One of the true delights of the period from mid-December until the middle of the following month is to undertake a momentary flight from the mundane of the majority of the year and undertake something different. Preferably not at home.
Peter Carr
In my case it is to pack a couple of books and retreat under a shady tree and devour the words – even with time to go back over already consumed paragraphs to understand the greater – or underlying – thrust of the prose.
This most recent holiday saw me throw a couple of autobiographies into the trunk of the car and sit on the post-dawn terrace each morning, sipping tea and immersing myself – while the just-released chooks were pecking around my feet.
The books were two very different stories from two very different continents. Both recorded a rise to greatness, but from very different pathways.
Michelle Obama, brought up on the very dark side of Chicago (no pun) into a level of poverty-wrapped shared apartments, produced a revelation that, from small beginnings and a destitute base, greatness can be achieved. In part – her part – through sheer hard work, dedicated school studies and acceptance into two Ivy-league universities where darker skin was almost an extreme alternative to money-fuelled paler tones.
Having the good fortune to meet with, and marry, a dedicated fellow lawyer – driven to helping those in lower socio-economic areas to dream the American dream – produced a duo who embraced the scary side of the White House with simplicity and sincerity.
Guarding her daughters from the gaze of the gun-toting security officer who actually sat in on the class studies was a challenge that many would have failed. Creating a vegetable garden on the pristine lawns of America’s leading garden would have raised many eyebrows but strength and perseverance brought with it a group of other well-heeled ladies who wanted to share the fork and spade.
On the other side of the world actor Sam Neill brought me through his fledgling years trying to break into acting without the support of years spent at any drama school. That he succeeded is well known as he came from a family where a commission into the British (or even Irish) army would have been perceived as more historically appropriate. That he fell in love with wine and, more appropriately, immersed himself in growing vines and producing superb pinot noir, was just part of the whole that puts this unusual man together. Sir Nigel (yes that is his formal name) must grate as he eschews use of his formal christening nomenclature – in preference to just being plain Sam. A self-imposed address that suits his humble purpose.
Like many Kiwis who tread the footlights he finds fame – and no doubt improved fortune – on the other side of the Tasman but his Otago roots and Christ College education pull him back to Godsown frequently. Sadly, he is battling – and openly discussing – the onset of cancer, and he tackles it head-on in the latter chapters. His written humour is frank, and I share with him a lack of sympathy for fools who direct, through autocratic or bureaucratic actions, to channel the life course of those who can provide their own satisfaction.
Peter Carr
