…because that is one of two places I can currently get reception on my phone and catch up on my fellow writers’ blog posts and allow inspiration (among other things) to flow. And this is not just a place of physical release, but also one of pontification. Or, ‘poointification’ if you will succumb to the enchantment of my ‘punful’ thoughts.
Sorry, bad start, flush that idea.
(Calm down, Brittany.)
In a not-so recent blog post, called Tsundoku Confessions I rambled about how for the past decade or so I have had many relationships with books cut short due to my nomadic life. I said, NZ is it, I’m done, I am in for the long haul…literally a haul that will last a long time…when it comes to my personal library.
Well here I am. I bought a house. And by I, I mean we. And by We, I mean my guitar-wielding, ginger-faced, creepy-waving love, Harry, and I. We are set in the bush with native mature NZ trees enveloping us. Kiwi’s caw and wood pigeons cry. Sunlight flows and the ocean snores. It is bliss, to finally have a place of sacred peace and quiet to slink in to.
Unfortunately, now I have a mortgage so I really should think twice about buying any more books…is a thought I stomped on with steel cap boots! The real question is, where shall we place the library?
Oh what freedom it is to be able to sit at home indulging in the pendulum of emotions Frankenstein swings through, or the carefully plotted religious ideals Picoult serves us on a silver platter, or the rich language that still makes me wonder what’s the go with the Mohicans?
To be fully immersed in other worlds from this safe space is a new feeling for me and I love the thought – though it is like sediment in a recently poured beer – I’m still letting it settle. To be at ease, to be mindful, to be aware yet in peace, takes patience.
Refining the serenity of a home in the bush takes a bit of work. The pump breaks. The deck needs oiling. The wasp nests need removing. But like writing, and reading, I’m always at it. Word by word, step by step. Everything is on a continuum.
And so, like this house and the projects that come with it, I am learning to feel comfortable with everything being in motion. I am learning to contend with everything being a constant.
I say this because it reminds me of why I first started writing this blog. I had hardly anything except a pen and paper and I wrote one story a day, though be it a 100 word story, I wrote one every day and just kept going from there.
And now I’m here! On the loo, fuelling thoughts to tell you all about it because I am so happy that I finally bought an Indonesian bookshelf from an antique trade store! Whoops, better go turn the pump on!
Endnote: the painting in the background is my lifelong love Jawa who passed away this year. It is painted with coffee by a local Whangarei artist David Dalton.