1.285

I share Austin Kleon’s post, 100 things that made my year, and one person challenges me to write my own, and encourage others to do the same. But I like Austin (from Austin) - he’s young (it’s relative!) and playful and bold and scared and real. His ezine and posts have kept me going this last year, as I pledge to create a habit, a habit of creativity.

Never one to let a challenge go by, or follow the rules (100 is overwhelming), I start writing, and generate a list. So here, in no particular order, are 27 things that made my year in 2021. Twenty seven into 21 - that's 1.285...

Bunnie: notoriously hard to photograph but fun to try.

Being bold enough to ask for a piece of art in exchange for a funeral, the heavy cast bunny a tribute to a special woman, a kindred soul who left too soon. And - as if it comes with a bonus - the forging of a friendship with her long-time friend, another who makes the journey far from home, and needs company and time to build shared memories.

Walking the streets, calling the name of a missing cat, suddenly struck blind. Desperate to find the moggy, I hear a meow from the bushes, far, far from home. Yelling at the top of my voice, “I’ve found her, I’ve found her” then greedily accepting the hugs from her grateful owners, as tears of joy slip down my cheeks.

Inspiration from All Right, courtesy of the New Zealand Mental Health Foundation, with regular tips and techniques to stay well in difficult times.

Sunrise on the coast.

A flowering albizia, just bare stalks until November, now ablaze with pink fluffy flowers, an umbrella for shade and meditation.

Two year old Jack, the little man who regularly visits, naked as a jay bird, searching for the “niaw niaw” to pat. Now he mimics the noise she makes when she’s had enough of the boisterous toddler, and realises it’s time to find the trucks and spring-operated cars in the toy box.

His parents and sister, life-savers as I learn to live in a new place.

Becky from Birmingham, a ray of sunshine during dark days, her Brummie accent pouring through my computer speakers as we worked together from afar, dangly earrings a habit I adopt.

A trip to Wellington, my first flight for months, an opportunity to see their home, so tastefully decorated. The luscious aquarium the piece de resistance, mesmerizing us as we wait for my home-bound plane.

The almost daily licks from Lily and Poppy, their little canine bodies bouncing along the fence line, while my friend - my godsend - stands talking on the other side. 

A day in poverty-stricken Kawerau, when the “knowing-doing gap” is closed by one of the men, he courageously applying the learnings from 10 minutes before to save a woman’s life.

Five strong men, whose muscles are only outdone by their kindness and generosity, a willingness to do the best possible job of moving my household goods from the metropolis to the provinces.

The sweet and overpowering scent of a gardenia in full bloom after years of dormancy.

The biggest funeral I have taken, the woman a colleague and later a friend, her husband drawing on me for advice and support. Meeting her beautiful daughters, so full of energy and grief, and cuddling her granddaughter, hopeful that one day I will have my own to love and adore.

My first wedding in Hawkes Bay, a couple 33 years in the making, flanked with tragedy and joy, and finally finding the courage to marry.

My “baby” turning 24 (my favourite number) - knowing that the world is now his oyster, a maturity descending after a horrid 18 months of pain.

Being approached by a novice celebrant, asking if I will mentor them. Doing it, and feeling valued.

Beachcombing on blustery mornings as waves crash around, gulls pecking at morsels washed ashore by the tide. 

Crouching on the floor, stroking the soft fur of my neighbour’s Yellow Labrador as he takes his last breaths, knowing that it won’t be long until they slow and stop.

Singing Christmas carols in the retirement village where my parents died, to a women who was to follow them into the unknown.

Inviting visitors into my whare, knowing there is space to play, to eat, to relax, to sleep, freely and without obligation.

Rediscovering Anderson Park, a gem in the heart of Taradale, ancient trees and ducks, geese and shags offset by mystical snowy white spoonbills. At the southern end, the swings of yesterday replaced with a vast playground, set under a gigantic tree, spreading dappled light on families lost in the moment.

A ride - let’s make that two - on the flying fox in the same playground, jumping up to straddle the hard plastic seat, then whooshing through the air, only to be spun back again at the end of the ride, unsure if it’s my voice that I hear screaming with delight.

Standing side-by-side with my son as he loses his favourite pet, deeply injured, and distraught, adding a measure of comfort in an impossible situation.

Celebrating my birthday in my new home with other HB immigrants, the air alive with noise and the smell of home-baked food.

Playing host to the beguiled crowds at the Taupo Garden & Art Walk, standing in a well-loved and tended garden surrounded by quirky sculptures of the talented Blair Logan.

Watching my solar powered cat in retirement, stretched out in the garden, in the lounge, on the bed, on the floor, a human-like “high five” making us laugh as she stretches with contentment.

That'll do 2021 ... that'll do.