Spring Solace

Thanks to you my best mate for giving us an awesome holiday in Queenstown. So good of you to think of us in all your superb success. Thank you so much we appreciate how very much you love us.  Is there a more inspirational centre of scenic beauty and global talent to soak up sun and great company? Something of your protective instincts to plan our getaway turned out to be unbelievably wise after  your departure for Seattle.  Shocked by an alsatian bite at our neighbours' place and ending up distressed in the doctor's surgery I was patched up, reimmunised and treated prophylactically ( it means preventively, don't you love new words!) Not to mention, cheered up by our lovely daughter's Starbuck's coffee care.

So we hit the road, sunnies, sunfrocks, togs, cameras, good books and music (in case of a piano to tinkle on holiday.) Sun-soaked pool, lake-front gym, world cup big screen, massive private spa totally distracted us from the original plans to walk up Ben Lomond, start up the Routeburn, or track down the LOTR Lothlorien and Isengaard movie locations. You guessed, we explored art galleries, lakefront tracks, gardens and movies dispersed with endless good reads and laughter in restful, restorative solace. Our trip ended with a visit to our son's superb music performance in Centrestage theatre, Invercargill, graced by my aunty Joan. She explained to us at our lunch afterwards at the Queens garden that she recalls the now giant avenue trees being planted in her walk through the park school days. What a lady - 90 years young and still enjoying upcoming rock bands and new dishes - sushi in the park. Inspirational!

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"RUSSIAN WINTER" by Daphne Kalotay

This is my place I love to go beyond the reach of daily chores. My special virtual reality deep within the gripping leaves of a must-finish read. Daphne Kalotay's "Russian Winter" tantalises the youthful ballerina, russian major and intrepid explorer in me.

I begin my sisonne pas de bourre fouette rond de jambe en l'air. Tchaikovsky's patriotic tones mellowing those tyrannical Stalin-era wounds. I soar into jete pirouette pas de basque, oblivious of the bruised and battered toes, knees, hips, heart and soul. "Now whenever Nina suffered the pain there, she told herself that it was the knot in her old wool scarf, and that her grandmother's hands had tied it, and then the pain, though no less severe, was at least not a bad one."

Outside winter pours its bleak icy blanket of covering over gossiping party informers, komsomol treachery commandant dehumanising deceiving arrest, pre-judged punishment and consignment to barbaric gulag and certain death. "Frightened feeling - a dark chill that blows through the building and dims the grown-ups faces."

Long after I have exhausted each chapter twice, I toss and turn unable to sleep, still second guessing my first impressions and the author's cunning ploy of historical timeplay. Did the heroine make the right life-shattering assumption? Have we all more to learn from the personal and political manipulation interfering with our own imaginations? Read on for your own detective satisfaction. You will not be disappointed.