Imagine a Place

"Doll's Dreamhouse" by Rob Gonsalves

"imagine a place...
...where your mind opens wider
than any walls around you."

It is done now. Amidst half-unpacked boxes and piles of clothes I have a chance to stop and gather my thoughts, if not my scattered belongings. I have moved house and I have done it well. A person can become used to almost anything, endure transformations and frequent changes without becoming hopelessly lost. The transformation from house to home is an art, a skill learned with constant practice.

And I am well practiced - this is the 22nd house I will call home. Each change brings loss and gain. This time, I have exchanged wide vistas for white gates, the balcony for an enclosed courtyard, freedom for security. Or so such things appear in moments of doubt, of uncertainty.

"Stepping Stones" by Rob Gonsalves

"imagine a place...
...where you bend and sway,
leap and land,
right where a story begins"

The change from house to home takes time. It cannot be rushed - this seems true of all the valuable things worth pursuing in life. For a time I wander restlessly between cold walls, listening to foreign echoes, questioning even myself and my place in life. Then, unexpectedly, one day I find myself at home. One quiet night the walls embrace, the resonance sustains and my weary spirit finds rest.

"Making Waves" by Rob Gonsalves

"imagine a place...
...where the sigh of surf
and the whisper of waves
spill from your suitcase
and drift in your dreams."

But there are no cheats or short-cuts, despite my superior skills. I will have to be patient in the transition, try to be present and attentive to this new place, this strange space. So tonight I soaked in a bath and let the salt and bubbles work their magic on my aching muscles. I listened to the sounds of family life going on around me, conversations and dinner preparations in this new place which I thankfully share with those I love.

Here is a sort-of-poem-thing which hopefully captures something of the place I'm in at the moment. I am tired, slightly disoriented and my head feels woolly, but I think I will come good. It just takes a little time.

"Ladies of the Lake" by Rob Gonsalves



submerged beneath bubbles

floating idly

listening through the walls

footsteps across floorboards

a knife on a cutting board

the tenor and the soprano

father and daughter

in a tango of culinary creation

a gastronomic delight

bangers and mash

an ice cold beer

all drawn together

in blissful union

around the table

a moment’s silence

the shared grace

transforms to sacred space

the mundane and profane

moments of life become

hymns of love

single notes entwine into a melody

lone steps weave into a dance

gently held by a touch

of hands passing plates

© Petra Brown, 2009


"The Dancing Wind" by Rob Gonsalves

I composed this post and the poem last night. Today my five year old accompanied me to my "office". We had a coffee in the bistro, borrowed books from the library, surfed the internet, she joined the Deakin Philosophical Society meeting and happily declared "uni is so fun!" I needed the reminder. Five year olds are excellent guides to the Wonders of the World. I highly recommend finding one of your own. We found this little treasure in the university library.

"imagine a place...
...where your ship holds
all you once knew
and the horizon offers
all you ever need"

Some of the illustrations on tonight's post came from this book, also some of the quotes. Other paintings also by the same artist. Fantastic. My ship shall set sail once again.

Living a good life

Feeling a little reflective tonight as I am packing to move house in the next week or so. Moving house is difficult enough if there is just one person, but with a family of five...the task cannot be imagined! This moving is not just a logistical nightmare. It is a testament to the relentless passage of time. A time when years of memories are heartlessly boxed up in order to be stored in a dusty cupboard or displayed in a new abode in a desperate effort to stay connected to the past. There is something about moving house – the curious mingling of hope and optimism for a bright future of possibility and the loss of the home, the very place that nurtured and shaped this family that now embraces a new place with countless new possibilities. This house will be the home of another and remain ours in memory only.

I needed a break from this harrowing ordeal, and watched a “Compass” episode online. The ABC program is running a series asking the question – “What is a good life?” In a recent episode, writer and former restaurateur Gay Bilson answers that question. I watched with delight, as this woman echoes so many of my own sentiments, particularly in my role as wife, mother and Phd candidate.Click below to watch the episode.

http://www.abc.net.au/compass/s2657892.htm

Portrait by Peter Fisher, hangs in the National Portait Gallery, Canberra.

Gay is also the author of a 2004 book, “Plenty: Digressions on Food”.

Gay Bilson ran a successful Sydney restaurant for two decades. She now lives in the McClaren Vale South Australia, where she lives in solitude and where she has found the recipe for a good life.
She is a very interesting person, and the introspective Gay Bilson being interviewed seems a different person altogether from Gay Bilson, chef and restaurateur, smiling and convivial in archive footage.
It is hard to imagine that a person who craves solitude should put herself into public light in that way. Her restaurant was open to the public only three days a week to accommodate her need for privacy. But after nearly two decades, she said even that was too much. She wanted solitude seven days a week.

As I began to think about writing a blog entry tonight, I discovered the word “restaurant” is French. It means food that restores and it comes from the Latin – restaurare – to repair, rebuild, renew. So to eat good food in company of friends is to restore or rebuild oneself in a very deep way. It doesn’t seems so strange now that a thoughtful, introspective person longing for human connections might choose to open a restaurant. And the idea of food as a restorative deeply appeals to me.

But then the image of the “modern” restaurant rears its ugly head. The so-called “Family Restaurants” that serve “fast food” or an “all you can eat” menu. Food is not the restoration of the human being but a utilitarian refuelling.
I am as guilty of refuelling as any other inhabitant of this gruelling existence of ours. But watching Gay knead bread in her kitchen, or gather herbs from her garden, I sense a good life is not characterised by “refuelling”, or by any of the “conveniences” at our fingertips.

‘We make bread so that it shall be possible to have more than bread.’

Gay quotes a 70s author, John Stewart Collis, and shares her disappointment that even the current obsession with food, with celebrity chefs and cooking shows, do not look beyond the food. The food as it is written about and reported on is seen as an end in itself. For Gay there is something beyond food. Good food leads to an appreciation of life in music, in conversation, in all sorts of areas that make life “good”. It would seem “good” food can never be purely a reflection of the food itself, but also what it leads to, what is beyond it.

Restaurants – places that restore – are not simply refuelling stations that address an immediate physical hunger. Our eating places must restore the whole human being. And it seems that any good eating place, especially the home, must be a place that restores. How tragic if our homes should come to resemble “family restaurants” – refuelling stations as we rush through life “outside”. Again, I am as guilty of treating home in this way as anyone else. But I am also happy that “restoration” can come in the most unexpected ways – eating pizza around the kitchen counter sharing the day’s events with those you love, and listening to their adventures, whether great or small. If modern restaurants miss their primary function, it is still to be found in homes scattered across towns and cities.

From her private castle, Gay cooks for and shares with those who live within her community. I love the tension this presents to her, a tension I am so familiar with. She describes herself in “Plenty” as “ever utopian, but disconnected and immobilised by a solitary nature.”
She says in the interview -

“I’ve always much preferred small gatherings than large. So I’ve never liked parties, they scare me. I don’t know how to approach a group or leave a group. I don’t know how to trust whether I’m going to have a good time or not. Whether I might be stuck in a corner with someone boring or meet someone scintillating. But at a table I feel some sort of energy which is easy.”

Gay hosts small gatherings and reminds herself to be hospitable. She serves food and sometimes others cook for her. But she particularly likes the washing up after guests have left, as a way to regain privacy. I smiled as I heard this. I am convinced the best part of any gathering is closing the door behind the last guest and returning to myself in my own space.

So that concludes tonight’s post. The ideas grew in the writing, and it is now after midnight and I need to find my bed for some “restorative” sleep. I am at least feeling a little more optimistic about the upcoming house move.

Celebrating the Winter Solstice

Today we celebrated the shortest day of the year, here in the Southern Hemisphere. So I'm posting a short talk I gave at our community garden gathering tonight. We celebrated the winter Solstice and a good night was had by all. Decorations of ivy, candles, carved pumpkins, pristine white tablecloths and the centre piece - an Australian bush wreath with the lighting of the ceremonial solstice candle. I gave the address, we said the Fire blessing, and the Winter Queen, aka my daughter, read from the chronicles of Narnia. Have posted the talk below. It bears the grand title of "Solstice Sermon". Interspersed throughout are my favourite winter things.

Winter Story from The Brambly Hedge series by Jill Barklem.
Find a little child, any child, curl up on the couch and read it to them.
A winter's treat.

http://www.bramblyhedge.co.uk/

The Solstice Sermon

We are together in the gathering darkness to celebrate the shortest day of the year. It is a time to celebrate the tranquillity of this night and the hibernation of winter. It is a time to become reacquainted with the ones we love, and the ones who love us. It is a time to share colds, the flu, coughs and runny noses. It is also a time to share socks, hot water bottles, a mug of soup or a warm blanket. And tonight, it is the perfect time to create warmth, love and congenial company. So let us gather to feast on soup, bread, mulled wine, chocolate and good conversation. And let us look to the light that will now return to us, day by day.

Hmm....hot chocolate. Love it. Especially at my favourite place to curl up in winter - Moorabool Valley Chocolate By Design. Not only does Lynne make great chocolates, there's a comfy couch, a wood stove, soup and homemade bread everyday in winter.

http://mooraboolvalleychocolate.com.au/

Solstice Science

So, what is winter solstice? Well, first to the science behind the solstice. For the Southern Hemisphere, winter solstice, or the southern solstice, is June 21st. This year, at 3.46 pm, the Sun is at its most Northerly position for the year. That means it is at its greatest distance away from us and, because the earth is tilted on its axis, it is at its lowest point in our sky. Because the sun is at its maximum distance north of us, we enjoy our longest night and shortest day of the year. The sun rises at 7.36 am and sets at 5.08 pm, giving us a day that lasts 9 hours, 32 mins and 29 seconds. Our friends and family in the Northern Hemisphere celebrate their longest day of the year. At home in the North Pole, Santa enjoys 24 hours of daylight, also known as the polar day while the penguins at the South Pole dwell in darkness for the same 24 hours, also known as the polar night. So much for the scientific explanation in which Santa somehow made an appearance.

Rising and setting times for the Sun – Melbourne Victoria

			Length of day		Solar noon
Date	Sunrise	Sunset	This day	Difference	Time	Altitude	Distance
							(106 km)
18 Jun 2009	7:35 AM	5:08 PM	9h 32m 45s	− 11s	12:21 PM	28.8°	151.994
19 Jun 2009	7:35 AM	5:08 PM	9h 32m 37s	− 08s	12:21 PM	28.8°	152.006
20 Jun 2009	7:35 AM	5:08 PM	9h 32m 32s	− 05s	12:22 PM	28.8°	152.018
21 Jun 2009	7:36 AM	5:08 PM	9h 32m 29s	− 02s	12:22 PM	28.8°	152.028
22 Jun 2009	7:36 AM	5:08 PM	9h 32m 31s	+ 01s	12:22 PM	28.8°	152.038
23 Jun 2009	7:36 AM	5:09 PM	9h 32m 35s	+ 04s	12:22 PM	28.8°	152.047
24 Jun 2009	7:36 AM	5:09 PM	9h 32m 42s	+ 07s	12:23 PM	28.8°	152.055

All times are in local time for Melbourne
June Solstice (Winter Solstice) is on Sunday, 21 June 2009 at 3:46 PM in Melbourne. In locations south of Equator, the shortest day of the year is around this date

http://timeanddate.com/

Solstice Stories

The word solstice is Latin. It means “the sun stands still”. Hibernal Solstice means winter solstice. It is also know as mid-winter and is often celebrated by countries in the Northern Hemisphere. It is a time of hibernation, when life lies buried beneath ice and snow. It was once a time of celebration before the setting in of deep winter.
This celebration was all about food. Cattle were slaughtered so they didn’t need to be fed over winter. Fermented beer and wine were ready to drink. And it was the last time to feast, or to stuff your face. Starvation was just around the corner, with January to April known as the famine months. Winter would often bring death for early European cultures.
Solstice was a very important religious festival. We like to imagine the ancient Stonehenge (Stonehenge 2600 bc) with celtic druids, sacred groves and mistletoe. This is a popular subject for New Age solstice rituals.

But many of the legends, stories and rituals are as dark as the winter solstice night itself. In Sweden, tribes celebrated Midvinterblot or mid-winter-sacrifice. Animals and even people were sacrificed to appeal to the local gods to let them go of winter’s grip.

On the darkest day of the year, ancient Germanic tribes would light a large “yule” log to keep away the evil spirits as they waited through the longest night for the sun to rise.

In ancient Greece, the winter solstice was called Lenaea, or the Festival of wild women. A man who represented the harvest god Dionysius was sacrificed and eaten by nine women. Dionysius would be reborn as a baby. Thankfully for Greek men, the human was eventually replaced by a goat in the ritual.

For the ancient Celts, the three days before solstice were the Serpent Days or transformation, when the Sun God journeyed through the underworld to learn to the secrets of death and life. The Sun God returns with the souls to be reincarnated.

Many ancient peoples believed winter came when the sun god became sick and weak. The celebration of the winter solstice marked the time when the sun god would begin to regain his strength. Evergreens, like holly and ivy, symbolised the imminent return of the sun. But away with tales of death and darkness!

The Roman feast of Saturnalia honoured the god Saturn. It was a time of feasting and celebration. Halls of houses were decked with boughs of laurel and evergreen trees. An especially happy time for school children, soldiers and prisoners as schools were closed, the army rested and no criminals were executed. Slaves feasted with their masters. Friends visited and exchanged gifts. Temples were decorated with evergreens to symbolize the continuity of life. Later, December 25th became a single festival called ‘The Birthday of the Unconquered Sun’. Sound familiar? The rebirth of the sun later became the birth of the Son.

I love walking along the waterfront on a windy day. Thank you to "Dave", the random international student who posted his happy snaps from Geelong on the web for friends and family. Hope you enjoyed your own walk here on this windy day.

Solstice Society

Solstice is a celebration of light that spans time, history and culture.
For the ancient Chinese, solstice was celebrated as the time when the yin qualities of darkness and cold would give way to the light and warmth of yang. The celebration of Dong Zhi, the arrival of winter, is still one of the most important festivals on the Chinese calendar. This is known as "Doing the Winter" (Ju Dong) and families gather eating expensive meat dishes.

The festifal of Shabe-Yalda is celebrated in Iran. It originated in Zoroastrianism and celebrates the rebirth of the sun. People gather throughout the night to tell stories and read poetry. They eat watermelons, pomegranates and a special dried fruit/nut mixture. Bonfires are lit outside to help the sun battle darkness.

Jews celebrate Hannukah, the Festival of Lights. It commemorates the historic overthrow of the Greeks by the Maccabees and it the rededication of the temple at Jerusalem.

And what about our unique land here down-under, where the seasons are upside down and we are doing the winter in June? Snow is a novelty, our winter is neither a time of hunger nor starvation. Instead, we know a thing or two about droughts and bushfires. And yet, even in our warmer regions, there are changes of seasons.
For the Bininj/Mungguy of Kakadu, the time from mid-June to mid-August is known as Wurrgeng or ‘cold weather ‘ time. There is low humidity, with a pleasant daytime temperature of 30c, while at night the thermometer dips to 17c. Creeks stop flowing, the floodplains dry out. It is a time to ‘clean the country’ with fire. Birds of prey patrol the fire lines as insects and small animals escape the flames. Magpie geese and waterbirds crowd around shrinking billabongs.

A beautiful vegetable garden in winter's rest somewhere in a magical place called England.
Of course, we Australians tend to the more humble "vegie patch",
which usually lacks the order, structure and symmetry of it's regal counterpart
from the mythical kingdom across the ocean.
But in my humble vegie patch, I can dream...

Our gathering here is a time to celebrate the season of our own winter, here in our garden, and in our own lives. It is a time to rest the soil and to restore the soul. A time to prepare before the growing season of spring, when life will be renewed and restored. And we know that spring is not far away. On this day, the darkness of night may triumph over the light of day. But only for a time. From the dark womb of the night, a light will be born. The darkness will give way to light. Let us tonight farewell the darkness and look to the light.