Monday, May 23, 2011


It's hard to believe it's been almost a month since the last time I posted anything here. How have you been? Where have the weeks gone? Where did I disappear to? And why the prolonged silence? I both have and don't have answers to these questions. It's been an adventurous few weeks; life's felt lighter and more weighty, higher and more resonant than it has in a while. Before I left home for Phoenix, I took this photograph of the rickety little pier that's at the bottom of 'my' hill. Each time I step from the shore to the pier and walk along to its furthest edge, I marvel that it's still standing! I more-or-less take it for granted that someone with 'harbour authority' has been appointed to keep an eye on it, but every so often wonder whether the day will come when the spindly jetty might give way with a quiet sigh. . . Swimming to shore would hardly be a marathon - cold, but shallow waters. And so far so good!

I really wanted to upload this pic before I left; to have it here as a kind of 'placeholder' just in case my computer and I ended up spending more time apart than together while I was traveling - which is exactly what happened. (I've felt remiss about not saying something to explain my unanticipated absence. . .)

I arrived back in Dunedin yesterday afternoon; haven't unpacked my suitcase yet, let alone cast a glance in the direction of the stories accumulated during this time. A lot of ocean, air and ground has been crossed since 26 April. In Phoenix, I was immersed, enchanted, humbled, emboldened,  challenged, dazzled and grateful for the 'much' and 'more' of that time. And now, I am about to fall asleep - my body and brain have no idea what day it is, less alone what hour; all I know is that when sleep beckons, there's no option but to follow.

I'm sorry for being such an errant and off-the-wires band member lately. I'll be out and about, making the rounds, soon. Meantime, thanks for your ongoing presence and patience. . .


  1. There's something to be said for separating from the computer, don't you think?

    Little pier still in place . . .

  2. Welcome back Claire, can't wait to hear about it.
    Isn't the usual order of affairs sleep, unpack, then go online?;)

  3. Hello, dear Angella - thank you for your welcome 'Welcome Home'. I'm looking forward to catching up on your blog; a lot happens in four weeks - esp. these days, it seems. L, C xo

  4. Dear Mim - there is definitely something to be said for separating from the computer, yes. Setting it down from time to time is both a challenge and a worthwhile lesson. Whilst away, I found myself wanting nothing more than to simply be present wherever and with whomever I found myself - gone was the impulse to record, re-present, craft, re-invent. A foreign experience indeed. And an instructive one.

    We missed you in Boston - wished we could magic you home for the night!. We raised our glasses of deep red and drank a toast to you in Melissa's kitchen.

    We leave and return to find - as you said here - the little pier is still in place.

    Love to you
    Claire xo

  5. Antares Cryptos - hello! How excellent to find you here; am not entirely sure why, but your message moves me - think it's the way you say you 'can't wait to hear about it.' (There's still a small girl in me who thinks she runs the risk of being forgotten if she isn't perfectly constant/doesn't 'turn up as usual'.). Thank you ; ).

    re; my travels; there's much to tell - and very little. . . how do I explain this?! Hmm. You know the way the stars/our universe invite our participation and at the same time leave us breathless and wordless in their presence? It feels a bit like that. I think I might begin by sharing some of my conference presentation - it took an unexpected direction, some of which I'd like to explore further, and in the company of friends out here.

    Looking forward to catching up on your posts, too. . . and Ant. C, thank you for the award you bestowed upon my blog just before I headed away. I'm sorry I've not acknowledged this directly till now. You're the bon. ; ) C

  6. I think we've all been out to sea. Sometimes we learn so much from being still and silent. I'm glad you were able to disconnect and connect all at the same time.
    It's good to have you back!

  7. Naaaaaaah, just because I haven't heard from a friend, doesn't mean I forgot them;)
    Piers remain, whether we walk on them or not.
    I know exactly what you mean, sometimes there's too much to tell and it has to be absorbed and analyzed first.

    My recent posts have been on the humorous side, but our writing project has been growing.

    You're welcome. Not familiar with "bon", but I'm sure it's good;)

  8. Dear Rachel
    I do believe you're right and we have all been out to see. . . I mean, to sea.
    We do learn much from being silent and still. Interestingly, this higgeldy-piggeldy pier, jutting out over the water, is where I go to be still. Somehow the water's sound and activity helps dilute the brain's business. It's a perfectly peaceful place to sit, no matter what the weather decides to do. I love it down there. Long may it stand. . . We all need a pier or friendly place on which to pause, dangling our feet and our thoughts over water.
    It's good to be back, and to find you here.
    Love C xx

  9. Hi Ant. C - thank you. We're a dependable lot, aren't we? As I said to Rach re; the pier, it's a case of 'no matter the weather'. . . a fortifying thought.

    Your recent posts have been thoroughly entertaining, AC, and our communal story is not half bad, either!

    'Bon' def. = good. Fine and very good. ; )

  10. PS. I still haven't finished unpacking my (one) suitcase, Antares Crypyos! I have washed what needed washing, but the rest is still staring me in face with a 'come on, you can do it' look. Hmm. Perhaps today. . . The first thing I want to do when I get home is greet my birds, touch the trees, rake the leaves, put my hands in the soil and clip off dead heads. . . Emptying suitcases seems tedious by comparison!

  11. Ah! Merci:)
    Greeting birds and soil, sounds like a priority.
    What kind of birds?

  12. Hi Ant. C - the birds I've seen so far are chaffinches and wax-eyes, native tui and bellbirds (you can hear their song here - ) and our big, fat kereru - wood pigeons - whose wing-flapping you hear long before the birds appear. They're feasting on the last of the season's berries. . .
    Oh, and Ant., guess what? While I was exploring various settings on this blog, I discovered a SPAM folder for comments. There were two messages in there, one of them the one you mentioned had gone missing some time back. . . it was your response to a post on Einstein's Dreams. I have since 'un-spammed' it so it's on that page now. Yay, and thank you. I will go and reply to you now. ; )

    PS. Suitcase unpacked!