God is a concept,
By which we can measure,
Our pain,
I’ll say it again,
God is a concept,
By which we can measure,
Our pain,
I don’t believe in magic,
I don’t believe in I-ching,
I don’t believe in bible,
I don’t believe in tarot,
I don’t believe in Hitler,
I don’t believe in Jesus,
I don’t believe in Kennedy,
I don’t believe in Buddha,
I don’t believe in mantra,
I don’t believe in Gita,
I don’t believe in yoga,
I don’t believe in kings,
I don’t believe in Elvis,
I don’t believe in Zimmerman,
I don’t believe in Beatles,
I just believe in me,
Marica and me,
And that’s reality. — John Lennon (mostly – sorry, John)

When we started Fresh New Day about a year or so ago, I just had lots of high hopes and dreams. I didn’t believe a whole lot of any thing back then. Things worked out different – better in some ways, worse in others. We reached out and found other people – new ideas and new friends. Wonderful and very worthwhile.

Thank you one and all.

Manifesto
01. Every day is a fresh new day.
20. Every day say thank you.
49. Every day is a good day.

I’m feeling a bit sad tonight. After a great weekend, and an ok day at work, I come home and find some words that left me feeling empty. There’s a story here. It involves you too, now. It’s a long story and you’re now part of it, because you’re reading this posting.

When do stories ever start? When do they finish? I believe they’re all already started and they never finish – at least not while there’s a story teller, and someone to tell stories to.

This part of the story starts back in about 2003-4. Marica told me about blogs. Blogs? Woss a blog then eh? I didn’t really get it – as much as anything because most blog writers didn’t do anything for me. C.R.U.S.T.Y. Crusty. Didn’t have anything to say. Didn’t say it very well. And then one day, I found a blog written by a guy who could string two words together, and, best of all, could draw and illustrate what he had to say. Actually, it was the other way around. He drew, and wrote about his drawings. And he encouraged other people to do the same. Some of us did. I went off and did some life drawing – you know – staring at nekkid chicks and make drawings on paper. If you’ve never tried it you should have a go.

I found he was a pretty normal sounding guy with a great eye for colour and line, and through his blog we came to know his wife who’d survived a bad accident and was wheelchair bound and their son – a pretty cool kind of kid who grew up on the blog. And their dogs. And the interesting things that were kind of humdrum but fascinating in a domestic kind of way, a drawing a day kind of way. Beautiful stories about everyday matters.

On the side of his blog site he had links, and, from time to time, a bit of a review, and one day I slid down one of links to another illustrator/author’s work. This guy did these cool kind of pen and ink and water colour cartoon-y kind of illustrations, and he focussed on uplifting themes, with stories about kids with cancer and kids facing personal trauma. I became a regular reader. I didn’t tell Marica about this blog – we’ve got this kind of issue in our own home and I didn’t want to kick off any scabs unnecessarily.

Fast forward a few months and I’m inspired by the drawing and writing and I’m starting to write, draw, and make photos a bit myself. We’ve both become fans of the trauma guy’s blog, and we go to BlogTalk Downunder in Sydney. We become inspired and decide to run a blog conference – BlogHui – here in New Zealand, and, after trials and tribulations that still make us laugh whenever we have a cheese sandwich, we got it off the ground. We invited the trauma guy to speak at BlogHui, never fully believing he’d take us seriously. He – Trevor (and his wonderful wife) did. We fell in love with each other. Our lives change forever.

Turns out our new pal Trevor is not just a link – he’s friends with the first artist/writer I’d read consistently – even been to visit the guy and his wife and son in New York. They were collaborating on a book together. I’m secretly envious. No. I’m envious.

Fast forward to earlier this year – March 18. Patti – Danny’s wife, Jack’s mother, is killed in a horrible accident. Thousands of miles away from people I’ve never met, I feel numb. Shattered. I manage to catch up with Trevor online and we have a clipped exchange – sharing a few words of a story – we’re both gutted.

Today. Tonight. After a great weekend, and an ok day at work, I come home and find some words that left me feeling inspired. There’s a story here. It involves you too, now. It’s a long story and you’re a part of it now, because you’re part of the telling. Danny continues to write and draw, and today was wondering what immortality might be. He proposes we make a drawing or a cake or a dress and to share it with others who’ll be inspired to do something nice and creative of their own. And to think of Patti when you do. He notes that he has no idea what impression he’ll make on the world, or how long the ripples will last.

Danny, you might be surprised. While we only ever see some of the connections, there’s a chain, and it’s unbroken.

Manifesto
18. Every day express love. Some people need to hear it. Most people need to see it. Don’t take it for granted.
39. Every day trust that there is a bigger picture. You are a part of it even if you may not know what it is.
42. Every day celebrate. Who you are. What you have achieved. Things that matter to you.

Tonight we hung our photos in the Six@66 photography exhibition. Marica and I have collaborated with four other photographers, under the mentoring of Fleur Wickes; and have come together to exhibit our portrait works.

Portraiture is something of a departure for me – it’s not that I haven’t taken photos of people before, but a deliberate photographic effort is something I haven’t done for a long time.

The most learning has happened apart from behind the camera. Reflective practice. We make the photos, short list them, offer them for critique to the other photographers, and then reflect on the commentary. It’s a bit traumatic at times – things are always like this when you’re being stretched. Not just in photography.

Manifesto
34. Every day focus on your dreams.
38. Every day be brave and give things a go. Use fear to trigger you into action.
43. Every day accept you will make mistakes. Learn from them. They are opportunities in disguise.

There is an immutable conflict at work in life and in business, a constant battle between peace and chaos. Neither can be mastered, but both can be influenced. How you go about that is the key to success. — Philip Knight

It’s been a weekend of work here. My Dad’s generation wouldn’t have recognised it as being work – there’s no sweat so there’s no work. Fortified with coffee and potato crisps I’ve spent the last couple of days building web sites for customers. Some tv wandered past – I didn’t watch. Some cds were played – I didn’t listen. So, where to from here? I climb into my head and wrestle code and negotiate with the web hosting people and juggle this and jungle that. And when I finally climb back out of create mode it’s time for hot coffee and real food. I’m tired and ready for a hot shower and a sleep. It might not be sweaty work, Dad, but it’s work nevertheless.

Manifesto
41. Every day use your mind. It is the greatest technology ever created.
44. Every day remember how far you have come.
50. Every day has an ending.

I was a member of a church youth group and I was able to be convincing enough to get access to the weapon of mass instruction, the Gestetner (no nasty Banda machine fumes for these folk). Step 1 – get a printing machine. One of the older kids had a job as a typist, so there was no worries about getting the type set. Step 2 – get someone with skills. The church had all the styluses and texture plates for making graphics (I was good for the design stuff). Step 3 – add value. The other kids agreed to come up with content. Step 4 – distribute the labour and make full use of the excellent skills of other excited and motivated people.

I was so excited. I’d read that Castro had taken over Cuba with two Gestetner machines strapped to mules. The revolutions were about to happen.

What happened: who knew that getting double sided pages into an eight page document would be so difficult? It’s so counter intuitive that page 1 is on the right and page 8 is on the left. Upside down, back-to-front, foul is fair, feel the fear and do it by the pricking of my thumbs. Magic!

I wasn’t surprised to find the other kids were suddenly incapable of stringing two words together, and being that this was beginning to look quite a lot like homework just didn’t want to know. I wrote most of the content.

Who could’ve guessed that someone with School Cert typing and a job as a typist would be so completely unable to accurately copy type, or even care that they were inaccurate?

It never occurred to me that the only paper the church would have would be white. White! What is with that? Inspired by Castro, I liberated some paper from school – it was pink – that special horrid pink still in vogue today. Note: the paper was foolscap – this is well before that modern metric paper was even heard of.

I got the mistake-ridden stencils and added the very limited graphics. I biked over to the church after school on the Friday night, ran off the sheets, folded and stapled them on Saturday, and sold them after church on Sunday.

I’d love to say that my classy little document (complete with weak grey, typo filled, feeble graphic content and an avant garde pink cover) went over a storm, but it really didn’t. I raised enough to pay for the white paper and supplies, and I slunk away into publishing obscurity. At least I didn’t have to feed the mules. And I still love media production.

Manifesto
26. Every day take action. Every small step counts.
43. Every day accept you will make mistakes. Learn from them. They are opportunities in disguise.
32. Every day have a laugh.