My Mother's House

One very New Year's thing I do every day, every week, almost obsessively, is purge. Clear out that Vesuvius of effluvia that fills the kids' backpacks, the car, our wardrobes and drawers and the mudroom. Clothes and shoes that haven't been worn in a year and books and magazines that are read are given away to friends, family, to the cleaners or charity. I just gave away a bag of belts that I never wore. (Remind me never to buy another belt. I dream of accessorising but never do).

Yet after visiting my parents in Ohope Beach, NZ, I wonder if I'm fooling myself. Mum and Dad's house always looks open, fresh and modern and yet everything has been in the same place for decades. No gift is re-gifted and each thing purchased has a place.

Mum and Dad's house in Ohope Beach

Outside, every potted plant Mum has been given is there and still alive.

Mum's succulents at the front 

In my parents' house we sip from the same blue and white teacups. And look at the same Limoges and Lladro figurines they bought while camping around Europe 32 years ago. The dresser, table and chairs are made of wood shipped back from Papua New Guinea where they lived for five years.  The apple-cheeked little old man and lady bought in Switzerland are there on the wall. The dark green and brown oil painting of a paddock scene was painted by my grandfather 40 years ago. The porcelain blue porpoises, a gift from golf friends 15 years ago, are still cavorting near the bathtub. The old family photos are there on the walls, always comforting.

Old photos at my parents' house: me and Harley 13 years ago

Mum and Dad on their wedding day 52 years ago

In the garden all the other presents and found-treasures are there; the swinging teacup, the cloth-capped newspaper boy, the concrete birdbath, the green glass balls. Everything looks just right sitting there.

Mum and Dad's back garden

In contrast I am always furiously shedding stuff. Nine years ago we arrived in Oakland from Notting Hill, London with only our luggage. We had given away or sold everything else. "How can you denude yourselves like that" said one friend. It was, as promised by all the keep-it-simple magazines and organisational experts, very freeing.

I pride myself on not going to "Big Box" stores. You step into those places and spend $500. (On what, who knows?) We have two cooking pots; I burnt the other two and never replaced them. We gave away our coffee machine years ago as I buy my one daily latte. We don't have baking sheets or gadgets; as you might know, I do assemblage rather than cooking and baking and I don't keep things on the bench. I deliberately chose a smaller closet in order to limit my clothes spending.

But I may be fooling myself this shedding is somehow eco, selective or quasi-monastic. I suspect I'm still buying as much stuff as many others. But by not keeping things, I don't have to live with my mistakes or past choices. And somehow, now I'm making it into a virtue. Oh I'm such a self-delusional non-accessorising person.

Which one are you: an inveterate clearer-outer like me, or a keeper-and-placer like my mother? Or something in-between?

Our Giveaway this month is a beautiful cashmere-blend scarf (5.5ft by 1ft) from one of my favourite Ohope Beach stores, 4Art Sake which you may have read about here. Simply leave a comment and, as usual, you get an extra point if you Tweet and-or Facebook the offer. The winner will be drawn randomly next Friday 13 Jan. I bought one of these scarves for myself six months ago and it's deliciously soft.

Corker Kiwi Bach

Whilst examining the bananas at the grocery store yesterday - as a good housewife does -  lo and behold there on the magazine rack was Kiwi friend Kate on the front cover of style bible Dwell . She and architect husband Jed are pictured at their stylee beachouse, which you may have read about on my blog when I was back in NZ in January. So...and I've always wanted to write this...you read it here first.

June cover of Dwell: Kate and Jed's bach 

Congratulations Kate and Jed!  So here is my blogpost from January. Is it green - or just lazy - to re-cycle posts in Blogland?

The new New Zealand bach
For those who don't know what a "bach" is,  take off your jandals (flip-flops), grab a fizzy drink (soda) and put your feet up...you're in for a treat. A bach, pronounced batch and called a "crib" in the South Island, is essentially a small beach house. But it's so much more than that really, it's been an iconic way of life for Kiwis for decades. Back in New Zealand I thought - how the wee bach has changed! Or...has it? 

Jed and Kate's beachhouse, Kapiti Coast, NZ, January

In the olden days, come Friday night you'd pack your chilly bin (cooler) and head for your cottage on the coast. It was probably pink or yellow wood with a tin roof which made it boiling in the summer and noisy when it rained but it's all hunky dory. Maybe outside loos and no running water. Inside there are Formica tables, vinyl floor tiles, a Hamilton milkshake maker, bunk beds galore and nothing that can't get heaps of sand and salt on it. And a big lawn out the front for all your rellies (relatives) to park their tents and caravans. Just grab some TT2s (Tip Top ice-blocks) for the kiddies from the corner diary (store) and ice for your supersonic GandT's and Bob's Yer Uncle! 

Of course that's way it was when we were kids, but it's been 25 years since I left New Zealand and I see that many of the baches up and down the coast have evolved into something so much swisher. Last week I visited two old Uni friends at their weekend houses on the Kapiti Coast just North of Wellington.  Their baches were incredibly stylish and with all the mod cons (dishwashers! washing machines!) but essentially retain the same laid-back sense of the barefoot barbie on the lawn and gutting fish out the back.

My friend "Jed" ( Gerald Parsonson ),  now a respected and admired architect, designed his own beach house (pics above and below) for his family of five. It's stunningly modern and colourful. But what impresses is also how understated and unpretentious it is and how very comfortable. You feel immediately at home, not constantly fussing about the sand on your feet or what you are wearing, which surely is just how it should be. What's also amazing is that it was built ten years ago and still feels so surprising and fresh.

For the past decade this bach has collected many design awards and has been featured in magazines, newspapers and glossy coffee table books. This week it's being photographed for Dwell magazine. In his website Jed says he "intended that the house create a story of passage from suburbia to the beach and horizons beyond." The fibre cement sheet boxes are the base with lighter forms around the outside and the living room is a raised Pavilion.

Jed was still out fishing, so his wife Kate showed me around, laughing at all my manic picture taking and all my "ooh" and "aah"ing. The lower cabinetry in the kitchen is orange with the upper shelves open. Many walls are white but some are painted the blues and greens of the ocean.

Upstairs you can telescope out to sea all day. 

My sandy foot on the stairs, oops sorry guys

The hallway to the three bedrooms at the back features dramatic red stained glass and the bathrooms use corrugated iron, concrete and steel, with amusing touches such as this old photo of the Royal Family.

Another treasure is out the back; a separate wee house with four bunks, Foosball and a shimmering corrugated iron bathroom.

Jed arrives back from fishing and we catch up about old friends and Kiwi architecture vs American. Watch out for my fishy hands, he says, as we pose for a pic next to his red tractor.

Jed with his catch of the day

Me and Jed in their backyard

I wander back down the beach to where I am staying with my childhood friend Helena. Her bach has retained some of it's old Fifties vibe, with photos from that era and mid-century furniture gathered from auction houses, friends and curio stores and re-covered in sky-blue and stripes.

Helena's place

Outside with views to the protected Kapiti Island, these reclaimed-wood chairs and table are still wearing the rusted chains and iron parts of their old life.

Has relaxation been perfected here? Rita, a veritable coastal cruiser of a cat (oops couldn't resist that alliteration....or is it consonance?)  seems to think so, but she does deign to raise her head for a photo. How's it going puss?  "Good as Gold" she seems to say.

Rita in front of Kapiti Island

The New New Zealand Bach

For those who don't know what a "bach" is,  take off your jandals (flip-flops), grab a fizzy drink (soda) and put your feet up...you're in for a treat. A bach, pronounced batch and called a "crib" in the South Island, is essentially a small beach house. But it's so much more than that really, it's been an iconic way of life for Kiwis for decades. Back in New Zealand I thought - how the wee bach has changed! Or...has it? (Pic shows beachhouse by Gerald Parsonson)

In the olden days, come Friday night you'd pack your chilly bin (cooler) and head for your cottage on the coast. It was probably pink or yellow wood with a tin roof which makes it boiling in the summer and noisy when it rains but it's all hunky dory. Inside there are Formica tables, vinyl floor tiles, a Hamilton milkshake maker, bunk beds galore and nothing that can't get heaps of sand and salt on it. And a big lawn out the front for all your rellies (relatives) to park their tents and caravans. Just grab some TT2s (Tip Top ice-blocks) for the kiddies from the corner diary (store) and ice for your supersonic GandT's and Bob's Yer Uncle! 

Of course that's way it was when we were kids, but it's been 25 years since I left New Zealand and I see that many of the baches up and down the coast have evolved into something so much swisher. Last week I visited two old Uni friends at their weekend houses on the Kapiti Coast just North of Wellington.  Their baches were incredibly stylish and with all the mod cons (dishwashers! washing machines!) but essentially retain the same laid-back sense of the barefoot barbie on the lawn and gutting fish out the back.

My friend "Jed" ( Gerald Parsonson ),  now a respected and admired architect designed his own beach house (pics above and below) for his family of five. It's stunningly modern and colourful. But what impresses is also how understated and unpretentious it is and how very comfortable. You feel immediately at home, not fussing about the sand on your feet or what you are wearing, which surely is just how it should be. What's also amazing is that it was built ten years ago and still feels so surprising and fresh.

For the past decade this bach has collected many design awards and has been featured in magazines, newspapers and glossy coffee table books. This week it's being photographed for Dwell magazine. In his website Jed says he "intended that the house create a story of passage from suburbia to the beach and horizons beyond." The fibre cement sheet boxes are the base with lighter forms around the outside and the living room is a raised Pavilion.

Jed was still out fishing so his wife Kate showed me around, laughing at all my manic picture taking and all my "ooh" and "aah"ing. The lower cabinetry in the kitchen is orange with the upper shelves open. Many walls are white but some are painted the blues and greens of the ocean.

Upstairs you can telescope out to sea all day. 

The hallway to the three bedrooms at the back features dramatic red stained glass and the bathrooms use corrugated iron, concrete and steel, with amusing touches such as this old photo of the royal family.

Another treasure is out the back; a room with four bunks, Foosball and a shimmering bathroom.

Jed arrives back from fishing and we catch up about old friends and Kiwi architecture vs American. Watch out for my fishy hands, he says, as we pose for a pic next to his red tractor.

I wander back down the beach to where I am staying with my childhood friend Helena. Her bach has retained some of it's old Fifties vibe, with photos from that era and mid-century furniture gathered from auction houses, friends and curio stores and re-covered in sky blue and stripes.

Outside with views to Kapiti Island, a protected site, sit the most beautifully greyed reclaimed-wood chairs and table still carrying the chains and rusted iron parts of some old building.

Has relaxation been perfected here? Rita, a veritable coastal cruiser of a cat (oops couldn't resist that alliteration....or is it consonance?)  seems to think so, but she does deign to raise her head for a photo. How's it going puss?  "Good as Gold" she seems to say.

Ohope Moping

Moping was a word my Uncle Bill used to use. "Whatcha doing?" I would ask. "Nothing...just mopin' around." Uncle Bill's kind of moping was not a bad thing, in fact it was a very good thing, a state of utter relaxing and contenting around the house.

Which is exactly the activity I find myself indulging in at Mum and Dad's house in Ohope Beach, New Zealand. Always on the blue couch. Finding that correct position on the blue couch so you could remain there for hours on end, lifting your magazine up only to see if the sea is bluer or rougher or simply still there. Or whether that skimboarder (below) has fallen over..

Not being a skite (show-off) but I have achieved utter perfection in my pursuit of sloth over the years. For one, you must be satisfactorily fed and watered before you slip into the boomphy embrace of the blue couch as it's perilously hard to rise again. The hours spent reading Mum's magazines from six years ago - reading an actual book is technically cheating - is only interrupted by the three squares that regularly appear; breakfasts of French toast, bacon and endless slices of toast with butter and apricot preserves. Then lunch of fresh ham, watermelon and arugula leaves followed pretty closely by a dinner of Terakihi fish freshly caught by Dad's fishing friend, Crash, potatoes from our pine tree farm and rocket salad.


Of course my sister Pietra is here too so it makes for a pretty dance to see us vying for the corner blue couch. This is the better blue couch of the two as you barely have to lift your magazine to see the sea, in fact an eyebrow raise would do it.

Mum and Dad's house has a soothing, soporific quality - the reasons for which I have spent many hours contemplating...on the corner blue couch.  Is it the sun, the constant sounds of the sea, Mum's tropical garden, where the plants looked so happy and tended. Or the backdrop of Pohutukawas hanging from the cliff behind, stalwart and stoic.
 

Or is it the underlying sense of order from your parents' household where the baking tin is full, the dishes are stacked into the dishwasher directly you've eaten and fridge is chocka full of meats and marinated things bobbing around in tightly-shut containers.  You know all is right in the world when you see both homemade lemon honey and Essence of Hibiscus Flowers in a fridge. There is no chaos left in your life,  your only decisions now being whether you should imbibe as much Deutz as you did last night. 

Their house is modern and spare, clad in denim-blue corrugated iron and sea-spray bleached wood. But there is no preciousness about the modernity inside or out. You will find displayed every gift they've ever been given together with all the finds from their travels; the Lladro they bought in France, the wooden apple faces of the old couple bought in Switzerland, the shells from their five years in Papua New Guinea.

Yesterday our arrival and subsequent relaxation was only blipped by the required visit down to the water's edge where Tallulah was initially overawed by the sharp sun and waves.  So she collected shells with Grandpa until she was used to it all.

Then I handed out the glossy Hobo evening purses I had bought as gifts. I had purchased a whole box of them and people get to pick what colour they want. I got the idea after Pietra said to me: "I've always wanted one of those evening purses -  but who gets around to buying them?" I'm so happy with my gifts. What do you think?

Then we realised I had forgotten Tallulah's swimsuit and so it was over the hill to the discount store The Warehouse, a sort of Cosco of the South Pacific. Slogan: "Where everyone gets a bargain". They were true to their word and I came away with a NZ$20 bronze and flax beach bag and suits galore for Tallulah as well as a very Parisian dress which both Tallulah and her cousin Leah both liked.

But after all that wild activity it was time to calm down and get back to the blue couch for a spot more mopin'...