Sprouts

2016-09-18-09-18-09It had been years since I grew sprouts. There wasn’t really a reason for my neglect of these easy-to-grow vegetables. I just didn’t do it.

But I was inspired by a poor winter garden and a glossy seed catalogue to try sprouts again. I ordered alfalfa and radishes for sprouting.

The alfalfa is what I remembered—earthy, a bit grassy. Good on a sandwich.

The radishes? They are fabulous! In a salad, on a sandwich, or in a stir-fry they add a crunchy zing. Just like…well…radishes, except they’re ready to eat in a week, and require no cleaning or slicing.

I’m sold. I’m sure, when the spring vegetables start to come in, I’ll forget all about sprouts, but for the moment, I’m making sure we have a regular supply of them.

Saturday Stories: Girl on the Plane/Boy on the Plane

dsc_0010-cropBelinda took her seat on the plane—12A—a window seat. She had just finished her Masters degree in aerospace engineering. Graduating top of her class, she’d had her pick of jobs. In the end, she’d chosen Lockheed Martin, not just because of the job, but also because it was located in Colorado.

A man sat down next to her. She smiled, and they shared a greeting as he buckled himself in.

Belinda grinned as the plane accelerated down the runway. For the first time in her life, she was leaving the Midwest. She was finally pursuing her dreams for real. Her first real job! She was already envisioning the trajectory of her career—as carefully calculated as the trajectory of the space craft she intended to design and launch some day.

Belinda had always been obsessed with space. She had asked for a star chart for her sixth birthday, and created a scale model of the solar system as a science project in first grade. She excelled in math and physics in high school. She had been accepted at MIT, but her parents couldn’t afford the tuition. Instead, she had attended Iowa State University, where she had earned a full scholarship for both her undergraduate and graduate degrees.

As the plane reached cruising altitude, Belinda relaxed into her seat and watched the patchwork of Iowa farmland pass below. She couldn’t wait to see the mountains of Colorado. She would learn to ski, and maybe rock climb, too.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the man next to her. He was older than she—in her eyes, ancient, though he was probably only in his mid-fifties. He was well-dressed and unexceptional-looking.

“You headed to the ski fields?” he asked.

“No. Well, eventually I hope. I’m moving to Colorado.”

“Ah! Is there a special someone waiting for you there?”

“Um…No. I’m starting a new job there.”

“Don’t tell me…Elementary school teacher. I know they’re always short of teachers. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Actually, aeronautical engineer at Lockheed Martin.”

“Oh!” The man frowned. “Well, what made you choose that?”

The way he said that, it sounded like he was asking why she’d bought fried cricket clusters at the Iowa State Fair instead of French fries.

“I’ve always been interested in space. I used to make space ships out of Legos and calculate their trajectories to Mars.”

The man laughed. “And what does your boyfriend think of that?”

“Um…I don’t have one.”

“Oh. Married, then?”

“No.” Was he hitting on her? Surely he was way too old for that. “I’m not particularly interested in having a boyfriend or getting married.”

“Really? Now, that can’t possibly be true—a pretty girl like you? What makes you say you’re not interested in marriage? What about kids? Surely you want kids!”

“No husband, no kids. I’ve got other plans for my life—a career that doesn’t really fit in with a family.”

He laughed and Belinda realised he didn’t believe her. He was probably some crazy religious guy, like the one who had accosted her mother once in the mall, praising her for producing children because “God has called mankind to go forth and multiply.” He probably had a poor, harried wife at home with a dozen kids underfoot.

“And you? Are you married?” she asked to turn the conversation away from herself.

“Aw, me? Nah. Married to my business.”

 

_____________________

 

Jeff took his seat on the plane—12A—a window seat. He had just finished his Masters degree in aerospace engineering. Graduating top of his class, he’d had his pick of jobs. In the end, he’d chosen Lockheed Martin, not just because of the job, but also because it was located in Colorado.

A man sat down next to him. He smiled, and they shared a greeting as he buckled himself in.

Jeff grinned as the plane accelerated down the runway. For the first time in his life, he was leaving the Midwest. He was finally pursuing his dreams for real. His first real job! He was already envisioning the trajectory of his career—as carefully calculated as the trajectory of the space craft he intended to design and launch some day.

Jeff had always been obsessed with space. He had asked for a star chart for his sixth birthday, and created a scale model of the solar system as a science project in first grade. He excelled in math and physics in high school. He had been accepted at MIT, but his parents couldn’t afford the tuition. Instead, he had attended Iowa State University, where he had earned a full scholarship for both his undergraduate and graduate degrees.

As the plane reached cruising altitude, Jeff relaxed into his seat and watched the patchwork of Iowa farmland pass below. He couldn’t wait to see the mountains of Colorado. He would learn to ski, and maybe rock climb, too.

His thoughts were interrupted by the man next to him. He was older than Jeff—in Jeff’s eyes, ancient, though he was probably only in his mid-fifties. He was well-dressed and unexceptional-looking.

“You headed to the ski fields?” the man asked.

“No. Well, eventually I hope. I’m moving to Colorado.”

“Ah! Is there a special someone waiting for you there?”

“Um…No. I’m starting a new job there.”

“Don’t tell me…Elementary school teacher. I know they’re always short of teachers. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Actually, aeronautical engineer at Lockheed Martin.”

“Oh!” The man frowned. “Well, what made you choose that?”

The way he said that, it sounded like he was asking why Jeff had bought fried cricket clusters at the Iowa State Fair instead of French fries.

“I’ve always been interested in space. I used to make space ships out of Legos and calculate their trajectories to Mars.”

The man laughed. “And what does your girlfriend think of that?”

“Um…I don’t have one.”

“Oh. Married, then?”

“No.” Was he hitting on him? Surely he was way too old for that. “I’m not particularly interested in having a girlfriend or getting married.”

“Really? Now, that can’t possibly be true—a handsome guy like you? What makes you say you’re not interested in marriage? What about kids? Surely you want kids!”

“No wife, no kids. I’ve got other plans for my life—a career that doesn’t really fit in with a family.”

He laughed and Jeff realised he didn’t believe him. He was probably some crazy religious guy, like the one who had accosted his mother once in the mall, praising her for producing children because “God has called mankind to go forth and multiply.” He probably had a poor, harried wife at home with a dozen kids underfoot.

“And you? Are you married?” Jeff asked to turn the conversation away from himself.

“Aw, me? Nah. Married to my business.”

 

Walk Away

2016-09-14-07-08-19Working for yourself, you have to develop discipline. You’ve got to be able to knuckle down and do what needs to be done, as though there were a boss standing over your shoulder. You’ve got to clock in at work, and spend the day there.

But sometimes the best way to get something done is to walk away from it.

I spent the first three days of this week on the West Coast, doing some educational programmes for schools. The programmes took up the mornings, but by early afternoon, I was done.

Each afternoon, I thought to myself, “Right. I need to get some writing done now. I need to make use of my time.” And each afternoon, I sat at the computer for a few minutes, then went outside for a long walk.

I hardly wrote a word, and yet…

Those long walks were perhaps a more productive use of my time. I was in places I don’t get to go to very frequently, enjoying an environment wildly different from my office. A different part of my brain was being stimulated on those walks—a part that was more thoughtful, perhaps. More open to emotion and suggestion.

That part of my mind started churning with thoughts and ideas about a novel I wrote last year. I hadn’t thought about the story for months. Though I liked the book, its sequel wasn’t going well, and I had set it aside while I wrote something entirely different. Every time I considered working on it, I felt I was up against a wall. Something wasn’t quite right about my main character. I had missed something, and wasn’t sure what it was.

But as I walked the beach, my character walked with me. She told me about her dreams and aspirations. She told me about her childhood, and about what made her become the person she is. She explained to me why she can’t do what I’ve asked her to do in the second book, and why and how she will rebel against my expectations.

I scribbled pages of notes from our ‘conversation’, and I’m looking forward to getting back to her story and finishing it the way it should be finished.

So my ‘wasted’ time was not wasted after all. Had I sat in my hotel room and forced myself to put words on the page, I would never have found the right words for the page.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is walk away.

There and Back Again

Looking up Otira Valley

Looking up Otira Valley

I slowed into the first curve and began to smile. Within a few short kilometres, the smile had widened to a grin that would remain for nearly two hours.

I will never tire of the drive up and over the Southern Alps. Especially the homeward drive, from Kumara on the West Coast to Springfield on the Canterbury Plains. The first time I made the trip was at night under a full moon that sparkled off the river below and made the snowy peaks shine. How could I not fall in love with it?

I love the first half of the drive, up Otira Valley—the belted galloways grazing in the paddocks on the lower slopes, the rainforest crowding in on the road, the long vistas up-valley to snowy peaks in the distance.

And then, when the road becomes steep and the valley closes in, the craggy peaks loom so close, you have to press your face to the window to see the tops.

And the water! Impossibly long falls coursing down forested slopes, spurting from every little dip and fissure along the roadside, and even soaring out over the road on a concrete sluice.

And then there is the road itself—steep, and as curvy as ribbon candy. There’s the cantilevered half-bridge, and the viaduct that soars out into space over an enormous landslide.

There is the lookout at Death’s Corner, where you can stop and be fleeced by a gang of endangered alpine parrots.

And when you reach the top and plunge down the other side, a whole new set of marvels awaits in the dry, brown, tussock-covered mountains of the eastern ranges.

There are the mountains of scree that look like they’ve been dumped by some enormous gravel truck. There are the limestone outcrops standing like a geologic Stonehenge. There are more snowy peaks, rising out of mounds of alpine tussock. There are lakes hemmed in by massive landslides.

Rear view.

Rear view.

Coming home from the West Coast yesterday afternoon, I was still grinning as I drove through the last of the hills. When I glanced in the rear view mirror, I couldn’t help laughing out loud at the sun glinting off a rank of snow-laden peaks behind me.

Even after nearly twelve years here, I continue to live in wonder at my luck—that I am permitted to call this incredible land home.

Bealey Valley, Arthur’s Pass, New Zealand

2016-09-12-13-06-26-smStop.
Soak up the still silence.

Except that it is neither still
Nor silent.

Wind tumbles
The leaves of the trees.

Overhead in the branches, sounds
The pebble-in-a-still-pool languor
Of the bellbird,
The electric zit-zit
Of the rifleman.

Nearby, a small stream
Hisses over the rocks.
And from farther away
Comes the deep rumble
Of the river
Shaking the stone
As it crashes
Headlong
Down the mountain.

 

 

Ah…Spring…

2016-09-12-08-15-00There’s nothing like springtime…

…to make you realise how filthy the windows are.

Not quite warm enough to have them open, but nice enough that you want to look outside more frequently than you did in winter.

Like most people, I don’t particularly enjoy washing windows. But as cleaning jobs go, it’s one of the most rewarding. Who notices if there’s a little extra cat hair on the rug? But look out the window, and the fingerprints, grime, and mould of winter are painfully obvious.

Unfortunately, springtime is such a busy time for me, I don’t always have time to clean the windows. I have to be strategic about it. My office windows are the first to be cleaned—I spend all day in there, and dirty windows are particularly irritating.

Next are the kitchen windows—I like to look out while washing dishes, but not if there are streaks of bird poo on the windows.

Then come the dining room windows—who wants to look through grime while eating dinner, especially now that it’s light enough to see something outside at dinnertime?

Bedrooms, living room, bathroom…they can all wait—I don’t spend much time in any of those rooms during the day, and I don’t notice dirty windows at night. Maybe someone else will wash them if I don’t.

Experimental Pie

pie-icecreamI bought cream earlier this week, thinking I’d make pumpkin pie this weekend—you can’t possibly eat pumpkin pie without whipped cream, right?

But my husband wondered whether pumpkin pie would be even better with cinnamon ice cream, so he and my daughter used the cream to make cinnamon ice cream.

The ice cream is quite nice, and the pie is delicious.

But for my part, I still think plain old whipped cream is best.

Haircuts!

2016-09-10-14-02-30-sm

Einstein before

Today was our first shearing of the goats. The boys were pretty shaggy, and having trouble seeing around the mops on their heads.

Our lovely shearer was very patient and gentle with them, and made a point of talking to them and calling them by name as he worked. Newton and Darwin submitted quietly, looking like a bag of wool with hooves as they lay on their backs. Einstein was more indignant—he bleated the whole time, as though he was being tortured.

2016-09-10-14-46-41-sm

Einstein after

Of course, once they were shorn, they didn’t recognise each other, so they had to re-establish their dominance hierarchy. Artemis, the remaining dairy goat (still herd queen, of course), was offended—she spent the afternoon nipping them all on the bottom.

I feel a little bad for the boys—it’s going to be a chilly night tonight—but they seemed relieved to be free of the weight of all that fur.

Now I have two big bags of mohair…I suppose it’s time to learn to spin.

The Piano

file-8-09-16-7-34-10-pmA dozen things I should be doing
But I am at the piano instead.

Rodgers and Hammerstein,
Gary Portnoy,
Roger Post,
Scott Joplin,
Johann Straus…

Paths my fingers have travelled before,
New ones they do not know.

I sing along
Or not.

A key sticks.

It doesn’t matter.

In the notes,
In the silences
In rest and beat

Between bass and treble clefs
I find the centre once again.

Dissonance

Resolved

The last note
Carries me on.