Furry Friends

At the starting line the excitement was palpable, the air filled with riotous barking, yelps and howls. We were about to begin our "Wag and Walk" event, when the local community get together with their canine friends and everyone goes for a 3 km walk around the suburb and up and down the volcanoes. My two lovely little Bichon Frise girls, Bella and Millie, with their bright merry and inquisitive nature and white curly coats, were straining at the leash.

It was a bit like a scene from the book "Hairy Mclary from Donaldson Dairy" - there was Hercules Morse as big as a horse, Muffin McClay like a bundle of hay … Some tiny dogs looked no bigger than a rat on a leash, some hurly burly ones had the most incredible wrinkles and creases, and some were even dressed up with bows and jackets. One little girl doggie was dressed in a little pink tutu with black lacy leggings. The outfit had come from Japan! It must have been in the running for the prize for the best dressed dog. All doggies were very good natured and everyone commented on how well behaved they were. And the humans were pretty good natured and well behaved too.

But a day later we found Millie limping and whining when we touched her paw. Off we went to the vet who had to sedate poor Millie in order to clean and bandage her paw as she was howling so much - she is quite the Drama Queen. The vet said she must have stood on something on the walk which had infected her paw. A couple of hundred dollars later we took her home with strict instructions on nursing care, having to bathe Millie's foot twice a day, apply special ointment and rebandage with a little sock. All those odd kids socks finally came into use. Poor Millie was so distressed, her little body shaking with the ordeal, looking up at us with big brown mournful eyes. There can be no doubt that animals feel pain if not more than humans do.

So Millie had to miss the next doggie event when my gospel choir sang at a Francis of Assisi (the patron saint of animals) church service, a special ceremony for the blessing of animals. The whole church was packed with animals - dogs, cats, rabbits, budgies and cockatiels in cages, and the air was filled with a cacophony of howling, mewing, barking and tweeting. In between the humans sitting in the pews were big hairy dogs, some little old ladies holding their lap poodles with pretty bows in their hair and a couple of big dogs having a bit of a rough and tumble in the front. It was a most surreal moment when sitting up in the front pew overlooking the church I could see Bella, her tail wagging enthusiastically with a big smile on her face. The choir raised our voices to the heavens but were pretty much drowned out by the howls and barking.

"This is like something out of the Vicar of Dimbleby" said the Minister with an American Baltimore drawl, to which his congregation barked and mewed enthusiastically. "If only we could be more like our furry friends, always happy, always caring, not in need of a fix of coffee in the morning to wake ourselves up, or alcohol to make ourselves happy". (Later my hubby thought that that was a lot of dogswollop!)

The Minister reminded the congregation that we are all God's creatures and of the scriptures of Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals, to protect and enjoy nature. Legend has it that St Francis, on his deathbed thanked his donkey for carrying and helping him throughout his life, and his donkey wept.

A spokesperson from the RSPCA then spoke about the cruelty to animals today especially with the way we treat animals for mass food production. We have lost any sense that animals, like humans are sentient beings who feel pain as strongly as we do.

Later a haphazard queue formed as the Minister blessed the dogs, cats, budgies, rabbits and even a goat. Bella got a pat on the head and the sign of the crucifixion, but somehow I think she might have felt more blessed if she had been given a big juicy bone. It certainly would have put a big smile on her face.

Teenage Nightmare

The call came late Saturday night when I was in bed asleep. It was 1.15am to be exact. "This is the Takapuna Police", he said. I knew my teenage daughter had gone to town clubbing. My heart jumped. It’s the call every mother of a teenager dreads.

to be followed later ...

Crazy World

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

Although I live in a very neat and orderly suburb with regularly mowed lawns, trimmed hedges and pleasant neighbours there are a couple of quite crazy people about. For the most part they are quite harmless, busy getting on with their lives with a sense of ardent purpose which keeps them busy and for the most part out of trouble. In a way just like non-strange people, (if there is such a thing). Maybe its just a matter of opinion as to what constitutes "a sense of purpose". But in a strange kind of way it makes life quite interesting.

Take for example a chap we call "the sack man". I've often spotted him walking determinedly up and down the main streets and sometimes as far away as the next suburbs. He's always carrying a couple of sacks, at least three bulging big plastic sacks filled with what looks like newspaper. He himself is dressed in brown ragged cloth looking not dissimilar to Robinson Crusoe's Man Friday complete with long matted hair and beard and leather sandals and skin burnt a deep brown.

He walks hunched over with his sacks on his back as if he's labouring under the load but he keeps going with seemingly determined purpose. I often wonder where he is going to, if there might be something in those sacks that needs to be delivered or if he sets off in the morning from where ever he lives and just keeps on walking and walking. I know that he can read because one day as he walked past me he stopped, put down his load, pointed to a car and said loudly "autosecurity!" which was written on the side of a security van. Perhaps he thought they were coming to take him away. Then he picked up his sacks, put them over his back and went off on his merry way.

Then there's another chap we call "muttering Jim" who is often spotted walking with a determined swagger up and down the local streets and often far away in the next couple of suburbs. I've also spotted him early in the morning so I know he's not one for a lie-in. He appears reasonably well dressed, clean shaven and sports good walking shoes.

He seems to spend every day walking for miles, and, no matter what the weather, never has an umbrella. Sometimes I see him in the local library with a takeaway coffee but never reading a book, just swaggering about muttering to himself. Then he is off again on his mission to walk the suburbs. Sometimes I'll be miles away driving along and then I'll see him swaggering along muttering to himself and I'll wonder where is he going. I suppose all that walking is good exercise, keeps him fit, and is a useful/harmless way to spend your day even if it ends up wearing out his shoes!

Then there's one crazy lady, I'll call her Mavis, who is on a mission to protest against the local council. She has a trespass order against her not to come near the council building but this does little to prevent her protests. She stands at a discreet distance with a big placard hanging over her neck saying things like "the Mayor is Bin Laden" and "Politicians are pollution and corrupt the world".

Then she often rants at passersby that Bin Laden is in the building and tells them to go and get him. Lately she's also had a trespass order preventing her from going into the local shopping mall because she got arrested for spitting at the mayor who was attending some function there.

All this craziness seems to have become quite contagious. Even the local news has become quite mad. Our very own local mayor got stalked the other night after leaving a restaurant and was caught peeing under a lemon tree. It made headline news the next day and by lunch time there was a man outside the council building holding up a banner proclaiming "Pee Protest" and urging passers-by to sign his petition.

To great effect he turned sideways squirting a water bottle from hip length to make it look like he was having a pee. It was an even more surreal moment when behind him, there was Mavis, busy watering the flowers! I would have thought it a late April fool joke had I not seen it on the evening TV national news. Well if its made it to the national TV news then it must be true! Which just goes to show that truth is often stranger than fiction.

Welcome to my world ..:-)

Rugby

Despite having lived in South Africa, United Kingdom and now New Zealand, 3 rugby crazy nations, I had never been to a live rugby match in my life. You could say I am a live rugby match virgin. That is if you don't count the live rugby match my young nephew played in one very wet Saturday morning. After traipsing across muddy wet fields in the rain we came across the poor boy sitting on the sides of the pitch as a reserve and the team didn't give him a chance to have a go on the field. So the game was a rather dispiriting, wet and desultory affair.

Perhaps its because I've been living under a stone all these years and have never been compelled to go to a rugby game. But lately I've got thinking that as I'm living in a rugby crazy nation (where you can't go anywhere without some gigantic annoying screen screaming a rugby game at you), I might as well get to know something about this national obsession and get to know the natives.
So when I heard that there was going to be a game at a nearby stadium with our local team and the national Japanese team it seemed like a good idea to go. Poppy my little daughter was surprisingly keen and, even though it was a cold wintry night, urged us on to go. Venturing out to an open stadium was not, to me, as enticing as curling up on the sofa by the fire, but, as my hubby pointed out, with the World Cup's coming, we've got to make an effort to know more about rugby.

As in "when in Rome do as the Romans do".

So, off we drove to the stadium which is all flash-new and in a nearby suburb. These massive stadium lights literally lit up everything like daytime which is quite impressive. It was surprisingly easy to find a car park and even easier to get tickets and find seats in a throng of excited supporters. The atmosphere was quite electric and everyone was waving about these little flags, one for the local team North Harbour and one for the Japanese team. Poppy was very excited to have a flag to wave.


In our neck of the woods all sporting teams are called North Harbour, from rugby, to swimming, even my son's gymnastic team. And they all wear the same branded colours of maroon, black and white. So if you're at any sport event, just shout for "North Harbour" and you can't go wrong. Whilst the atmosphere was building up we got ourselves a cold beer and hot chips. The combination of this on a cold night in anticipation of a game was surprisingly most satisfying.

It started off with everyone standing up to sing the National Anthem. Poppy knew all the words, I was most impressed. Then a beautiful Japanese lady sang the Japanese National Anthem. And the game began. "Go North Harbour!" we shouted even tho' my flag was a Japanese one. The Japanese team were quite small in comparison to the Kiwi blokes, except one chap. "Isn't that Jonah Lomu?" I said, perhaps a bit too loud as I got a stern look from an onlooker. He seemed as awesome in the field.

At half time North Harbour were well on their way to winning. Whilst everyone was getting more chips and beer the Auckland Cultural Society came out with huge Japanese Drums known as Taiko which was performed with an ensemble of martial artists.

Taiko ensembles are groups that are nearly completely drum instruments, with a couple of exceptions. Each of the drums plays a very specific role to the overall aspect of the ensemble. Of the many different styles and shapes of Taiko drums, the most common drum found in an ensemble would likely be the nagado-daiko. It was interesting to later find out that in feudal Japan, Taiko were often used to motivate troops, to help set a marching pace, and to call out orders or announcements. Approaching or entering a battle, the taiko yaku (drummer) was responsible for setting the marching pace.

However this motivation did nothing to spur the Japanese team on to victory. In fact the second half saw the North Harbour team winning decisively. I still don't understand the rules such as when its off-side, but I have to agree, its good entertainment for a night out. No wonder it’s a hit with the masses. Rugby World Cup here I come!

Sunday Roasts

There's nothing quite like a Sunday roast, a feast at the end of the week with roast vegetables and Yorkshire puddings, usually followed with a pudding and a couple of glasses of wine. Its particularly nice on wintry Sunday afternoons with the fire going and as it gets dark outside the warmth of the hearth glows, the house is filled with the wonderful aromas of the roast sizzling away in the oven.

I'm not sure when it became an institution in our household but it has now achieved iconic status. Perhaps it started a long time ago when I was a kid growing up in Africa and on Sunday we went to Church in the morning and had Sunday roast in the afternoon, even in oppressive heat when its so hot you can barely move.

And so it followed that when my children were small I did the same thing. I would take them to Church in the morning followed by a Sunday roast in the afternoon. Well I tried to take them to Church, but as the years went by it got harder to take them so I suppose I just gave up. Now of course, my youngest child who is just seven has never really been to church and loves to go when given the chance. But Sundays have always held one common theme and that is when the family gets together and sits around the table and enjoys a lovely roast with all the trimmings.

What I like about it is that it is one day of the week when everyone gets together and sits around a table set with a table cloth, china, cutlery and glasses and partakes in what is often a feast. Usually during the week everyone is coming and going at different times and no one has the time to sit down together for a meal. Often my kids eat 'on the go' standing up, before flying out the house.

So how to prepare the ideal roast. First of all you have to go to the butcher and find a nice big piece of meat. Personally I like lamb, but you can have a piece of bolar beef or belly of pork or a couple of chickens. I say a couple because now that I have teenage children, especially a teenage son one chicken for all of us is no longer enough. In the old days what was nice about a Sunday roast was the left overs for the next day, there would be enough meat for sandwiches and for dinner on Monday. But now there is hardly anything left over at all, perhaps just one potato and a couple of carrots.

While the roast is busy sizzling away in the oven I usually start on the pudding. When the children were small I used to often make a bread and butter pudding which was a useful way of using up all the stale bread left overs. But they seem to have outgrown that now and generally prefer a bought pudding, although I usually make an apple crumble which always goes down a treat and its so easy to make too. This usually goes with a bit of vanilla ice-cream or even fresh cream. Once the apple crumble is in the oven I start with steaming a few vegetables. I have also by now popped a few roasted vegetables in the oven with the roast, such as potatoes, pumpkin, onions and sometimes towards the end big flat mushrooms.

At this point I have usually poured myself a glass or two of wine and have started to do a bit of quality control on the sizzling roast which has browned nicely on the outside by now so I cut off a little slice making sure everything is going according to plan. The smells are now wafting through the house so that brings my teenage son into the kitchen wanting to do some quality control as well and asking with a pained expression when dinner is going to be ready. I try to fob him off at this point by getting him and the little daughter to set the table as once the table is set with a table cloth, cutlery, glasses and even sometimes a few candle then dinner is usually tantalisingly close. Around this time the elder daughter comes home, usually from a weekend of being out with her mates, but on Sunday by late afternoon she's like a homing pigeon and arrives impeccably on time for dinner.

My husband knows that I usually take ownership of the Sunday roast dinner and does not interfere. However, there are some things that I am not good at. Making the gravy is one of them. Somehow when I make it, it always comes out a bit lumpy, I've have never quite got the hang of making a roux. So when its gravy time I generally abdicate from the kitchen leaving him to it and remind him to use the water from the steamed vegetables. This is a bit of an in-house joke as I've been "reminding" him for about 20 years. The other thing my hubby always does is carve the meat, a bit of a man's job, whilst I pop a few Yorkshire puds into the oven.

Once everything is served on the table one of the hardest things for the kids to do is to wait for me to sit down before starting which is something my hubby has always insisted they do. Its taken years of training and still its often quite difficult to control them. Nowadays we also have to hold my son back so that he doesn't eat all the meat in one go. But mostly what is the nicest thing about the Sunday meal is that once everyone is sitting around the table and chatting we all get to know each other again. We find out what my daughter has been studying at school and how many balls she is going to go to this year. I discovered just how much my son doesn't believe in God and sees no point in religion. And often we have many interesting philosophical debates about God, our existence and the meaning of life.

A couple of years ago there was a campaign to Keep Sundays Special. I think it is one special day of the week because that is the day when we have our Sunday roast.

What do I DO

What Do I DO




What do

I do when my mind is on fire

My emotions are like a tornado

But I still feel as flat as a blank piece of paper



Its like



I still havn’t got “it”

I’m still not connected

I haven’t realised meaning

Or perhaps

It means I will never know?



You see



Not know is a strong force

Not now is stronger but

Cruelty is stronger than kindness

Strength is keeping me down



And another thing ..



There is a Queen ruling my mind

Housing my body

Who has never sought my permission



From Me



No licence

No positive mission

No role in my soul



But is high emotional maintenance



I am a high and low emotional junkie

I buy into that



Ebbs and flows

Like life itself

My source of life in motion

An estuary that

Feeds an ocean