Goodness. It is over a week since I returned from my
week away on the mountain. Well, maybe
not quite ‘on’ the mountain – but ‘on’ the mountain sounds better than ‘at the
bottom’ of the mountain.
Today I downloaded
some of the photos I took on my solo sojourn to Ohakune and the photos have had
me reflecting once more.
I went away
because I felt I needed to get somewhere where I could be myself by myself; where I could enjoy lolling around in
self-pity; to mourn the great loss I
have had; to be able to express it
without inhibiting factors; to ponder on
what was, what had been, what is, what will be;
to come to grips with the fear factor that life now is for me; but most
of all, to just cry over the fact that I have lost the greatest purpose in my
life – my darling Tony.
Since
returning many have asked whether I had a good break? a good holiday? a good time away? I understand that folk may not understand the
purpose of my getting well away from home and the city and everything I am
involved in but did find it rather bemusing that they thought I had gone on
holiday. Only nine weeks after Tony died
and they think I went “on holiday”. Guess
some folk can’t or don’t have empathy or
comprehension of empathy. That’s
OK. We all have different levels of emotional
quotient; I understand that. So in answer to their questions I would just
say that the week away “served its purpose”.
I think it
did.
I have been
ever so grateful to the person who suggested and offered the venue. It could not have been more perfect. A completely self sufficient ski lodge, with
no one else in it but me; well away from any other person, there were no humans
to be heard or seen from the lodge. It
had a lovely view of the mountain, the weather was conducive too – so much so
that I was able to sun bath on two afternoons whilst stretched out on the grass
reading yet another of the books I took with me. There was no television, or
video recorder, or Wifi which made me feel I was somewhat more remote than I
really was.
The goodest
part, it was only a five minute walk to a local bar – where I could get TV,
Wifi and human contact if I wanted. And a nice beer.
Actually
there was one instrument of modern time in the lodge that I did enjoy,
greatly. The radio. At home I liked to keep the radio on at most
times during the day. Particularly when
Tony was home as I had learnt in my research a few years ago that having music
or talking in the background was good for the brain; that certain music helped
the brain cells keep functioning and even prevent some from folding down and
becoming defunct. Always trying and
thinking of anything and everything that could or would help with Tony and
brain tumour-damaged cells, I maintained that the background radio was good to
have going when at home. But the radio
stations in Ohakune were different from the radio stations at home so I fiddled
with the tuning dial for a couple of days before settling on a station that
rated highly for me. It was the Wanganui
(or I should say, Whanganui) Maori station.
Not only did it have the best music, but helped me with my dead or dying
brain cells by reminding me that once upon a time I spent two years at
university learning Maori language. A
language which in my brain had long since died away. It is true, one can regenerate dying brain
cells. Kia ora …. See!
Going down
to Ohakune at this time of the year was an unexpected bonus as whilst the
temperatures were unseasonably warm, the autumn colours were magnificent – the magnificent
autumnal coloured leaves took me back to 2010 when Tony and I were in dreamland
with our friends Jerry & Lis in their US home state of Vermont. It helped with my nostalgia, with my
mourning. We (Tony and I) have been fortunate in our
life together to have gained so many close and warm friends and Jerry and Lis
rate up there among the best so it was very special for us to be able to enjoy
their homeland, their towns. We were in
Vermont in autumn so the Ohakune autumnal colours took me back to Vermont.
There was
beauty every day for me to see.
Mountains always seem to create amazing skies where cloud formations are
particularly beautiful. One of my
favourite painting exhibitions was held many years ago at Te Papa in Wellington
– it was Constable and his cloud paintings – I flew down to Wellington
especially to see the exhibition. I
spent what seemed like hours looking at his paintings of clouds. In fact, I went back for a second day, just
to have another look at the Constable paintings. And felt privileged to have seen them. Just as privileged as I felt last week when
looking skyward each day and being soothed by the brilliant and unusual cloud
patterns across the skies. Constable
would have been kept busy painting for many years had he been lucky enough to
come to our mountain. How I wish I had
the talent to put on canvas that which we see with the eye. My two sisters were born with such talent; my
father once told me that I was born with other talents… am still looking for
them Dad. Think I would prefer theirs.
Despite my
bad knee giving me much discomfort I still went for runs along the little river
that flows through town. Many of you
will know the track that runs along the river.
My knee gave me cause to stop a number of times on the track and each
time I would turn and look into the little river and be calmed again by the
beauty of the water, the clarity of the water and the mere movement of the
water over the river bed rocks. It had a
mesmerising factor to it. Beauty of its
own.
Paralleled
by the beauty I found on the bush running I did. Tony and I had spent over twenty years
running the bush tracks of the Waitakeres and Hunuas and any other bush tracks
we would find on our travels around the country. It has been four or five years since we last
were able to do that with the usual pleasure and free running joy that we had
shared for all that time. Running these
bush tracks on Ruapehu’s mountainside brought back many, many memories and had
emotions flood through me with every step over the bush floor. I don’t think I have ever realised how
defined the bush smells are before.
Maybe it was the damp mornings or evening air, but each time I went into
the bush I felt there was an aroma of nature that felt refreshing yet
wistful. I guess it was just the smell
of memories past.
Not such a
bad thing. Memories past. They
are a treasure we all own, memories past.
I know though that life moves on and one must look and plan forward and
not dwell on the past. At this
particular point in time that is not so easy for me to do. But I will, and am. It takes time.
There is a
Maori proverb that I cannot recall word for word, but its essence is that one
cannot look to the future without looking to the past. I may seem to be spending a lot of time
looking to the past but perhaps only by doing that will I be able to look
better to the future.
Hei
maumaharatanga ki te tino tane. Ka aroha.
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