The Coach House

A week or two ago we went to stay at the Coach House in Napier. It was perhaps, the loveliest holiday we've ever had.      

Just like this old dwelling, our lives, have so many layers and stories woven through them. Napier was a profoundly different place back a century ago- the Coach House belonged to the grand home on the hill and housed the horse, the gig and the coach "man".

Eventually, the whole horse and coach (or gig) carry on slipped in to obsolescence, the land was subdivided, the catastrophic earthquake of 1931 changed history for all of Hawke's Bay and the Coach House eventually slipped in to disuse and disrepair.

It has now been skillfully renovated and made in to a charming little cottage, sitting within the grounds of Jan's home and cleverly dovetailed in to her Mediterranean garden.

The colours and details are gentle and kind and evoke memories for me of my grandmother Edna- her pastel palette and warm hospitality.

Good old human nature- don't you just want to pull that ladder down because it says "Please do not lower ladder. Private storage only" and climb right up there to see!

A mixture of vintage and contemporary elements 

are found through-out the cottage.

Our own vintage baskets, blankets and tablecloths enhanced our comfort and the charm.

 None of us knows quite how our own story will unfold, in fact, it's probably just as well that we have no idea how it's all going too end up!

We start out thinking that our lives and stories belong to us and that we are free to chose. I was so often told by my parents that "the world was my oyster", perhaps that is true for some, but for many of us, no matter how hard we try to build and weave and learn and grow, it just doesn't work out that way. Not because we've failed, but because we are not always truly free- when the previous generations are not able to reconcile their own journey, traumas and experiences well, the burden and the consequences get passed on and on. But here we are coming up to our 40th wedding anniversary and looking back over those four decades wondering how we ever survived- we both brought so much grief, confusion, abandonment and other people's baggage to our union- it's amazing there was any room for our love. No one talked about dysfunctional families back in those days- there were no tools and no useful outside help. In church they told us emphatically we must honour our parents no matter what. How grateful we are to be living in an age of knowledge- eventually we did find the tools to navigate ourselves to safety; to learn about boundaries, to tell the truth and tell our truth and be open to heal and reset a million things, but it's taken 40 years! People often tell me that I should write a book- I think those people may be waiting a very long time. I am never going to write a book- ever. And I am especially not going to go to all that trouble just to tell the stories of people who nearly destroyed us and whom I hold accountable for some pretty appalling and unacceptable behaviour. When you are almost 65 you really should not be hamstrung by your own mother. That is plain wrong. 

With a bit of luck we're nearly out the other side of it all.

I learnt this simple practise (from a river) a while back- it's called washing and weaving and it's given us fresh perspective and huge armfuls of hope. I've always known how to weave a good life- the first thing I did when I left home was to go to a whole foods shop and a Chinese warehouse, I went to markets and libraries, I walked for miles, I climbed hills to see the view, I bought an old treadle sewing machine and started to sew my own clothes. Over the years we have learnt all kinds of new skills, we're still mending an old imperfect house and we've planted a garden- over and over again. Gardens are never done- they're a living thing! We've just re-roofed our house. Rob did all the supervising and skilfully managed all the building repairs. We are learning about herbs together every day and we go out to the land to wildcraft and visit whenever we possibly can. Warp and weft, on and on we weave...together. But then there's the washing- that removes the sediment and the crap. It's an essential art. Sometimes, with my hands in the murky water, I wonder what has become of our weaving, but when the water washes clear again I see that it still holds. Sometimes, you just have to flush!

It really helps to take a a day or two away from your own life periodically. There's a momentary release from the daily patterns and habits; a necessary refreshing of perspective, a healthy resetting.

It's such a treat to spend time in someone else's pretty garden- this rondoletia amoena thriving on Napier Hill.   

The old tennis pavilion of days gone by revived.

This old-fashioned rugosa rose Roserie de L'Hay has the most glorious Turkish delight fragrance.  

A vista to the past.

Sitting in peace, wrapped in beauty is a weaving of goodness but also a washing of the detritus of the past.

This year has seen us continuing to explore all the spaces of our lives and clearing out that which no longer has any useful service, offends unhelpfully, or plain weighs us down.

There is rest in clearing out the rubbish- spaces are harmonised or soothed and so are we.

Attics are fascinating places- holding momentoes, ephemera, awkward stuff we're not sure what to do with, junk, and sometimes remnants of the toxic kind. The hidden family secrets often cause the greatest disruption- usually for those left behind.

If we want to uphold life solidly and well- best we clear out the spiders and the skeletons from the familial cupboards. Taking sins and secrets to the grave may save the squirming one discomfort but frequently off loads the crippling, pain and consequences to their offspring.

We have been diligent in our opening of the cupboards and our determination to use a truth wash on the family linen and it's made all the difference in the world. Finally the spinning has (almost) stopped and the consequences of other people's choices no longer rule our lives. It turns out that we're pretty good at making fabulous choices about our own best interests and how we look out for each other.

The thing that has really sideswiped us though is that the weird stuff has kept coming- in full colour! Just when we've thought- surely there can't be any more!

We are constantly learning new ways of being, of eating, growing and knowing. This sushi salad is our most brilliant discovery of late.

It's such a satisfying way to live- slowly and simply. 

It also means we're not easily fooled.

So when we were sent a message by a friend back in June to say that Rob's old family home 20 Sunray Avenue was for sale, we were completely flabbergasted.

At 91 and a half that is quite an undertaking- to clean up, sell up and move.

To chose not to tell your eldest son (and have no intention of doing so) is just plain weird.

Rob's elder brother died abruptly 3 1/2 years ago, his much younger brother recently remarried and together (along with Mum & step-son) they all planned to sell the house that had been the family hub/home for 54 years. Wild dreams of escaping to the "country" outside of Auckland, with the now pregnant new wife and elderly mother in tow, were clearly vivid and all consuming. No one thought that it might be nice to send Rob a quick message and let him know what they were all up to. When he finally phoned his mother to ask her what was going on, there were elaborate and fanciful stories told as subterfuge...until he asked about the house being on the market- silence, dead silence "Oh....you know".

I just love the resilience of this centranthus ruber growing in the wall. Sometimes we adapt and even thrive where others never would, sometimes we don't.

The story continued- "We don't know what we're doing, or where we're going, it's all in God's hands, we're just moving to the country" became the family mantra.

That's interesting because we saw the house near Cambridge on line- yip they bought it for around 1.3 million. Times running out to tell the truth- ah, well that may be a little tricky because no one will reply to Rob's questions and he is not allowed to have his mother's phone number- that is reserved for friends only.

We comforted ourselves with such thoughts as "Well at least Rob doesn't have to help clean up the property and the 5 or 6 dead cars and truck loads of crap"- a nightmare waiting to arrive in his lap for decades.

Ah, digitalis- foxgloves. Yes, Felicia had a quadruple heart by-pass some 20 years ago- almost total occlusion. Now she lives on warfarin and some kind of biltong-like spite.

Every move she makes is directed by God. She won't ever explain the directions given because "you wouldn't understand"- such missives are only for special people like herself. Never mind the lies and the slander that leak out through the half baked tales the rest of the time; the gossip that has divided and broken the family. But, of course, it's all my fault. She's been talking to the Lord about me apparently to see what he'll do with me since I have said dreadful things and she's quite sure I should be punished!

I'm not quite certain when she climbed in to that high tower of specialness, but she's never coming down. All the money lives there with her- that's how you get what you want of course- just withhold or dispense as you wish and that way you're always in charge, especially with God one your side. "Money's your medicine, but you're sick all the time". I'm also not certain when Rob got stepped down from the family- We are The Family...and you, are not. One day just like a lavatory door, the sign suddenly said "Uninvited", and that was that. This stuff messes with your head. So it is not the slightest bit surprising that when asked when they were going to tell Rob about selling the house, they said of one accord- "We weren't!". Fair enough if that's the way things have drifted over time, except... when you then decide to go to Stuff an on-line national news service to broadcast your story. The article is still here: Auckland's 'hottest do-up is a Mid-century time capsule with same owner since new. And then, for the icing on the proverbial, they went to Seven Sharp and were both interviewed for a slot on Prime Time national television. Rob made it to a vague wafty photo on the wall holding his baby brother, otherwise he never existed.

One morning as we were walking back up the hill and I was just admiring a delightful garden, I spied the gardener at work. I wandered up the drive way to speak to her and to tell her what a pleasure her garden was to passer's-by. Right about then, I looked down at my feet- what could not be seen from the road was this vast and glorious bed of my most beloved lily of the valley. 

The flowers Helen gave me lasted a week- that's surprising really as I thought they may have been sniffed away long before then.

Presently, we are pondering the strange but helpful message we received through the title of a book I saw in the library: "Holy Disunity". There will be no resolution to these peculiar events- only through death, I feel. So we will learn hand and hand, to dance along our own sacred path and not look back.

We have the loveliest plans for our 40th wedding anniversary coming up in a month's time. We are off to Tiger House!