Kia ora koutou, we’re halfway through the year, its raining as I write this but, defiantly, I have hung out the washing. The line is under the eaves so while the washing might not dry as quickly it won’t get any wetter. Since I lived in the apartment in Wellington I’ve disliked dryers. I don’t like the crinkly result from the dryer as much as I do the smooth one when I take the washing off the line. There are times of course when I reconsider and think I should get a dryer. I also refused a dishwasher but was over–ruled and now I’m so glad of it. At least I know everything is clean even if I can’t see clearly whether it is or not.
June’s a bit like that with the weather, undecided, but its also exciting and deeply warming because Matariki begins soon and its time to take stock, to look backward as well as forwards. I like the theatricality and drama of the Northern Beltane festivals and their fire rituals but I like Matariki because it invites me to take a little time, to consider, reconsider, to remember, to think about the future and at the same time think about the past which is always there in front of us.
We are marked not only by the larger dramatic events in our lives but also smaller ones, sometimes only a word or two. ‘No, not you,’ said to a kid when everyone else in the group has been asked to a birthday party. The difference when someone else says to the same kid, ‘You wanna grape?’ And a whole bunch is held out for the taking. Both such small things, both with such different messages, both lasting.
Matariki gives us the opportunity to spend time remembering whanau and friends, times and events from the past, times and events from a few days ago. Matariki also prods us into making plans for the coming year. Will we do that thing we’ve always wanted to do? Why not?
Every culture has its own rituals and times for remembering, thinking about those whanau and friends who are not with us any more, thinking about the ones who have just arrived, wishing them well, knowing alas that it won’t be well for them all the time but it will be well for them (hopefully) most of the time. These rituals remind us of the cyclic nature of the year, the flow of Spring, Summer, Autumn when, the dropping of leaves, the treats of harvest, all herald the garden’s sleep and renewal time is on the way, that winter is not only inevitable but necessary. Facing the past is essential because its only then we can begin to face the future.
You know When I paint my Masterpiece? That Bob Dylan song? Along the lines of when I win lotto, when I hit the jackpot, when I get that new job – everything is going to be all right. Makes me think of one of my Aunties. She was garrulous, bitchy, racist, she made the best cheese straws and cheese scones in the world and if she told me once, she told me a hundred and fifty thousand times, how her mother had hated my mother and how her mother had threatened my father, her most loved son, that if he married that Maori girl she would never speak to him again. ‘You’re very like Rose,’ she would say, while I sipped tea, munched on a cheese straw and wondered why the hell I kept visiting her let alone take her a bunch of peonies or whichever flower was out at the time of my visits. I wished my mother had not been so bloody keen on manners. Like ‘You can’t possibly go to a city where an auntie lives and not visit her, right?’
There was something truly pathetic and cramped about this auntie, like somehow life had never turned out quite as she was led to believe it would once she was rich and had a big house on a hill. That old when I paint my masterpiece territory.
I’ll remember her brother, the uncle I loved and who loved me. He was kind and good to me when I was little, he stole fruit and gave it to my mother for us kids, he went off to the war, was away for some years, came back, got married and all the time we kept in touch and remained fond of each other. Like his sister, he had a hard working life but instead of getting naggy and unhappy, he remained generous, kind and giving.
They’ll both be there for Matariki, along with all the others who crowd the table of my memory at this time.
Happy Matariki
Renée
