Today is Kiwi Halloween..

30 April 1997
Ross
Forever in our hearts.

Loving thoughts America!

Loving thoughts to the people of America suffering from the terrible twisters.
So scary!

Royal Weddings..

I thought I'd share a little treasure.

The little book made by son Steven, then aged four and a half,

after watching the wedding of Charles and Diana in 1981.

The Glass Coach

Princess Diana and The  Dress

and inside St Paul's... The Royal Family sitting waiting and Charles and Diana walking down the aisle.


Diana looked the perfect fairy-tale princess that day, but we all know old fairy-tales can have a very black side.

The day has dawned fine with blue skies here in NZ.
May the day be beautiful for the Royal Wedding in London today too
and may this be a fairy tale wedding that really does comes true in the Happily-Ever-After sort of way.

for William and Catherine.

The Wedding!

I went to the dentist early this morning
and noticed the rather humble building,
where my wonderful dentist Helen
works minor miracles on my somewhat aging teeth,



goes under the rather posh name of
CORONATION CHAMBERS
erected in 1953
the year of the coronation of our Queen Elizabeth.
I was nine and remember the excitement of that event.

Those were the days when little sister and I collected newspaper and magazine
cuttings for our Royal Family scrapbooks.

The Queen's coronation and her tour of New Zealand was very exciting..
 My schoolmates and I stood very close to the royal car
from which she alighted when she visited Pukekohe.

I have been inside Buckingham and Windsor Castles, and the palaces of St James and Kensington.

We were in London when the Queen Mother died, and stood on the Mall and watched the princes as they walked behind her coffin.The darling little crown sat on top ..the same crown we had seen at The Tower of London.
I've been in Hampton Court and Glamis Castle...

Oh, and tomorrow night  I will be tucked up in my dressing gown, slippers and tiara..
 watching...

The Wedding!!

I'm such a Royalist at times like this.

Autumn in the bush..

orange, red, yellow,
are the autumnal colours all around me
of exotic trees from far off lands.

So beautiful they thrill me..

and yet I have the sudden urge for the greenness of the bush.

Go back in time less than two centuries and Aotearoa was a land
of birds and insects and greenness.

Then was a time when autumn came so quietly,

unannounced.

No sudden fall of leaves,
no naked trees.

No gaudy hue.

The stars of  Matariki 

simply,

silently,
slipped away beneath the horizon,

and Papatuanuku pulled her cloak of a thousand greens
about her,
 ready for the coming
of the winter chill.

Autumn at my place..

the late afternoon sun
shines on the oak tree

all day the sou-easter
has been doing it's best to strip the leaves
and the weakest give in and skutter down the street

some leaves have gathered around my besum
as if to tell me..
come on you lazy woman
sweep us up..

autumn is here
and the wind is attacking us today

Walking to the Optician's...

.. take a little detour down a leafy street..

kick through the piles of leaves heaped by the wind..

marvel at the mushrooms and toadstools
that abound beneath the trees..

the little ones and big ones all enchanted red and orange..

and look at these..  shaped upon some fairy lathe,
  as were the acorn cups..

 step lightly around the twigs and branches that the wind has tossed about..

and feel the autumn dance
within your body
and your soul.

An Autumn Storm...

The wind is blowing hard today.
A sou'easter.

The red-orange leaves of the oak tree
are all rustle and dance,
papery and dry.

Leaves take off
skittering down the street.

The rain has gone.
I think.
I yet may make it walking to Frankton
to the optician's.

Jacket and scarf.
Hair all blown and messy.
Exhilaration.
Air in my lungs.
Muscles in my legs taut
as I bounce along on my MBT's.

Car?
No.
I'll walk.

Never to be forgotten...

ANZAC Day.

25th April 1997
my sister and I were travelling through the beautiful countryside of France.

For us kiwis it was especially poignant.
It was ANZAC Day and in the green fields of France red poppies delighted us.
We recited the poem so well known to us..

In Flander's fields the poppies grow
between the crosses
row on row..

We sang
Haere ra.. Now is the hour..

It was a happy time.

Five days later we were in Nice. It was there I had the call from home.
Ross, my 18 year old son had been killed.
While driving home from Wintec a car had crossed the white line and taken his precious life.

A taxi took us to the Nice airport to begin the 36 hour flight home to a distraught father and brother.

In numb shock it seemed the world had turned black
and I focused on the red poppies that grew wild along the roadside to the airport.
I said to myself..
I will never forget these red poppies..
smudgy through tears.

On ANZAC Day red poppies will always hold a deep significance for me.

Lives of the young
needlessly lost

Autumn doodling...

The trees are beginning to shed their leaves,
gold orange red,
exposing the deserted bird's nests.



The light is softer and the mood is mellow.
Foggy mists veil the mornings.

Seeds scatter,
like tiny promises that all is well.

Bring in the pumpkins, the apples;
 gather the feijoas fallen on the ground.
Look for the mushrooms in the damp green grass.

Light the candles
as the dark comes early.


This is the time for remembering,
for gathering up the dying times.

This is the time the earth says
ever so softly,

I understand.
I understand your loss.

Magic at the Arboretum Lake.

When Victoria-Sofia and I reached the beautiful little lake at the Arboretum,
two black swans came swimming over to us, calling softly.


"Hello Beautiful Young Girl" they cried. "Are you a princess?
We are not really swans at all. We are two handsome young princes
but the wicked Queen turned us into swans."

"If you are a princess you can break the magic spell and we will be princes again!"

"I'm sorry swans. I am not a real princess. I cannot help you"
said Victoria-Sofia, shaking her head sadly.

" Oh. She is not a princess," said the sad swans,

and they bowed their heads and swam sadly away.

"Joan, that's a sad story.
I wish I was a real princess so I could rescue them,"  said Victoria-Sofia thoughtfully.

"Actually Joan, I don't think they were telling the truth.
I think they really are swans."

"Swans!  Don't be sad!  You are real swans really.
Just be happy being swans!"  Victoria-Sofia called out as they swam away to the far side
of the beautiful lake.

A Fairy House. By Victoria-Sofia. Aged 6.
 V-S made this after visiting the Arbouretum. Read below.
Her second go at needle felting and her very first attempt at sewing with a needle.

Hunting for Fairies..

Victoria-Sofia and I went hunting for fairies at the Arboretum.
Hunting for the houses of fairies actually,
because everyone knows fairies are very shy when the sun is up.



"Walk carefully Joan. The houses may be under the leaves."

Grown-ups need constant reminders.

We found little fairy villages and the houses of solitary fairies.
Some were very colourful and some were very, very small.

"This would be a fairy place, Joan...

and the fairies would love this stumpy place all covered in moss..

and look... I can see a little window! "

We were very careful not to damage special places.

"I think the fairies would dance in this place when the moon comes out
and the stars shine."
Click to see the prickly 'hedgehogs'.
"They are hedgehogs, Joan. Look.  There are hundreds of hedgehogs. Asleep."

Such a happy way to spend a day with the sweetest little six-year-old
with the best gift of all. Imagination.
 I begin believing things all over again.

"Are fairies really, truly real?"
"They're real if you want them to be real."
"I say they're real."
"Me too."