RAIN & GUMBOOTS

It is such a cosy feeling, to be inside a warm living room while it is raining.

I find the best thing to do when it rains is make oneself a cup of tea, and curl up on the couch with a book.

When it rains in autumn, I love to go out and get the firewood, putting on a pair of gumboots over my thick wool socks, and then running through the puddles to get to the shed. The wood is stacked in a pile, and it smells nice, like pine and musty old rooms. I select a few pieces and then run back in the downpour, to find that once I get back inside my cheeks are all warm and I feel so alive. 

“Surely everyone is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a wintry fireside: candles at four o’clock, warm hearthrugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies to the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without”

— Thomas De Quincey

Rain is comforting. It reminds me of classical music and greystone church buildings. 

Flute Virtuoso - Allegro non molto

Vivaldi

ANNA KARENINA

Oh, the Drama!...

Anna Karenina was long. That is the first and most obvious thing anyone should ever say about this book. It was 900 pages long, with tiny text. It was 4 or 5 weeks of reading long! I think that it is important to mention here that I am a highly capable reader (the Return of the King finished in one day and night, thank-you!). Old books require more time to read, and to ponder over meanings behind the intricate wordplay.
 

Anna Karenina was also interesting, like a long, twirling, mind-enveloping dance where you are spinning and spinning. There are whirlwinds of galas and balls, and then moments of complete clarity. Tolstoy has a unique way of delineating exactly how a character is feeling, what he is doing, and why. Every so often the fluffy story of Anna and her affairs is pierced with an undercurrent of ominous foreboding. I especially found this when Anna recounted her strange dreams, in which she heard a small French peasant muttering something, while doing terrible things with steel. While these parts are a little disturbing, the book also holds other points of interest. The book does not solely centre on the story of Anna, but also works around the lives of the other characters, and especially of one called Levin, who could be likened to the writer's portrayal of himself. Through Levin's story, Tolstoy seems to be untangling his thoughts about religion. In the end, Levin's religious epiphany reads like Tolstoy's epiphany.

If you want any more juicy details, you will just have to read all 900 pages yourself, and I implore you to do so, as you will learn and grow with the book. 

The book itself was also very interesting, and just a wee bit charming. Printed all the way back in the 1950's, it is about the size of your hand. In this way, it reminds me of old Bibles people used for personal devotion.
The most wonderful thing about it was the discovery I made about the page corners. At first glance they seemed to be cut in a very rounded shape. But, as I read, I began to find corners that had been squished or folded by somebody's hand. First a few, then some more, all completely rectangular, as pointy as could be! So... using my detective skills I have come to the conclusion that: the many hands that have held this book, over the last 60 or so years, have worn the edges right down as they thumbed their way through the story. I thought that was quite special.

KUROW

THE BACKYARD OF NEW ZEALAND

For much of their childhood, my younger brother and sister were schooled in a tiny town called Kurow: population approx. 312. 

Every other weekend or so, I would go visit them, and stay in a small one-storey house that looks like it was transported straight from the pages of a 1970's catalogue - ugly windows and all. The floors were of plastic lino in a grey pattern, the doors were hollow, and resounded when they shut, the wallpaper was all bumpy and textured. 

To get to the school, it was simply a matter of walking about 2kms up a dusty gravel road, past the water channels and farmlands, to the edge of town. Town itself was so small that you could blink while driving by and miss it altogether. There was a convenience store, at which we would buy tubs of ice cream and 'put it on mum's tab, please.' There was a small museum, and a store owned by a rather odd gentleman who liked to pile his books in towers and mazes, wrapping them in glad-wrap to keep them safe. I wondered if he ever sold anything. There was the petrol station, with a few solitary pumps, and the playground, and the dairy where you could buy ice blocks and chips and pies. Kurow is like the epitome of New Zealand. 

The local kids liked to spend a lot of time biking around - hanging out by the river, at the small indoor swimming pool, or causing trouble around the farms. Some of them liked to hunt rabbits, and many of them planned to become farmers when they grew up. 

It was not long before I knew every square inch of that town, seeking out my favourite places: the bough of the tree overhanging the river, only reached by a small path off the main road; and a hidden jungle-like maze of overgrown tumbled stone walls, a mysterious labyrinth with a forgotten purpose.

In a small town like Kurow, there is always something to occupy yourself with. If you are of a mind to, you might...

Climb the watch tower on the racecourse and look out over the farmlands.

Pick walnuts straight from the trees in the school yard.

Play truth or dare down at the playground, and end up licking the slide. 

Charge your mums account for all kinds of things: chips, lollies and ice cream mainly.

Go over to your friends house and ask if they want to come out and play.

Meet up with everyone at the river to practice diving from the old bridge.

Explore the tiny offshoots of land and islands beside the river, and disturb the campers there.

Dare your friend to enter the paddock with the bulls. 

Muck around on the edge of the waterways that trickle all through the town, racing small boats of leaves or twigs.

Get in trouble for running all over the golf-course, yet again.

Sneak back into the golf course and draw an obscene picture in one of the sandpits.