Mothers Day

Today was mothers day and I felt along way away from my mum, so I bought some her smells to my home and baked one of her favourite deserts - pumpkin pie. I was then inspired by Dolce Belleza to blog about this because she also cooked one her mothers recipes. While I was cooking I was blogging, and listening to french radio streaming from my internet. I came across some french blog sites I will keep in touch with, including Sophie at Les Lectures de Sophie.
Later in the day I had the chance to Skype with my mum, and show her the pumpkin pie I made and take her for a walk around my garden - with my new wireless internet and laptop. It was special to be able to do that today.
On the garden front - all is good - pumpkins are ready to pick, banana's are ripening, spinach is eadible and plentiful, carrots, celery, lemons, manderines, grapefruit and guava all coming in by the baskets!

Friday Fill-ins

I've been wanting to do Friday Fill-ins for a while but couldn't seem to get it done on Friday... so I've decided to do it on Saturdays. you can see more info at Friday Fill-ins

1. Salsa and Red Wine.
2. Take the seeds of sinapis alpa or Brassica luncea or Brassica Nigra and grind to a powder and you've got mustard.
3. By the time I get home from work my dogs are hungry and happy to see me.
   
4. Going home is what I look forward to most when grocery shopping.
5. and I was dreaming when I thought he'd change.
6. Exploring the world and difficult cultures - is there anything else better?
7. And as for the weekend, tonight I am looking forward to my glass of red wine, tomorrow my plans include gardening and setting up my wireless internet so I can blog from the garden, and Sunday I plan to read.
   

Sepulchre

For anyone who knows my reading history, or anyone who visits this blog, you'll know I'm a dreadfully slow reader - therefore I avoid big books. I also do most of my reading on the train to work, so big books are a real pain. Regardless, I did embark on this, what I call, big book. I get a great deal of satisfaction reading the trilogy, or the set, if there is one. So after reading Kate Mosse's Labyrinth, and Winter Ghosts, I was set to read this one some time.

I really enjoyed the Labyrinth, but didn't really find Winter Ghosts a complex read. I found Labyrinth a new experience in reading, with the author taking me on a mystery tour of sorts. I really enjoyed the sense of 3rd dimension in it, with different era's blending. For this reason I thought I would have enjoyed this one.

Sepulchre, takes the reader on guided tour through the experiences of two women, Leonie in the 1890's and Meredith in the present. Their lives are connected, but it's Meredith's search for her family history that makes that connection. Again, Mosse has a third dimension in this story. One that I was happy to entertain, however I don't think she took it as far as she could've. I read one review that suggested Sepulchre was not quite occult literature. I think that's what I felt, although I've never read any occult stuff?

Despite it not quite making it for me - I did read it (yeah) and it was a light and enjoyable read.

Where to from here?? I think I'm going to try Paulo Coelho's 'The Pilgrimage', and we're going to read Albert Camus "l'entrager" in french class.

Coming Soon

Last week I had the pure joy of spending a few nights in the Blue Mountains, in a little cottage with wood fire and comfy sofa. You would think then, that I might have finished a good book. Well Im close to finishing Kate Mosses 'Sepulchre', so the review will be here soon..

While we were in the mountains we challenged ourselves to a couple of mountain bike trails and some beautiful bushwalks. I was surprised by my own capacity and had a ball.

Eat Sleep Sit

Many thanks to Dolce Bellezza, who sent me this at the completion of the Japanese Literature Challenge 3. I was going to wait to read this for JLC4, but I couldn't.

My year at Japan's most rigorous Zen Temple, by Kaoru Nonomura, was reported in Japan Times as 'an unusually fine translation of an unusual best seller'. For me, reading connects me with my own experiences -past, present and future - and opens up new possibilities, definitions and meanings. This little book encouraged me to reflect on my life, while also opening up new understandings of the world of Zen Buddhism.

I have spent some time in spiritual retreats, in reflective spaces, and at Bible College. One of the most sacred times for me is dawn, in silence, just sitting (or walking) - no talking, no planning, no doing things. Its in the silence of dawn that I am reminded how small I am in the universe, and yet how powerful I am with intent. While reading this book I was reminded again, about the power of 'just sitting'.

"Sitting with my legs folded and my back straight when my every muscle still retained the lassitude of sleep was, I found, exhilarating. it felt as if every cell in my body were slowly recovering sensation and motion in synch with the steady reawakening of nature all around".

Yet the story was not just about these wonderful moments of peace and silence in Japans beautiful mountains. It was a story also of the rigorous training and routine that these novices went through in their time at Eijeiji Temple. The next sentence from the quote above screams......

"Then little by little, we were enveloped in an intense silence only broken by the occasional sharp whack of the monks stick on someones shoulder, my own body stiffening each time I sensed it was about to fall."

This was a powerful read, more poignant for those of us who feel called to silence for spiritual connections. What can we endure for our search for meaning? What becomes of our journeys? They level of violence and abuse is somewhat shocking for the reader, as we cant imagine this of the temple life. However it is part of the teaching regime, and not necessarily questioned by the author.

The authors journey into Japan's most respected and yet rigorous temple, was a beginning for him and many other monks who also under took such training. Where to for him? the story doesn't tell us much - it's left up to the reader the imagine what might become of this young man. As it is left to the reader to question, what has become of my journeys into spiritual spaces?

Fog Garden

Somewhere in the kaleidoscope between life and art sits Clare, whose story is Marion Halligan's The Fog Garden. Clare, like Marion, is a woman of a certain age whose much-loved husband of thirty-odd years has just died. And Clare, like Marion, is a novelist. With the loss of such a marriage of true minds and kindred spirits Clare finds herself building a 'cathedral of grief' - and reeling into the arms of an old friend. Life and writing loop and spiral around Clare and the central enormous fact of her husband's death.

Shortlisted in the Queensland Premier's Literary Award, The Fog Garden is a rollercoaster of a story about the nature of fiction and how life creates art, how adultery can be liberating and how grief is as much a gift as love. Halligan has crafted a poignant and powerful novel, playing all the time on that dangerous ground between her own life and that of her heroine

Marion Halligan is an Australian author who has many awards here in Australia and internationally. I have enjoyed her writing because it reflects the Australia I know. In Fog Garden, she tells the story of Clare, whom she says ‘ isn’t me. She’s like me. Some of her experiences, adventures, terrors, have been mine. Some haven’t.’ Clare is an author in her 50’s who has lost her husband of 35 years after a difficult year of illness. The story is about Clare’s grief, fears and learning to live again. Around each corner f Clare’s experience I found another aspect of hr life that made me proud to be a woman and excited to be living a life with options.

Marion explores the early days or weeks of grief as Clare has an affair with her friends husband, following the death of her husband, while simultaneously Clare was writing about an older women who was also have sex, a lot, with a neighbour. Not a common theme in the books I have read, I quite enjoyed the authors questioning and then accepting of this form of coping for older women. I’m not sure if this is particularly Australian way of coping, or a global experience of women, but I liked Marions guts to put it out there.

“So Perry came and pleasured Ronnie on her satin quilt, soon to be protected from Rennies unreliable bladder by a rose chenille throw… ‘I mean that velvety kind of chenille’ said Rennie. Not that terrible half bald candlewick stuff. Tidiness, she said, I couldn’t stand having to make the bed four times a day’.

So after we get over the guilt of the affair, and then the end of the affair, Clare (who’s not Marion, but like her) picks up a long lost friendship with her pre-marriage lover who is now living in the UK. S or widow, who’s beginning to make sense of her own life now, engages in adult conversation through daily emails with her friend. This part of the story rang so true for m - how do we get through the tuff stuff in life if we don’t have friends (how ever far or close they are)? The fact that Clare found comfort and encouragement with an older lover was just beautiful for me - to think that relationships can survive that test of time.

‘you’ll soon find another lover, said the man who had been that…..ah she said, not to him: another lover….the good person would have said ,no, not proper, not good idea, not right. This one says, I wonder what that would be like? And goes ahead and finds out.’

I love this description of a women searching for her self…

At an antique market in St James churchyard with clusters of small stalls and some knowing customers - one is looing for a Stilton spoon - she wanders round solitary looking at the wares, for a moment becoming the person owning this thing taking it away, making it belong to her, changing her life imperceptibly with its butterfly wing, until she passes on, saying to herself, of course you had no intention, but for a second she did, for another second she passed from intention to ownership. (p264).

Thyme for Tea?

Not that long ago my sister from Queensland came to visit for a weekend. She left me this lovely tea towel gift for my Tea collection. Isn't it true though - some days are just made for drinking tea.