The weather is still consistently unpredictable. The uni students – all 25,000 of them – have arrived. Rugby and Rugby League matches have been attended. Basically, we’ve been much busier than anticipated! I would apologize for posting only photos from my phone, but all the photos from my camera are cat photos as well. Whoops! I give you a smattering of minutiae from the past week. We’ve now been five weeks in Dunedin, and big changes are afoot. Send all of your best thoughts our way.

2014-02-18 15.43.07
a sun fish for my julie.
2014-02-18 16.14.56
ernst haeckel light panels at the otago museum.
2014-02-18 16.18.30
in the animal attic, a room filled with victorian taxidermy and taxonomy.
2014-02-20 14.50.18
casper, in a state of impolite repose.
2014-02-20 14.50.14
scooter is slightly more composed.
2014-02-20 14.52.42
hanging the washing out to dry in front of the glasshouse – home to tomatoes, chiles, courgettes, silver beet, and more.
2014-02-20 15.02.39
the wild feline, on the prowl.
2014-02-25 14.21.29
this photo was actually taken to document plucking my unibrow. ha!
2014-02-25 14.22.55
the cave of wonders/things we have to move, eventually.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what Joan Didion has to say on writing stories and not writing stories, and how she just kept on going:

When I say I wrote no more stories for exactly ten years, I do not mean that I wrote nothing at all. In fact I wrote constantly. I wrote, once I left Berkeley, for a living. I went to New York and I wrote merchandising copy for Vogue and I wrote promotion copy for Vogue (the distinction between the two was definite but recondite, and to try to explain it would like giving the AFL-CIO definition of two apparently similar jobs on the line at the Ford assembly plant in Pico Rivera, California) and after a while I wrote editorial copy for Vogue. A sample of the latter: “Opposite, above: All through the house, colour, verve, improvised treasures in happy but anomalous coexistence. Here, a Frank Stella, an art nouveau stained-glass panel, a Roy Lichtenstein. Not shown: a table covered with frankly brilliant oilcloth, a Mexican find at fifteen cents a yard.”

I’ve been reminding myself not to give up.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s