Filling my life with delight

Looking out to sea from behind the South Pole

My long search for an appropriate blanket to use as the background of the Southern Ocean is finally over. An old pale green woven double blanket appeared on Trade Me with a starting price close to what I would expect to pay in an op shop. I was the only bidder, overcoming my resistance to the unhelpful photo, and with postage it still cost less than any of the other suitable blankets on auction. It arrived as promised, stinking of smoke and with a prominent stain. Since my intention is a very hot wash to felt it up a bit, the stink doesn't matter, and the stain will hide perfectly under the Dismal Mountains of West Antarctica.

First glimpse was a relief, as the colour and texture are what I want

In order to spread the blanket out flat I had to move my furniture to create enough floor space. In The Time Traveller's Wife (the wonderful book, not the terrible movie) Clare's need to make big art while working in a small space comes out in the form of tiny maquettes and sketches of birds in cages. "Every day the ideas come more reluctantly, as though they know I will starve them and stunt their growth." Luckily her time travelling husband decides to win Lotto and buy her an enormous studio.

As Antarctica grows bigger and bigger, I gradually expand my thinking about what I can fit in my little place. There is no grand plan, and the solutions only occur to me as they are required. I do worry about how I'm going to store the finished work, but I don't worried that I won't be able to finish it. I went to bed last night with no idea of exactly how I'm going to fit the next stage of hugeness into my life. I woke up this morning with complete clarity about what to do next.

Where the open sea meets the shelf ice

A triumph of new old technology

Tracks in the snow

I won't say I'm not a hoarder by nature, as I suspect that if there had ever been any geographical stability in my life I would love to accumulate things. But I have moved too far, too often, and too recently, for to have much of anything thing stashed away for 'just in case'. I am most definitely a reluctant shopper, generally loathe to acquire anything without an immediate, certain purpose.

Right now though, I am in an acquisitional phase as I set about establishing a studio and living environment which will enable me to achieve all I want to. My latest purchase is proving entirely satisfactory in support of my goals. I have bought a wooden standing tapestry/embroidery frame. This old fashioned and hard-to-find piece of equipment makes me think of Victorian, or even Elizabethan, ladies sitting around doing needlework all day. Just like me, but in less comfortable clothing and with servants.

Standing embroidery frame

My lightweight, adjustable stand, won on a Trade Me auction for a song, allows me to sit up straight and comfortably, using both hands to manipulate the needle and thread instead of hunching over a small hoop braced between my forearm and torso.

The tension can only be adjusted in one direction, by turning the top and bottom dowels

As soon as I brought the stand home, I stopped all dithering about the Antarctic journey. Quickly basting the highest three contours of the ice dome onto the frame, I threaded my needle with the first length of white cotton (already purchased in bulk) and set off. I'm also incorporating a bit of needle felting into the process, to make the contours more curvaceous, but (after endless agonising over various alternatives) the stitching is just the same as Ross Island's.

Looking down from the highest point on the continent, over 4000m of ice.

Found round the neighbourhood

I live in an interesting neighbourhood in Hamilton, just behind the Vege King, which is famous for its abundant and inexpensive fresh produce including this pregnant kiwifruit I enjoyed recently.

Walking along Heaphy Terrace, near St Aiden's Church, some bright stickers exhorting loving kindness have appeared on one of the mysterious green boxes that dot sidewalks.

This is what you see as you approach the box:

Then, as you pass it, this is the view from above:
The St Aiden's op shop came through for me recently with this awesome, authentic French beret. I have never really liked berets before, they always seem to look funny and feel like they will fall off if I move my head too fast. But now I understand the real deal is always going to sit right, because the French, they know their berets. This is heavy woolen felt with a leather band on the inside. It's like wearing a warm, flattering, pancake and makes me feel like a sexy mysterious poetess on my way to meet philosopher friends in a smokey cafe on the Left Bank...

... instead popping to the corner shop, where lately we've been enjoying some of the Phantom Billstickers Poetry Poster largesse. If I hadn't heard this interview with Jim Wilson, the Phantom Poster guy, I would be bemused that all the poets on our shops are from Tennessee. These posters are going up all over NZ and Tennessee, and Johanna wrote about some in Wellington on the Quiet World Project.

Grand Opening of the Bibliophilia Shop

Its not all just walking on the beach and writing poetry in the trees here at Cape Tribulation. Since the rainforest has proved to be an unsuitable environment for making books I have diverted some of my creative energy into establishing (a long overdue) online shop to sell my favourite books I've made in the past four years.

My shop, which is also called Bibliophilia, is proudly located in the Etsy marketplace, a fabulous internet emporium of handcrafted goods from people all over the world. Having Etsy bookmarked on your computer is like have 24 hour access to the biggest, grooviest, art and craft market you can imagine.

I warmly invite you to click through and visit the Bibliophilia shop. More items will be added over time, and if you see anything featured on this blog that you think should be listed in the shop, please let me know by email.

Big Storm

To celebrate the opening of the Bibliphilia shop I have freshened up the look of this blog- since I learned how to create a banner for my shop, I thought I'd make use of it here as well. The colours and images I've used echo some of my most favourite letterpress projects, which featured in the Domestic Pilgrimage exhibition last November, and are now available for the first time with a simple click of the mouse.

Do the Dishes

Viva Moss Vegas!

The beautiful raintrees of Mossman

It is exactly four weeks since I rode the ferry North across the Daintree River and became a rainforest-dwelling wwoofer. Today I took the ferry South, heading for an exciting day of shopping in Moss Vegas, as the nearest actual town with actual shops and actual services is known to locals. I was hitching a ride with Alison, the wwoof host I stayed with a couple of weeks ago, who lives around the corner from my current Hideaway home and makes a weekly trip to Port Douglas via Mossman.

Being driven along Cape Tribulation Road generally strikes me dumb with awe and often moves me to tears with its beauty. Today gratitude for the long-awaited ride kept me making conversation despite the distractions of several types of dense forest crowding and overhanging the road. Every trip across a creek or river involves craning my neck for a glimpse of a crocodile, especially on the short ferry ride, since the Daintree River is the only place I have ever actually seen a croc in the wild. But the conversation was riveting and enlightening, thanks to Alison's comprehensive local knowledge, and I learned a lot about the history and hidden complications of power supply, generation and usage North of the River (more on this another time).

Sugarcane with Daintree National Park on ranges in background

South of the River, the landscape changes dramatically and abruptly to a sugarcane monoculture (where 170 years ago there was only rainforest). And then of course the exquisite coastline appears on the left, today a silvery mirror of placid sparkling Coral Sea, highlighted by densely forested islands and headlands visible in various directions. And then the ute coasted to a gentle halt on the side of the road. Diagnosis: fuel filter problems. Attempted solution: kangaroo hopping a couple of hundred metres at a time in slow motion around a several kilometres of narrow windy coastal road, causing some lip-chewing near misses as impatient fellow travellers passed us at speed on blind corners. Final solution: pulling up at a safe spot on Rocky Point, with great cellphone reception and calling RACQ (equivalent to NZ's AA).

View North from Rocky Point to Snapper Island (so called because it resembles a croc gliding through the water...)
and Cape Kimberly hiding behind the tree

While waiting to be towed Alison and I admired the view, enjoyed the sunshine and then the shade, I scrambled down the rocky slope and dabbled in the warm water's edge for a while, and then we both realised that we could take advantage of the cellphone reception so utterly lacking at Cape Trib. Alison had a hilarious video call with her sister's dog and I texted my daughter and my best mate in NZ.

Flat-bed Tow Truck lifts Hi-Lux

The tow truck driver and Alison shared increasingly outrageous shark and crocodile tales all the way into town and then, at last, I was let loose for some retail therapy on Mossman's main street. As well as my own extensive and diverse list of needs I had various errands to run for two friends. So starved am I of consumerism and sophistication that Mossman's choice of not one but two chemists, two haberdasheries, two clothing shops, two electrical shops (etc) was unbearably thrilling, and shopping was not the chore I often find it to be in more regular circumstances. I found some great books and an orange fleece jacket in the one op shop and managed to get all the other important things on my own list, as well as a television aerial and shower unit(!) for Rob.

Mossman having only one supermarket and one organic cafe, Alison and I bumped into each other twice before our arranged meet-up at the library. Sadly for me, the ute didn't take long to repair and I only had a few minutes to flick through the two excellent books I quickly found on rainforest and indigenous values before I was collected for a beautiful and uneventful ride home.

Daintree River from the ferry, with tourist cruise looking for crocs

I just had time to copy into my notebook this quote from Marius Jacobs, which articulates my own nascent ideas so well:

Knowing a tropical rainforest is like 'knowing' a city. To grasp all that happens is impossible, yet a good deal of understanding and meaningful knowledge can be gathered as a basis for what we do... good or bad.
In the process of getting acquainted, this relationship develops according to the interest, capacity, keenness, curiosity and fantasy of the person and to such a relationship there is no end...
[S]he then realises [s]he receives more than [s]he gives, an affair with terrible difficulties, to be sure, but which, once overcome, results in something sublime.

Gifts from de Nile

It's been a week of denial, or rather the gradual erosion of denial. Most startling was the realisation that a whole week has passed since my last post. Really, it felt like only yesterday...

Most famously I was in total denial about the need to do any shopping for the upcoming orgy of gift giving that I feel obliged to participate in. (I bought the most important gift online a few weeks ago and the ensuing smugness obliterated any perspective regarding the other near and dears).

Surrounded by office-mates covering their desks in wrapping paper and filling the air with the farting sounds of cellotape as it is wrenched from the roll still didn't make much of an impression. Until a colleague asked how my Christmas shopping was going. To which I blithely replied that "I'll just stop at a service station on Christmas Eve and pick up a few things on my way to Hamilton".

Goodness! I might as well have announced that I would be convening a devil worshipping ritual in the middle of the Christmas feast. Such outrage! Such incredulity! Such public shaming! Um, guys, I was sort of only joking. But at lunchtime I slunk out, blitzed two of my favourite shops and managed to purchase pleasing gifts for almost all the important folk in less than half an hour, while sticking (more or less) to my budget and my loosely applied purchasing policy of hand made/ NZ-made/fair trade/organic/good cause. And then I forgot all that self-righteous consumer- activism when I was suckered into a bookshop on the way back to work.

Rest assured, friends and family, no service station/liquor store/supermarket gifts will be inflicted by me! I'm afraid though, that on the whole I will be introducing more pretty yet useless objects into your life and so you will have to find somewhere to put them, and probably spend an extra few seconds a year dusting them or find a discreet opportunity for regifting (perfectly acceptable after you've read the books). Oh, and because I left it so late, anything arriving in the USA by post will be, um, more of a Purim gift in timing. Sorry.

I do wish I had been as organised as some of my workmates who are giving dolphins, goats and chickens away (as certificates of sponsorship for various worthy causes). If only I hadn't been in denial, I too would have had enough time to buy on line, and next Tuesday my family members would be trying to look thrilled with a card announcing that someone in the developing world has got a new goat thanks to my anti-consumerism. And so there's one less goat bringing prosperity to a dirt-floored hut somewhere. Sorry about that too.

Anyway, getting into the spirit at this 11th hour I am pleasantly surprised to find myself feeling more enthusiastic about Christmas than I have for a long time. I hope, dear readers, that you all enjoy the time off, the company, the gift giving and receiving, and the special foods as much as I intend to.

Chag sameach!

Telecom brick to Vodaphone 3G

As I sit here in front of the laptop trying to decide what to write about I am making myself sick with a bag of jellybeans that I received in the mail from Telecom. They sent them as a reward for having stuck out my 24 months on a mobile phone plan and as a bribe to make me upgrade to a fancy new phone and a fancy new plan.

Now, the fact is that at this point in my life I don't actually have an address. All my mail is forwarded to me from Kapiti to 'poste restante' in Whangarei where I collect it a couple times a week. I've gotten used to the hair raising side effects of being address-less such as receiving bills the day they are due, but sadly for Telecom, their marketing was too late to have even a chance at tempting me. I have already been seduced by the Vodaphone ads offering to give me a 3G phone in exchange for my Telecom brick.

When I first saw the ads I didn't know what a 3G phone was and when I found out I didn't really care. Something to do with internet connection but only for townies- there is no 3G coverage at the non-address where I stay right now. What I got excited about was the camera on the phone- not as good as the borrowed ones that have been illustrating Bibliophilia for the past year or so but better than the little credit card phone that long-term readers may remember from Purua.

So I was tempted enough to do some more reasearch about the contract I would have to sign with the the big V... turned out that I would be able to cut at least $12 a month off my cellphone payments and with no penalty for abandoning the big T. Where's the catch I'm thinking... there must be a catch.

So I Googled for reviews of the give-away phone. And sure enough there is a catch... as 3G phones go this one is the bottom end of the market. The most trenchant criticism of its 3Gness seems that it has a ridiculously small memory for a device that can hold, play, send, receive and manipulate photos, videos and music; and no capacity to add extra memory. There was also some criticism of its more fundamental functions such as too quiet ringing and speaking volume and keys lagging or being overly sensitive. These latter problems seem to have been more or less resolved* in the year since the phone came on the market (it's role in the market being as a free (or discounted) gift or an entry level 3G). By the time I'd read a hundred reviews from the UK*** I'd decided they were all completely unreliable anyway, probably written by juniors in marketing companies to promote their own products or undermine the opposition's.

I did a bit more research such as I texting a few fancy-phone-owning-friends friends who all said they preferred the other brand but were uniformly excited that I might be stepping up to the fancy-phone circle of pxters. Finally I went down to the local Vodaphone shop on a Saturday morning and there amongst a crowd of teenagers I asked all the stupid questions I could think of while testing all the functions I could understand (some tiny proportion of the phone's potential).

Satisfied that the volume issues and camera were up to my meager standards, I decided I had nothing much to lose except the continuity of my telephone number**. I handed over my old phone, with some trepidation to part from my reliable 24/7 companion device of more than two years. I asked the bored young woman serving me not to send my old phone to the knackers until I was satisfied my new phone wasn't a disaster. She humoured me, and promised to do her best despite company policy to get rid of the trade-in the same day.

So I suddenly find myself the somewhat pleased owner of a far fancier phone than I thought I would carry this decade. My techno naitivity means that this first week with the phone has been equal parts frustrating and satisfying. Challenges have included

• entering all my contacts by hand as Telecom don't have SIM cards so no way to transfer a hundred or so names and numbers electronically
  
• one of those circular software installation experiences ultimately resolved by ignoring the phone folder on my laptop for several days and then finding it all works perfectly.
  
• tearing my hair out until Kate accidentally figured out how to work the camera
  
• forcing myself to learn to use predictive text (I didn't realise how many Maori words I use in casual texting conversation- they all have to be spelled out)
• realising after quite a few messages exactly what the difference is between MMS and SMS
• struggling with a new way of navigating commands so frequently losing texts instead of sending them
• etc
  

But it's getting easier now and one of these days I will figure out how to post text or photos straight from the phone onto this blog. In the meantime, here's first phone-photo, thanks to Kate. (The flowers at the top are all my own work).

* New phone owners are advised to remove the clear plastic sheet from the speakers to facilitate improved volume.
**Email me if you want my new phone number and if you are not a complete stranger or weirdo stalker aquaintance I will give it to you.
*** Sample review: Me got 1 or 2 tings 2 say bout dis ere fone it be gettin massif respect ratins from me coz it be so sick da fone got one respecetable camra n also 1 respectable vidyo recorder coz da piacture quality is so gangsta, me wud recomend dis fone 2 anyone yo massif respect n pease out