brought into their lives, how much I drew from your example when I took on the role of manager myself.  

To the friends who stood on sports sidelines with me. My Saturday Social Club! What an fabulous easy way to get to know people. (Should I adopt a sports team or two in Tauranga?)

To those who supported me through the football seasons I managed. You got how much I enjoyed your gauche, smelly, lippy, totally adorable teens. Or you didn’t really get it but were kind enough to express your appreciation that I did. Did you know I was nowhere as confident as I made out? Did you sense my weekly fear that something would go terribly wrong? How much I enjoyed your company and valued your support. I treasured every kind word you said to me. Thank you again for every single coffee you brought me.

To those teenagers, growing into awesome young men weaving your own lifelong webs of friendship. Thank you for sharing that special time in your life, for the laughs, for the memories. How much I miss those times still.

To my Wellington friends who’ve shared my passion for this city, its cafes, its quirks, its fun and festivals, its diversity, its native birds, its wild coastline, the breath-taking beauty of its harbour and hills, the craziness of its 4 seasons in one day. You’ve expanded the world of books I’ve devoured, lamented the too-many years of a National-led government with me, gone on too-few walks with me, drank seemingly endless coffee and wine with me, talked and talked and talked (and talked some more) with me. You’ve loved our home with us and joined in many celebrations up here in our nest. You answered the call and supported us when Rod shaved my hair off. You helped spin the Wellington web it breaks my heart to leave. And in these last few weeks you made time in your busy lives for me, cushioning me with loving warmth as I struggled not to be overwhelmed by panic about what I’m about to lose. You have replenished my kete and reminded me there are fabulous people I haven’t yet met, just as once I hadn’t yet met you.

To my Facebook community. How much you add to my enjoyment of my travels, my family, my footy boys, my erratic interest in rugby and cricket, my cakemaking and knitting, my photography, my beautiful city, etc, etc… How much support Rod and I are getting from your interest in this whole Tauranga project. The reassurance your virtual presence gives me that I needn’t feel alone as I break away from my Wellington web.

To the women on Facebook who I’ve not met in person.  Your wisdom and encouragement in this time of transition have been an unexpected gift. You turn my eyes forwards.

To those who’ve eaten at my table, and fed me in turn. Who’ve cried, laughed and loved with me. To every single person who ever brought me chocolate.

For these and all the other blessings you have brought into my life, thank you again and again. My wish for you is to be similarly blessed. Always. My fear for myself is losing touch. My trust is that we won’t.

Arohanui

[myhelrav]

Through other eyes

Selling 15 Karepa St

Phase I Private Viewings

Private viewings were positive. Through these eyes, our house looked great. Compliments were freely given and criticisms were muted.

Private viewings were fun. Hearing the exclamation “Books!” on coming into the main living area followed by “More books!” on going into the study. Watching jaws drop at the door to the walk-in wardrobe (much the same “OMG” reaction I had the first time I ever saw it.) Showing off the library ladder – probably my favourite thing in the whole house. And "Oh, that view!” It gets everyone, every time.

Private viewings were useful. They reminded us about the “Oh Wow” first impression the house makes. They left us feel really good about it, and as we were about to learn, we needed to hold on to all the positivity we could muster. They kick-started the marketing process. Their questions about our ball-park figure led to my first ever “Yes” response when a real estate agency cold-called offering a free market appraisal.

Phase II The agent

Looking at the house through the eyes of an agent was far harder. Our agent was positive. She made us feel she got the house, she got us, she got the market, she loved the library ladder. And yet…

She focussed us on things people might not like about the house. She became a voice in our heads as we discarded, cleaned, rearranged, built, painted, rearranged, cleaned and discarded some more.  A phantom standard against which we hoped we wouldn’t be found wanting.

Phase III Bringing in the Cavalry

Rod accepting that he couldn’t do it all. Our agent passing on contacts - the gardener we were so relieved to have on board, the awesome house and window cleaning team. Paying our sons to do various bits of labour. Enticing one of their friends to do water blasting. “Borrowing” a builder from one of our friends. Another friend recommending a painter. Rod finding a carpet stretcher through the Brooklyn Tattler.  

The building surveyor doing his building report inspection during Cyclone Gita. The craziness of the days when 2 or 3 of these parties were all working at the same time. Having a cuppa with my bro in a sunny nook we managed to create in amongst boxes and displaced furniture while the cleaner worked around the painter. Feeling both guilty and thankful that the painter came over Easter to ensure we met our deadlines. That gentle giant of a Southern Man, the window washer, working through a day of hailstorms, coming in for shelter only during the very worst of them.

The moment that Rod put up the big zincalume house numbers I’d sourced on Trade Me and it dawned on me that the combined efforts of the water blaster, gardener and builder (and architect) had truly transformed the entrance way to the house.

Feeling grateful to all these people, not only for saving Rod time and effort, but also that every single one of them said “I like your house”.

Wondering if we’d done enough?

Phase IV Dressing the house

“We’re trying to make it look like no-one lives here” – the new family joke.

Wrestling with the received wisdom that viewers lack imagination versus my dislike of assuming the worst of people. Looking at other houses for sale on Trade Me and realising that staged houses were the norm in the market we were competing in. Getting stuck into it.

Researching house staging tips. Being reminded of planning for our wedding when I’d cherry-picked through the many prescriptions for how to do things a certain way, especially a certain American way. Finding my own way.

Taking staging mantras such as “buyers are often overwhelmed by your staggering collection of books" and turning them into something I could use. Loving Rod’s reactions as I transformed the shelving in the dining room. Being grateful for Rod’s enthusiastic support of every single step I took in every room. Feeling a sense of lightness growing as the piles and piles of boxes I’d been drowning in started to make way for spaces good enough to show.

Bargain hunting. Feeling absurdly delighted with my $5 3-legged double bed Trade Me find, confident that Rod could magic up a 4th leg, deeply satisfied when he did just that. Pouncing on sales at The Warehouse and Briscoes for bedlinen and towels to create a “boutique hotel feel”. Picking up a $2.50 vase from a Salvation Army shop when I realised I’d probably given too many vases away.

Late night giggles as we made up the $5, now 4-legged, bed in the boys’ old bedroom and seeing that boutique hotel look materialise before our eyes. Feeling like we were telling porkies about how a house that’s raised 3 boys could look this clean and white. Being eager to get the other bedrooms done to see how they would look. Throwing dustsheets over each freshly made bed, then pulling them off to show them off to friends and family.

Wondering how it would all look through the eyes of house-hunters?

Phase V The photographer

“Photo Ready”. A phrase that carried increasing weight and pressure. A concept that focussed us on the negative, on the minutiae. Endlessly wondering, what does this actually look like? A deadline that we postponed when the pressure became too much. A new deadline that created its own stress when the endless summer deserted us in the days beforehand.

And then Tama Nui Te Rā came out to play and Tawhirimatea stayed away. It was as if the gods were smiling on us.

The photographer was fun. He was humorous but respectful company, efficient in his work, and effusive in his enthusiasm for the library ladder.

This house is our baby. We conceived of it, laboured over its design and building, and loved it to bits until it was time to send it out into the world. We desperately didn’t want the world to see it unless it was clean behind the ears and wearing its best Sunday bib and tucker.

The photographer delivered. He waved a magic wand over a long-abandoned bedroom, with its mismatched second-hand bits of furniture and bargain bin soft furnishings. Created an image that looked as if it had been styled by an interior designer. His drone shots were mesmerising. His photos made Rod’s design sing. We devoured them over and over.

And then we worried. Would they make expect people expect more than the house could deliver?

Phase VI House viewings

House viewings were easier than expected. We’d thought it might feel invasive having people pick over our baby. It felt like a professional relationship, not a personal one. We’d thought it would be stressful keeping the house so unnaturally clean and tidy. It felt like a job. We fell easily into a pattern and a partnership and just worked through the tasks each day. We’d worried about keeping that gleaming kitchen clean. Friends rallied round and we ate elsewhere every night and many lunchtimes too. The kitchen stayed gleaming.

House viewings were harder than expected. Waging twice-daily wars against fresh cobwebs. Vacuuming at night and washing floors in the morning. Hay fever brought on by too many vases of flowers. The sense of holding my breath. The ache of my body as well as my heart. The silence of a house in which daily living is kept to a minimum. It felt sterile. It felt like the Marie Celeste. It was exhausting.

The best part of this strange unnatural existence? Stripping away everyday family life and clutter from the house highlighted its beautiful bones. I couldn’t stop looking at it, delighting in it. 

Wondering. Will they see what we see?

Phase VII An unexpected gift

The day that tenders closed. Long, slow, tense. Not fun.

The relief that we had a choice of good offers and could make a decision on the spot. No more waiting.

And the unexpected gift: some of the tenders came with a covering letter, telling us why they wanted to buy the house. Passionate, hopeful words that surprised us. Touched us deeply. And left us confident that whoever bought it in the end would be the right next custodians of this house.

The house that Rod built. Our baby. We’d done it proud.

 Photos (some cropped by me) all taken by david.garratt@open2view.com

[myhelrav]

Let Me Count the Ways

A love song to the house that Rod built

Since the Tauranga project came up, I have, if anything, been even more in love with our house in Karepa Street. And now that the time to leave is so rapidly approaching, I find myself consciously enjoying aspects of the house every day. When the words “how do I love thee? Let me count the ways” came to mind, rather than simply quote them, I checked out the sonnet.

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Out of the jumbled mess of thoughts about the house that had me stymied at first, came a wee bit of order as I found myself responding to words and phrases:

depth and breadth and height 

I love the physical dimensions and space of the house. Its nooks and crannies - the attic, the storeroom, the secret passage under the stairs. The way you can swing round the column at the bottom of the lower staircase. The “passing bay”, from which I love to look down on the living areas below.  

When we first moved in, I felt like the house flowed around us. It felt incredible.

Walking down the hallway to the sanctuary of my room with its garden view. Seeing our beloved cats, Bill and Ted, peering out at us through their windows in the laundry door.  Hearing tuis by day and moreporks by night. Skidding along the bamboo floor in our socks. Napping on the window seat in the sun.

Coming home to the drama of the views. Oh those views! How much they make us feel connected to the harbour and the hills, the city and the skies.

height my soul can reach

I love the height of the house and the way it’s perched up here on the hill. The way we look up, look down, look out at nature. The way nature can look up, look down and look in at us.  It feeds our souls.

The way autumn compensates for chasing away summer by bringing us more varied skies to watch. The luxury of enjoying bad weather when we’re snug inside. The drama of seeing a southerly coming in.

The ever changing aspect of water and hills stretching away from us.

The relatively short-lived, and therefore much appreciated, colour of our summer garden.  

The pohutakawa tree above us. The wild fruit tree below us. The sight and sound of the birds who visit the garden in such numbers. 

everyday’s most quiet need

I love the serenity. How the different winds can carry the sounds of sirens in the city or big planes at the airport up to us, but the house always feels tranquil.

How quiet my bedroom is at night. You’d never guess you were within walking distance of the central city.  

How often my body knows to look up at dusk and drink in my favourite “Blue Time of View”. It makes my heart sing. Every single time.

How often my baby and I have found each other in the living room on sleepless nights, just sitting and gazing. The nightime view might just be the most peaceful and mesmerising of all.

feeling out of sight

I love the complete privacy from the outside world that we can retreat to in the bedrooms.

The surprise of what’s hiding below the double garage on the drive. 

The perfect possie in the very open living room where I chill in my easy chair, unseen by neighbours.

Our secluded courtyard.

The tiny pond where tiny fish hide from prying eyes.

the ends of being

I love the way boundaries dissolve here. How understandings and perceptions of physical spaces are stretched. How you’re encouraged to look up and out.

The drama of the double height dining room. The many piñatas we’ve hung from the possie struts. The seemingly endless ways Rod found to use the height in our midwinter party decorations.

First time guests getting lost trying to find their way out again.

Having answers to the questions: how do you wash the windows and change the lights?

by sun 

I love the way the house pulls sunshine in.

The tall west-facing window bringing in dappled autumn light. Light reflected by the white house next door, bouncing in through the bathroom windows and lighting up our tunnel of a hallway .

Sunrises over the harbour, pink sunsets gleaming on snow-peaked Tararuas. 

Coming out of the bedroom on a winter morning and seeing the glow of our dawn-filled living area lighting up the end of the hallway.

The never ending temptation to take yet another photo.

and candlelight

I love the “fairyland” the house becomes after dark.

The lights we can play with. Creating a warm glow bringing our focus in, albeit with the ever-present glamour of the city lights below.

All the space to store extra crockery and glasses, chairs and decorations, that we can pull out to make a party out of just about any occasion. 

How much our whanau and friends have also enjoyed the way the house lends itself to celebration. 

with a passion

I love the way we all found room here in which to nurture our passions. We even managed to play cricket in our tiny courtyard! 

How our boys and “my” boys used (and dinged) every inch of the space over nearly 2 decades. 

Talisman, Bionicles, Risk, LOTR, DS Pokémon, computer games, model Ferraris, bikes, bats and balls, books, books and more books, Rubik’s cubes, teacosies and fingerless gloves, wooden spoons, ping pong and beer pong, foosball, waterbombs, remote control Sumo wrestlers, the expanded universe. 15 Karepa St managed to make space for it all.

The new kitchen, full of new toys, that excited us so much when when we first moved in. Where the Cupcake Queen blossomed. Where feasts were planned and created with love and laughter. And where two dishwashers were worn out.

The kitchen splashback tiles that still give me and Rod joy every time we look at them.

breath, smile, tears

I love knowing the whole history of the the house, the sweat that went into its every fibre.  

How it has nurtured us in return.

The care with which Rod designed the laundry around the cats’ needs.  How I could hear Bill padding along the carpet, following us to our rooms. How Ted found his way home when he was desperately ill and barely able to move.

2 small windows, at the bottom of the laundry door, witness to the smiles Bill and Ted brought us. Our tears when they left us. Deciding to bury their ashes here when we go. 

The special light outside the boys’ bunk room. My baby growing out of a cot to a bunk bed to a double bed. My big boy sleeping his way round all 6 bedrooms in his time here. Having each of the 3 boys on a different floor for a few short years. 

The cosy nest we call Grandma’s room which housed my French son for 2 months.

The flexibility of the house. How many different visitors we’ve been able to accomodate in different permutations. 

The different permutations possible for the dining table. The way the pendant lights can swing round so that they sit perfectly above the table, whether it’s side-on or pointing to the kitchen. How there’s room enough that, by adding Rod’s trestle table, we can expand the table into a very long rectangle or, sometimes, a square.

The joy of filling the house with people.

I shall but love thee better after

Here’s to the house that Rod built.

And here’s to its next family. May their love affair last just as long.

[myhelrav]

Beyond the point of No Return

Challenges and satisfactions, Tauranga January 2018

When did we really pass the point of no return? Was it when Mum said yes, she was definitely in? When she/we started buying furniture and fittings for Tauranga? When Rod signed the contract with the builder? Whenever it actually was, there has been nothing quite like arriving to the house, empty and feeling like it was truly “ours” for the first time, to emphasise that we really are past the point of no return. This is a happening thing!

Challenges

We anticipated this trip with quite some excitement about the reno finally getting underway. Tensions between us early on came as an unwelcome surprise, especially given the easy camaraderie we’ve developed on our child-free holidays. I’m beginning to understand that adapting to retirement is a multi-faceted thing that impinges on our relationship in unpredictable ways. As well as his skills and experience, Rod brings to the project many “autopilot” habits in how he works. I bring expectations and experiences that are different from when we worked on Karepa St together, making me a more active (you might even say more demanding) client/co-pilot from the one I was back then. At odds with each other from time to time in the first few days, we weren’t able to think this through quite so clearly but we got glimmerings… Being brave enough to articulate some of our frustrations and worries, and of course the very fact that we can’t turn back now, helped us resume that easy camaraderie. Phew!

You’re not in Wellington now, Helen. A sense of “OMG, what have we done?” triggered by various moments that - in other contexts might be quaint features of a holiday town -  took some gloss off my summer holiday at first.

Our property manager was not kidding when she said I’d be shocked at the effect of the neighbours’ work on the garden boundary between the cross leases. My beautiful private oasis is no more – for the time being.

As the builders swung into action, the pace of decision making has exploded. It’s obvious the next few months are going to go by extremely fast. 

The noise and access challenges that come with the property hit me anew. Hmmm…

Convolvulus! Say no more…

Satisfactions

Despite the challenges, or maybe enhanced by them, there were satisfactions aplenty, including:

Celebrating the start of this phase with our Christmas Veuve Cliquot

The organisation and speed of the building team. Their enthusiasm for the project felt like a blessing on our new home.

The huge excitement of seeing the kitchen wall knocked through 

Realising anew how much others are interested in, and even excited by, what we’re doing at Eleventh Ave

Checking out Tauranga’s garden centres with a bubble of excitement about the possibilities

Plans for the garden beginning to coalesce. Our need for privacy along the radically altered fence line means we’ll get started much sooner than we might otherwise have.

Good times with the folks up in Auckland

Great scores with our Airbnb picks which all provided a haven from stress, mess and noise

Visiting Portugal Cork Limited in Auckland and finalising a big part of the flooring puzzle

The sense of collaboration and working as a team at the times that decisions and visions came together 

Focussing on the flip side of the OMG moments and realising how much they enhance the possibilities for a more relaxed lifestyle

Adding to my internal map of where to find my creature comforts in Tauranga

Some lovely “Me” time acquiring glamour for my toes on holiday pic

Falling in love with the beauty of the BOP all over again

Are all the qualms about this big adventure of ours settled? Of course not. But it was a settling time nevertheless. Getting the build underway, putting some sweat into the garden, building more of a picture of ourselves actually living there... Trying - and failing - to visualise how Rod’s retirement might be panning out if we didn’t have this project to focus on.  Our mutual deep conviction that this is the right path for us here and now remains.

This is a happening thing!

[myhelrav]

Bittersweet

The last Christmas and New Year in Karepa Street

Some of the bitter and some of the sweet, in no particular order:

Decorating the Christmas tree and being ambushed by a wave of sadness as it hit me that there would be no more opportunities to do this better or differently here in this house

Understanding that knowing this was the “last” was a gift that helped me see, hear, taste, smell and feel the special things more consciously

Seeing in the faces of our famiy and friends that this matters to them too

Going all out with lights indoors and outside and enjoying the “fairyland” effect as they combined with the city lights

Remembering the joy of moving into a house under a pohutakawa tree and looking up one day to realise that I was seeing it at its most perfect 

Feeling the weight of expectation as family members arrived for their own last Christmas season in Karepa Street and my desire to make it special for each one of them

Having my favourite “staff” helping make everything easier and more fun

Coming back into the house after the first airport run after Christmas and being greeted with the scent of pinetree, spicy fruit cake (with lashings of brandy) and sweet peas, all combining to make the place smell fantastic

Meeting the challenge I set myself to make pierogi for the first time ever

Rod making the most of the flexibility of the space and his table extensions in different ways over our 15 days of guests

Loving the rush of guests to the kitchen bar to view the Christmas turducken coming out from under its foil

Having a friend thank me for words I said at the New Years Eve party

The unseasonably warm run-up to Christmas making me far too hot in the kitchen as I prepared food to freeze for the days of visitors 

Appreciating those who took the trouble to call in or phone, as well as those who invited the 9 of us post-Christmas to their homes

Loving having my oldest friends in Wellington as our guests for our last Christmas lunch here 

Feeling myself slow down and become present in the quiet as we began our “Quaker Grace”

Realising how much I know about the rhythms of the pohutakawa season around the city - where the early ones bloom, where some of the really good “doers” are to be found, where some of the varied shades of red and white are, and where “our” tree fits into these patterns

Waking up to the beautiful sound of rain on a tin roof on Boxing Day

Feeling great about my new clothes for both our big “dos” - shallow but true!

Wondering if we’ll ever host such a Christmas as big as this one again

Noticing at 2am after our New Year’s Eve party that the doors were still open and stepping outside to feel the lovely soft and NOT COLD air of the new year

Seeing tears in a friend’s eye as we saw 2018 in together

Appreciating the friend who gave me space in a phone call to talk about both the grief and the gratitude

Enjoying the jokes about writing into the small print (when we sell the house) that our friends turn up here for their New Year’s Eve parties

Going to the David Jones post-Christmas sale again with my mum and feeling a pang that we most likely won’t be doing that again

Sleeping on the sofa during the day between the 2 waves of guests

Stepping back  behind the kitchen bar top to relish the sight and sound of our whanau enjoying the space and each other

Swallowing a tear as we said goodbye to the first of our boys to leave the house for the last time as he heads off overseas

Tinsellating and triflising

Sharing the enjoyment of The Castle, Boxing Day cricket, the Dr Who Christmas Special, The Blues Brothers, the daily quiz, and a tiny tin of Words You Should Know

[myhelrav]

"The Gilded Cage" - Sharon Finn's exhibition documentary

Beautiful bling

[myhelrav]

(via Imagine a classroom without walls - video)

[myhelrav]

Why I do what I do, told so beautifully