Right mess in the Right Place - beauty, truth and love at Mario's house

Yesterday was ANZAC Day Holiday, a mid-week day off, to remember serious and sad things.

After a breakfast of fresh dill and salmon crepes at my brother's place,  I strolled down the sunny dappled road and called out at the door of Mario's 

"Anybody home? Its Ce-ci-li-aaaa"

"Cecilia! Come on down' floated up a voice.

Downstairs I went, to the strangely darkened living room.

"Cecilia, come and see this!"
Mario was playing with a blowtorch, and bits of silver.

Making jewellery is one of his jobs, but I had the impression he was doing this for the first time, and just discovering what silver was.

"Look, you heat and heat and suddenly, it shows its alive. It stretches out."
So it did. The off-cut bits of silver would suddenly go the colour of stars and stretch like a cat. That meant it had turned to liquid.
Then it curls itself up,  into a perfect ball.
Why it does this, I don't know, but thats the only thing liquid silver wants to do, after a stretch.

Predictable in its tastes, just like we are.


While Mario is marvelling over his metal, his wife Akeri is busying herself in the orderly kitchen.

"The bananas were on their way out, so I'm making banana bread' she said.

Banana bread! This is the first time in over a year, first time since the Queensland cyclone that I've seen anyone making banana bread.  Except for the Permaculture mates who grew their own and suddenly had the most valuable currency in Sydney, golden fragrant bananas.  

Nothing is forever. Not bananas, not the lack of bananas. 

Akeri and Mario's house demonstrates my conviction that if you get your kitchen sink right, the rest of your life will fall into place. 

 Look at it - beautiful, orderly and productive.  Everthing has a home, all the colours are friends with each other, and there is no printing, advertising in sight. 

As the banana bread bakes, a Japanese housemate wanders in for her breakfast. 

There is always a Japanese housemate, its a house suited to harmoniously hosting visitors. The beauty inspires them to be on their best behaviour,  maybe to say 'thank-you' to the house for delighting them. Everything is easy to use and clean up after - how lonely a pile of dirty dishes would look in this house, you wouldn't want to let that happen.

He has painted a mural on the concrete wall that lets in light from the street, where Mario has his balcony garden flourishing, spilling down sun-side and shade-side. 

Every surface that can be played with has been played with. 

I first met Mario as he sat on his doorstep in the sun, just him and his guitar, having a little sing together. 

Here are last year's stories, and more stories giving you a glimpse into Mario world.

Mario's books tempt me - he wants to know what life is about, this man, and doesn't give up. 

The book topics are in 'families', and even the knick-kanks that surround them are a team. 

Owls, for wisdom.

His studio is action-eliciting. 

Why leave the materials in the crummy plastic bags they came in? You don't have to. 

Mario gets his beads to seduce him into working with them, putting them all available in pretty wicker baskets, ready to be worked with.  

As I go upstarts and outside to live my Anzac Day, I see Mario giving his Japanese wife a big hug as we pass the kitchen.
In all my years of living in and loving Japan, a hugged wife is a sight I have never seen.
It must be tough living in Mario-world, if you want to live in your own world.
But the Love, that gets you staying.

My beautiful former Melbourne housemate, Naoko is visiting Sydney tomorrow, to celebrate her successful jewelry exhibition.
For sure, I bring her along to see this sight, life lived in full creative liveliness.

So today I'm remembering the Young Anzac soldiers who never got to live their lives.
Today I'm reminding myself to live my life, on purpose, and in full colour.