Samoa and Western Samoa united in tragedy

Malo Sa'oloto Tuto'atasi o Samoa
Independent State of Samoa
and
American Samoa
Amerika Sāmoa / Sāmoa Amelika

It seemed too frivolous to write my work blog before mentioning the tragedy caused by the earthquake and subsequent tsunami.

While there is little that I can do wherever I live, it is at times like this that I feel my Pacific roots which mostly lie dormant. Sad too, that it takes a tragedy to stir interest in other places. After explaining to my boss this morning that the tragedy was not only in American Samoa (Obama is in the news here describing relief efforts) but Samoa and probably hundreds of other islands in the Samoan Archipelago, I realised how little I knew about Samoa, why there are two Samoas, and where New Zealand and America fitted into the history.

Wikipedia has an excellent entry, with several sub sections well worth studying. Somehow it feels as though you are at least doing something positive, reading and learning a little more about the people who have been hit so terribly in this natural disaster.
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progress and agreement

You win some and you lose some...

The boss, while understandably surprised to see the panel I had painted, liked it and agreed in principle with me but prefers not to have me paint the panels in faux marble. There is a lot more wall upstairs, and that is in different colour-ways. We have reached a compromise, agreeing that the original, simpler design (which we have faint traces of) was superior to the yellow marble/rocks that I am objecting to.

So... the columns stand proudly, cleaned up, touched up, tall and elegant, becoming a feature rather than painted over in harsh colours again. The panels which I had begun are now going to be a much simpler design, a warm base colour with a hint of spongework over it to age and soften it so that it blends in.

I worked around the stairs this morning, and was very proud of my handiwork producing a wall that looks like stone. It was five coats of paint, the first a light terracotta colour, then four sponged colours over it, sanded lightly to age it. At first glance it looks like the stonework above it.

I've been a little bit naughty again. I now have to wait for some plaster repairs before I proceed with the undercoat. These I am sure are war-time wounds. There is a little one that wasn't pointed out to me as being on the list for repairs. I think it should stay, a tiny reminder of the history of the house. I painted over it, three times, hoping that the plasterer doesn't spot it tomorrow! It is down low by the stairs, and is sure to have a large plant in front of it...

Today I am grateful for consultation processes.

mice will play

The boss was away today... OK, so I may have to do a two hour re-paint at my own expense, but I wanted to try my colour and style preference. I think the white column might have to go though, maybe I was wrong on that one. I thought that the design showing through suggested that the original faux 'whatever' had not been on the column. I suspect that a more elegant fresco was replaced with the faux I am fighting with now.

Before:
After:My theory is that when the beautiful rich red floor tiles are polished the yellow and umber is going to look absolutely ghastly against them. I have taken the greenish tint from the faux wood panel above, and the red from the floor tiles, as well as a little of the original yellow, and come up with a rather subdued effect that I hope will simply become background. The points of interest in the entry will be the iron light fittings and the stairwell, potted plants, and hopefully the original fresco high above.
The artist who probably painted the wall 70 years ago would have painted faux marble, not rocks, according to his grandson. I think the version I am working on is likely to be older than that. At least one heavy coating has been scraped off. No doubt it was damaged during its occupancy; I wonder, did those German or Kiwi soldiers living there 65 years ago turn the marble into rocks, just for something to do? (Not likely, as the Germans were there when it was the front, and the Kiwis were there to play guitars, dance with the locals, and enjoy their rest period). It is so frustrating, not having x-ray eyes or a time machine!

PS: I have reviewed these photos about an hour later, and I wonder if my marble "slabs" are too big. I might have to split a few tomorrow, unless of course I am repainting the whole section anyway!

Today I am grateful for insect repellent.

new beginnings for an old girl

Working in the entrance to the palazzo - not so exciting for you, but good work for me!
Before......and after four and a half hours work. It appears to have been painted to look like a stone wall, but I am not so sure that faux marble might not be a better choice. I will have to talk to the boss tomorrow, before I get any further. The more I think about it, the more I lean towards marble, but I am supposed to just tidy and touch up (but not actually restore or alter) what is already there.

The bigger picture... It really was me in my small corner, not quite under the stairs, this morning!

lunchbreak

Am loving being back at work in the big house (palazzo) again... photos later. Not on the scaffolding this week though, a good way to ease back in.

From Facebook (and elsewhere I imagine), worth sharing:

Mental Health Foundation of New Zealand | 2009 Winning Ways to Wellbeing
Origin: www.mentalhealth.org.nz
Persist in the battle and journey for wellbeing, it is a treasure handed down from the heavens, then comes confidence and peace.
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ramblings

This coaching blog reminds me of all the things I once knew and have long forgotten!

I didn't ever know the typefaces in detail like the encyclopaedic Brennen, but the rest of the theory and the terminology was once within my grasp.

Use it, or lose it.

One of my favourite posters (I am sure I have mentioned it before) is on the wall in a Waikato rest home. It shows a dog holding the leash waiting for its mistress to tie the laces on her walking shoes. The text says "If you feel old age catching up, walk a little faster".

Yesterday and today I wanted to run. Walk fast we surely did. I wonder if my memory cells might return one day too?

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I share this building with several other people. The noises above me differ vastly, depending on which room I am in.

I used to wonder at the loud and sometimes violent arguments the elderly couple had. I kept to myself, not daring to intervene. When the husband died I got to know the wife a lot better. She was absolutely distraught, missing the arguments which were her energy source. It was their way of communicating. A year later, she too has gone. That isn't thunder you hear, it's just my former neighbours expressing their love for one another.

The young couple on the other side of the house never make a sound. I hear only footsteps, and chairs scraping back from the table.

Down below we may not talk much, the dogs and I, but we play our music loudly. Today I discovered that Pickle likes to sing; when I play the keyboard she takes a pose beside me and makes a gentle howling noise. Then she jumps up and licks my fingers in appreciation - that was appreciation, Pickle, right? Zacchi, on the other hand, just likes to bark...
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out of the mouths of babes...

out of the mouths of babes...and old men!

This evening the dogs took me walking. It seemed the better option, rather than wait at home for a phonecall you know isn't going to come. I decided to let my wounds from a brief romance heal in the fresh air rather than fester indoors.

An elderly man at the fountain at the next little hamlet chatted about the dogs, now that they are two. We discussed the cost of flea and tick potions, of feeding the animals. I said that I really didn't need to be a dog-mother with my gypsy life style.

But you live alone, he said. They are company for you. Dogs are better than people, he said. Dogs can be trusted, they wont let you down.

I wonder if he knows more about life than I do?

Big sigh. Ah well, put the romance in a box with a ribbon around it. Maybe it really was too good to be true!

Today I am also grateful for wise old men in neighbouring villages.