Friends

• Sunday, 3 August 2008

  • Mitty, 2002

    

    Taken Sunday, 3 August 2008

    
    
    Posted by Matthew at 12:29:50 AM | Permanent link | Comments (0) | Email Matthew | Friends | Back to top

  • Mitty

    We put my friend in the ground today.

    The hillside was running with water, sloshing over my shoes. I scraped away the leaf litter and dug down with a spade into the wet dirt. I cut through roots and a fat, unfortunate worm. We laid Mitty in the hole and crushed soil between fingers to make it as fine as possible, sprinkling it onto his fur, and avoiding his face. 

    I watched the shape of his body, perfectly still. We see what we want to see. I saw movement, all of it moving, yet nothing was moving at all. He lay there, on his side, in a way cats never do.

    Grains of dirt slipped in past the guard hairs, making him dirtier than ever before. Gradually, he disappeared. We pushed more and yet more dirt in on top of him, and then I pressed it all down with my shoe, and we placed a little totara seedling on top.

    He is there now, in the cold, wet dirt, like an unloved, discarded thing.

    Some years ago, he was a bony, persistent stray, ears and tail bald, head through the cat door, demanding attention. Night after night, he would devour a can of food then disappear. Soon after, we moved house, and abducted him. He continued to disappear every day, and return at night for a meal. Ever so gradually he learned that he had a home. Eventually, his home split in two, and I left him behind, knowing that he was happy and that was all that mattered, and that his habit of sleeping on my chest was killing me.

    But I missed him for years. Not the way I do now though. I can no longer say, at least he is happy.

    He is wet. He is cold. He is dirty.

    Posted by Matthew at 12:18:13 AM | Permanent link | Comments (1) | Email Matthew | Friends | Back to top

• Wednesday, 18 July 2007

  • Threshold

    I am waiting around tonight on the threshold of tomorrow. I am flying up to Auckland for a Regina Spektor concert, but it's not quite that simple. I have packed and tidied, and now I am left with my thoughts, Damon Albarn and half a glass of sauvignon blanc.

    Here I am at the close of a chapter, and I have a moment to take stock. I am feeling emotional.

    I am thankful for new friends, for connections, for brief encounters, for kindness, for support, for family, for gifts, for conversations with strangers on aeroplanes, for unknown possibilities, for coincidences, for love, for the sound of the ocean, for music, for acceptance, for doors flung open, light streaming through. I wonder what happens next. I breathe in, but I don't breathe out.  

    Posted by Matthew at 12:00:00 AM | Permanent link | Comments (1) | Email Matthew | Friends | Back to top

• Tuesday, 17 July 2007

  • Birthday

    

    Taken Sunday, 15 July 2007

    
    
    The cast of my murder mystery birthday. Nice people, and plus a great deal of feathers. Naturally, I'm holding the camera. Thanks to the Wiecks for use of the house. Note digital watch far right.
    Posted by Matthew at 11:23:57 PM | Permanent link | Comments (2) | Email Matthew | Friends | Back to top

• Wednesday, 25 April 2007

  • Hangi + Sophie's van + friends

    

    Taken Monday, 9 April 2007

    
    
    I didn't even take this photograph, just discovered it there on my camera, but it's too good not to post. I meddled a little to bring out the best in Clare's scarf.
    Posted by Matthew at 11:45:39 AM | Permanent link | Comments (0) | Email Matthew | Friends | Back to top

  • Moonrise

    

    Taken Friday, 6 April 2007

    
    

    The Anchorage, Abel Tasman National Park.

    30 second exposure at 1600 ISO.

    Posted by Matthew at 10:56:19 AM | Permanent link | Comments (0) | Email Matthew | Friends | Places | Back to top

  • Double half Johnnies

    

    Taken Friday, 6 April 2007

    
    

    The Anchorage, Abel Tasman National Park.

    This was a 30 second night exposure at 1600 ISO. I filled in the foreground with a regular incandescent flashlight, to warm the scene up.   

    Posted by Matthew at 10:53:38 AM | Permanent link | Comments (2) | Email Matthew | Friends | Places | Back to top

• Sunday, 15 April 2007

  • Walking backwards through the week

    I returned from a 70 minute run this evening. I always overcomplicate things, and I tried to decide what my running symbolised (away from x or towards y?) Sometimes I think running is just a way to stop the infernal chattering in my head.

    Earlier, I picked up a hitchhiker on the way back from Kaikoura who talked endlessly about the army.

    Before that, I was at a wedding. Not just any wedding. Del and Nic's wedding. It was on the beach. There was a dead octopus and there were some sleeping seals. The tide came in a little early; it was all very relaxed, it was what they wanted. I knew most of the people there. Del's complicated family, her friends. A lot of nice people, and kind to me. Strange to be there and a privilege I didn't deserve. One or two people asked me "So what exactly happened between you and Del?" which was a little tricky to answer in the circumstances. I just said that I screwed up and left it at that. Quite a few people asked me "So how are you doing?" which was easy. I was doing fine. It was a good day. I'm so happy for Del.

    Before that, Kurt Vonnegut died. He was my hero. Here's a quote from one of his books, excerpted by the New York Times:

    "Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies — 'God damn it, you've got to be kind.'"

    Before that, I hosted a hangi. After a lot of planning and preparation, on the day I was pretty much a spectator. A friend of a friend took charge, and I watched it unfold. Unfortunately, the food was undercooked. It was left in the ground quite some time, then dug up, then reburied, then dug up again, then it all went through the oven. Disappointing. I believe the rocks were never hot enough. We never burned any of the hardwood, and I think the soft pine just didn't generate enough heat. Anyway, I won't host a hangi again until I forget about this one (couple of months). In the end, everybody seemed to have a good time and everybody got fed, and a few people were lifesavers, including mum who knows how to take charge when things go wrong. And Bessie the dog made lots of new friends.

    Also my funny friends took my camera on adventures, which I would not discover until going through the photos a day later. I felt a little like I was going through evidence from a crime scene. Then I found a photo I didn't remember taking, then another and another. Ha.

    Before that, a few of us from work went kayaking in Abel Tasman National Park. Golden sands, swimming, tents. I was struck by how many people are still there. Peak season, it must be so very busy. Also the sand is so beautiful it looks like food. Also, paddling is a slow way of getting anywhere. I began to appreciate how effective walking is.

    And that is 10 days of my life. Sun, sand, stress, failure, fun, sadness, celebration, loss, and a few tears before bedtime. If I keep running though, it all can't catch up with me (so yes, away from x, not towards y).

    Posted by Matthew at 11:05:29 PM | Permanent link | Comments (1) | Email Matthew | Friends | Nature | Back to top

• Sunday, 18 March 2007

  • Thom and Hannah

    

    Taken Friday, 9 March 2007

    
    
    To make this simple salad, take an old friend and a new friend, add a very photogenic couch, situate in Wellington and drizzle with balsamic vinegar. This scene is pre-vinegar. Boy were they surprised!
    Posted by Matthew at 8:46:45 PM | Permanent link | Comments (0) | Email Matthew | Friends | Back to top

• Wednesday, 8 December 2004

  • Barratt's Hut

    Delwyn is from Kaikoura, and this past weekend she took me to one of her haunts in the Kaikoura backcountry. We walked for a couple of hours up the Hapuku River to Barratt's Hut. Well not exactly walked. The Kaikouras are young mountains undergoing heavy erosion. The river was choked with boulders and rubble freshly broken off the hillsides: we clambered. It's a trip not dissimilar to Sudden Valley in Arthur's Pass National Park.

    The hut is tiny: a 1940s biv nestled amongst trees on a river terrace. A shiny new hut has been built alongside, but we decided to stay in the old one with its rustic charm -- dirt floor, hand-cut split-log walls lined with sacking, iron roof, and tiny leadlight window.

    The hut book was just a notebook, and there were only about 15 entries for the year. One of the locals had typed up some entries from the old hut book and we read through it, Delwyn pointing out the names of people she knew. Her name was there several times, testament to several pleasant trips (and one notorious one) she'd already told me about.

    Two men showed up who had been working on an unofficial track onto the tops nearby. Delwyn knew them both, and even I knew them both, although I didn't recognise them, as she'd already told me their stories. One of them was the son of the leader of the notorious trip. His father had just died, and he was carrying on his father's project of building the track upvalley. They exchanged a few words gruff words, standing there in the rain with shovels, while we stood inside in socks.

    It must be funny to come from a small town. Funny in a good way I think. To be known; to know.

    On the way in we had passed an obvious but unnamed waterfall and decided it should be named after one of the locals from the hut book. As we returned past the Delwyn Falls we were besieged by a pair of falcons. They dove at us over and over, threatening and driving us away. It was rather exciting if unnerving to watch these birds of prey swooping directly toward us. We figure they must have been defending a nest nearby.

    Before our trip, a meteorologist friend had pointed out that "the models are at variance." This apparently means "we're not sure how bad the bad weather will be." I decided I should attempt to use that phrase in conversation, perhaps like this:

    "Is that pasta cooked yet?"

    "The models are at variance!"

    Well anyway, the weather hit about an hour after we returned to Kaikoura. Rocks were scattered all over the highway as we headed back to Christchurch.

    Posted by Matthew at 11:54:01 PM | Permanent link | Comments (0) | Email Matthew | Friends | Tramping / camping | Back to top

• Thursday, 25 November 2004

  • Queen Charlotte Track

    

    Taken Saturday, 13 November 2004

    
    

    My friends Thomas and Delwyn feeling exhausted on a hot day on the Queen Charlotte track.

    We'd just run out of water as we passed a sign declaring the campsite was only 15 minutes away, which we were rather happy about.

    This is a long track. I would recommend people mountain bike it rather than walk it.

    Posted by Matthew at 8:22:46 AM | Permanent link | Comments (0) | Email Matthew | Friends | Tramping / camping | Back to top

• Thursday, 4 November 2004

  • Women

    There are six women in my life I want to introduce you to.

    One is a mother now, my oldest friend who has seen me at my most hopeless and pathetic and given me nothing but love and friendship. When she's not around there's a hole in my life.

    Another has a mind at play: full of puzzles, ideas, challenges, words, and unique, experimental ways of seeing the world. She lives a long way away; it's hard to keep in touch, and I miss her every day. But there are some things I think she understands about me that nobody else can.

    Another friend ignores the sideshow of politics and focusses on a different reality. She inspires me with her devotion to people and her passion for the natural world: two realms where you can still make a positive difference. She's my newest friend and I love her.

    There are two ex-lovers. One I'm out of touch with. We had an adventure together, shared some difficult times, had big problems and no money, were there for each other. I should try to keep in contact but I'm still carrying guilt around.

    Another I loved a lot, too much, but I had to force myself to stop. She is able to take anything I say and make it into something negative — she's probably reading this post, doing it right now. To her, my entire personality is pathological. Perhaps she's right, but that doesn't help me any. Frankly, I don't need any help with negativity, so I don't ever want to see her again. She can read my weblog if she wants, but she can keep her opinions.

    My current lover gives me calm when all I can offer is rain and stormclouds. She is smart and funny and engaged in the world. She's the antidote to my ineptitude.

    These women are like the four points of a compass plus zenith and nadir, future and past. They open up possibilities for me in all directions. They stretch out the fabric of my life, and I wander around in it like a drunkard picking fermenting grapes off the vines. I owe them everything, but they don't realise.

    Posted by Matthew at 8:12:10 AM | Permanent link | Comments (1) | Email Matthew | Friends | Back to top

• Thursday, 14 October 2004

  • Thomas and Mark

    

    Taken Sunday, 26 January 2003

    
    

    Conspiring to leave Christchurch, no doubt: Thom for Wellington "because it's nicer" and Mark for the UK "because it's home." 

    This was two summers back at Waikari. They're sitting on a massive limestone overhang. Under the overhang are extensive ancient Maori rock paintings which don't merit a photograph (although there's one here). Tragically, some misguided conservator early last century thought it would be a good idea to bring out the details on some designs with an overcoat of house paint.

    Posted by Matthew at 10:38:26 PM | Permanent link | Comments (0) | Email Matthew | Friends | Back to top