family reunions

Family reunions are funny things.

They are usually dreaded events that actually turn out ok.

Dreaded cause there is time to over think them, remembering painful long weekend with the parents ignoring us while we ran wild.  I have a vivid memory of when all the adults in my family smoked, except my dad, and them sitting in the kitchen in Silverstream wreathed in blue haze getting blotto (that’s a polite and old fashioned way of saying shitfaced).

This time last year I had a brain wave and I should know to ignore those.  Somehow I followed this up with saying to my dad and Dors that we should have a dad’s side reunion. 

This idea was floating along quite nicely without any great need for action, nor a date and a vague idea of a location.   Until cousin Jen and her son Zane were killed in a car accident last Mother’s Day. 

Then it was the cousins who wanted a reunion and the old generation who were like "organise it and we will be there".  And then some stipulations like accommodation standards and types of food.

Then it needed to fitted in between other family events – these would be celebrations I wouldn’t be invited to mind, and never mind either cause now I’m in two minds about this family reunion with a date and a location and me organising it. 

Let’s clarify the cousin relationship here.

There are four siblings and the first Aunty Prue had two really big kids.  Then the other Russell’s had three girls, the Pecks had two boys and a girl and then my dad, the late starter had me, a boy and a girl. 

As with families of cousins there are bands of ages. 

I’m the tail end of the eldest cousins, then my bro is in the middle and naughty groups and the my widdle sister Pippapotamus is a baby of the babies.   

I was a little too young for my older cousins but so not hanging out with my naughty, somewhat dangerous middle cousins. Maybe it was just me being awkward  in between and let’s face it when you only see your cousins every couple of years, it’s hard to be friends like your parents expect you to.

So early next February I’ll be dreading the family reunion and then on the last weekend you’ll see me enjoying myself in Rotorua (yuk)  with my family doing white people* things, talking about lost photos and experiences and getting some context to so many things that start to make sense with adulthood. 

 

*This in contrast to the upcoming Muti family reunion which will be full of typical Tongan family things…eating and eating and eating, screaming with laughter at the expense of some poor fool and more eating.

I'm back...

I have missed writing my wee blog.

I was unfaithful and tried an anonymous blog because

I thought I wanted get some dark stuff written down and

out of me,

but I've realised that writing here is better because

I think about what I'm writing,

I think about you dear friend and

I like be thoughtful about what I write.

It exercises my brain betterer.

So what's been happening since last December?

Just the big things;

Mags is waiting to be diagnosed with dementia.

Specialists and the like take plenty of time to sort anything out,

so hat tip for the future,

should your aged parent show any symptoms of anything,

make sure you get it checked out as early as you can cause

in the public health system things move about

as fast as Mags does walk - glacial.

Good news, Mags is having a holiday in Brisbane with Pippipotamos for SIX WEEKS!

Am somewhat excited about this and am sleeping better.

Ma hives are still raging along. 

I made the mistake of feeling really well and believing it a few weekends ago,

didn't take an anti-histamine one day and boy did I itch, glow, swell and ache. 

It was like the bad old days all over again. 

But there is a website so Dr Google wins again.

I think I know what it is. 

 I'm always a bit surprised at others need to find the source of everything,

I mean I'm not a river in Africa, Dr Livingstone, I'm a people. 

 So what I think it is a mast cell disorder. 

I meet most of the symptoms especially the always weepy and itching eyes,

depression, hives, vitamin B deficiency and many more. 

I've never actually matched symptoms quite so well before. 

And the cure? 

Well what do you know,

there is none

 other than toxic chemicals so it's back to the diet drawing board. 

Thankfully, I'm not the only person with this,

once again thanks Dr. Google,

saving the day when medial professionals put you in the too hard basket.

I'm planning a family reunion for my dad's side,

the Russells

but unfortunately my lovely cousin Jennifer and her son Zane

were killed in a car crash just outside Bulls last Saturday,

the day before Mothers Day......

This is what I wrote on facebook the day after;

When I think of mothers that I admire, I think of my cousin Jennifer. Jen was born to be a mother. I've never met a person more suited, more capable, more ideal to be a mother. When she married Willie and had her four children, Rachel, Nicole, Zane and Hayden, she blossomed into this being that family revolved around. She was the centre of the family because she loved them and because she loved loving them. She worked hard as an at home child carer so she could be there ...for her own younger boys. She saved and worked hard to make their house a home. She encouraged, supported and was an enthusiast for all that her children did and could do. She was so proud of them and she should be.I've never met more polite, personable, pleasant children - carbon copies of their mother.

Yesterday in the news some of you will have read or heard about a car crash near Bulls. That was Jen and Zane, the mother and son killed in a car accident (and sadly another woman in the other car). Jen was only 40, Zane only 14. They were returning to Wanganui from a great family day watching Zane compete in go-carting, something Jen encouraged and drove many miles to make possible.

In years from now, I will think of Mothers Day and remember what a wonderful mother Jen is and what an example she is of loving, caring, sacrificing mother.

Jen would say live your life and get on with it.

RIP Jen and Zane

P.S. Call your mother. Now.

The funeral is Friday in Wanagnui.

My heartbreaks for her kids, her husband, her parents and brothers.

My heart is actually broken for them.

And this morning I got a call from Dors to tell me my Dad is in hospital

unable to stop bleeding,

as you do, well he does. 

Never mind where he is bleeding from cause the problem is that

he doesn't clot so bled away he is and

the blood transfusions are taking their time to kick in.

He is determined to make Jen and Zane funeral.

So heres hoping.



tahunanui

The beach of my childhood is Tahunanui, just outside of Nelson.

 The place where I have been hiding out since Thursday.

I lie, as usual, I've been staying in Brightwater

at Jolly Hockeysticks Jo's mum's house.
Brightwater is near Nelson but isn't Nelson.

Jo and her mum have gone to Rarotonga for a week.

So I jumped on that one and asked if I could borrow

Pauline's, mother of Jo house.

Plus it's over Easter so extra quiet and super peaceful

in the sun

(until today, it's raining and I'm still in bed

but now have a bed headache.

Do you get those?

It's when you've stayed in bed too long playing on facebook,

not to be confused with a fb headache.

That, just is).

I love this image I caught on my new iPhone

(love it, wouldn't want to be without it, am almost completely fulfilled by it,

am considering proposing, to the iPhone that is).

I love walking though scrub tunnels with the promise of sunshine and surf.

Coming through the scrub tunnel out on to the beach.

Always, always makes me take a breath, followed by a sign of homecoming,

and a temptation to fall to me knees and kiss the sandy sand.

Thankfully this passes quickly, I'd inhale.

Finding a possie and taking a pew,

drinking in the sights, stopping for a minute to

prioitise unpacking, swimming, sunbathing, diving into a book,

taking a walk, swimming, sunbathing, swimming, sunbathing, sunbathing, sunbathing.

I like to think of Tahunanui as the beach of my childhood but the

reality is that, though I was born a stones throw from this beach,

we moved away when I was two.

I was pulled away to Blenheim just over the hill,

bludy big hill to be fair.

Blenheim has rivers, awesome rivers.

Rivers of fresh, flowing water.

Willow trees shading the banks.

It ain't Tahuna though.

The beach I spent my childhood summers on is Waihi Beach.

It's a good east coast beach in the Bay of Plenty.

(that means white sand in NZ, west coast beaches are black sand)

lengthy, endless sand and

enough surf to give you a tumble but not enough to drown you.

Considerably less glamous and peaceful than Tahunanui.

Regardless of which summer, there was always a beach

and usually a white sand beach,

Mags's preferrence.

Is this not the perfect beach?

The water is warm and laps at your feet.

The sand is light and white with silica and

compact, not soggy, easy to walk on near the sea.

The air is filled with the sounds of waves and fun.

The people are everywhere but

as it works on beaches, nowhere near you.

I've taken a couple of American friends to this beach.

Friends from land locked states like Utah.

They have no idea what you do at a beach.

That makes me want to cry.

It's totally foreign place for them.

I remember years ago arriving at another beach not far from Tahunanui called Rabbit Island

with my sister Pippapotamus

and the only-to-be-mentioned-when-I'm-drunk* Bilious.

Me and Pippapotamus jumped out of the car,

raced over the sand dunes and promptly did what we have done all our lives

and wrapped a towel around us,

stripped off underneath

and pulled on our togs**.

Never, in all our days would we have thought this was strange behaviour.

Where else do you get changed when the beach is miles from any amenities?

Besides the beach is for half naked people

(unless you are my grandfather Dave,

who wore a suit at all times, even to the beach)

But for Bilious it was all too much.

all too much this sheltered Mormon as they come, Utah boy.

He fled back to the car to get changed,

least that's where I think he went.

PLEASE NOTE: ALL IMAGES IN THIS POST ARE OF TAHUNANUI BEACH - sorry for the caps, I realised I hadn't been very specific in labeling the photos and am too lazy to go back to rewrite this post.

* I'm Mormon so never, never drink anything that would make me drunk - it's been years since I imbibed.  I don't miss the drinking and the things I did under the influence but sometimes I reminisce about a long, cold gin and lemonade or khalua and milk, or maybe a eye watering whiskey.  The Bilious story can wait for another day when I really do run out of things to post about.  That and I feel the need to expose every last fibre of my being to the oxymoronic world of the public/anonymous world of the bloggersphere.

** Togs = swimsuit.

I know

that my  2012 resolution is to not talk about earthquakes,

but the darn things just keep happening.

Some hideously early hour this morning

there was a jolty something, a 5 I think,

that woke me and half the region up.

Then in Sacrament this morning there was

one that felt like the earth gave it's self a shake.

A little bit like when a dog shakes water of it's back.

Then we are packing, packing, packing up the house

to make room for the repair subbies.

They arrive tomorrow morning.

In the morning.

It feels early and tiring just to write that.

All I seem to do is see things that need repairs.

Floors that are sloped,

doors don't hang properly,

windows have gaps around them.

Makes me tired thinking about it.

Meanwhile Jess is off to Melbourne as soon as

her new job is confirmed.

Pippapotamus and LoD are in Melbourne.

Everyone seems to be in Melbourne.

Instead I'm off to Methven.

At least it starts with a 'M'.

As a Mormon

we, the collective we are encouraged

to keep a record of our lives,

a journal of us.

But I've found when I do that it's so angsty and narcissistic.

Cringingly so.

Oh and whiney too.

And it doesn't seem to matter what I wrote

it's very "the world according to Sarajane,

good, religious Mormon woman."

Like the TV programme with Glenn Close

Sarah: Plain and Tall*.

I'm not particularly either of those,

may have something to do with having no 'h' on Sara

cause I do know a Sarah: Plain and Tall.

Good woman she is too.

Anyway journal keeping just isn't my cup of herbal tea

and I've been beating myself up a little about it.

Man, it's important to leave a record for my posterity

except that I don't have any nor am likely too.

Closest I might get is Pippapotamus having a coco baby.

But shut the front door!

I do have a journal.

I have a journal that is much more my comfort zone.

It's here, you are reading my journal right now.

Somehow you reading my words

makes it so much safer and makes me write better**,

well about normal subjects anyway.

Is farmy stuff normal?

That sheep organ post was interesting I think.

I do censor the topics I write about.
For instance there are a few people I would have liked to blog about.

People like workmates or Young Farmers or

romantic interests and interludes

(keep in mind I'm Mormon so they are tame,

the interludes not the romantic interests).

I have thought about starting an anonymous blog

but suspect it would become like my journal.

I'm a pretty positive person so there aren't too many people

I don't like and I think if I really did not like someone

I would go to town on them here if I felt like it

even if it mucked up my feel good vibe

(there is a feel good vibe here, right?)

It would be funny as.

* Actually it's not like that at all  - I've never even watched that programme or movie so what do I know?  Oh I do know that if you google Rural Business Network my blog comes up.  Probably cause I did the website splash page and got it started.

** better does not necessarily mean spelling or grammar.

The A to Zed of me

This is a viral post - thanks to Laura up at Our Wee Farm

A= Age; really do I have to?  Am dealing with a significant birthday coming up - big breathes, big breathes.

B= Bed size; Queen and you know how I love my bed.  Oh how I love my bed, polar fleece sheets, extra pillows - did you know I've only had two duvets in my adult life because it takes me a year to find one I like so have to look after it to make it last and last.

C = Chore that you hate; I loathe, loathe taking the rubbish out.  Cannot tell you how much I loathe that.

D= Dogs; Not so much - I always think I want a dog and love the dogs of other people - Tommi, Puke, Grizz, Manny - but I know I'm a cat person because they look after themselves and don't need much.  Maybe I should emotionallly invest in a goldfish - even lower input.

E = Essential start to your day; To sound like a complete priss, first thing is reading the news on  stuff.co.nz, this makes my eyes ache and I must stop doing it.  I then do my bidness and then do pilates or yoga and read and meditate.  The cook breakfast, shower and go to work - oh and get dressed of course.

F = Favourite colour;  yellows of every hue but to wear dark blue

G = Gold or silver; gold

H = Height; 5.6

I = Instruments you play; hmmm tried piano, clarinet and the all time classic, the recorder.  So not a practice type person.  Unlike Pippapotamus, nobody bought me a $1500 saxophone before I started lessons - resale on saxophones is very good.

J = Job title; this week it's Network Manager - this is likely to change next week.

L = Live; Leeston out on the Canterbury Plains.

M = Mother's name; Margaret HERMIA, yeah we know.  You can call her Mags.

N = Nickname; Cee from my Dad and Punk but I'm not a nickname sticky person.

O = Overnight hospital stays; When I was about to turn 5 I went to hospital to get my tonsils out.  The nurses kept giving me breakfast and I would say "nil by mouth" (I probably didn't but Mags is a surgical nurse so we were well versed in surgical protocol) but they would insist, because of course I was a naughty kid who just didn't want porridge.  In hindsight what was probably happening was they were deliberately keeping me in hospital under instruction of my family's doctor and my aunt who was the Matron on the kids ward because, get this - my Dad had just got out of hospital after having a vasectomy, my brother Punky Pete was in hospital getting a weird cyst cut out of his throat and Mags was about to give birth to Pippapotamus who arrived on December 20th, yes all of us in hospital in the two weeks before Christmas - Mags stayed in over Christmas with brand new Pippapotamus who I wanted to call Snow White.

P = Pet peeves; Spitting in public,  pomposity, arrogance, taking the rubbish out, cold feet, skinny jeans.

Q = Quotes from a film; Im a book person.

R = Right or left handed; Right right.

S = Siblings; Pippapotamus (now in Brisbane) and Punky Pete (in the 'tron right at this minute, but usually on my couch - will write a fun, fun post about that one day).

T = Time you wake up;  Last week it was 5.45am with a bounce in my step, this week with daylight savings starting it's more like 9.30am.  Just joking, not really, maybe...

U = Underwear; Gs

V = Vegetable I hate; pumpkin, punkin, what ever you call the darn thing - that taste, the texture, the really hard to cut skin (not hard to cut my skin when I slipped), the orange insides - yuk!

W = What makes you run late; sheep and cows on the road but I'm not really ever late.

X = Xrays you've had; I had a greenstick fracture that I got when I fell out of barn loft at my Dad's mate place.  Luc is a doctor and had the same attitude as my family and said it was nothing - it was a little more than that but not much.

Y = Yummy food you make; Pooh's chocolate chip cookies

Z = Zoo animals; I know someone who has pet giraffes which is pretty cool (they have their own full time keeper and get to be free roaming across their farm).  Zoos not so much.

4.35am

By this time on Sept 4th last year

we had had 25 decent sized earthquakes

from the Greendale Faultline.

At 4.35am I had no idea what hit my house.

I have a terrible memory but this is what I remember.

It was dark.

The noise was huge.

The violence of movement.

My lamp fell on my head

and I remember sitting up with my lamp in my hand

waiting for my bed to stop shuddering.

The house slowed to a tremble after 30 seconds,

I got out of bed

not thinking to check for broken glass or my stuff scattered on the floor,

Went to my bedroom door hoping it would open

(since then I've learned that my bedroom door is a great seismograph)

and stood in the hallway urgently talking* to Mags.

Somehow I had my phone in my hand

and txted Pippapotamus** saying

we had had a freaken huge earthquake but that we were ok

when an aftershock hit.

They say that what we now know of as the 7.1 earthquake was

actually three earthquakes as the faultline gave way creating a five metre movement.

But to most people it felt like a massive long earthquake

followed by a sharp 6.9 aftershock

and that's how it was reported.

During that aftershock I remember clutching onto my door frame.

I am blessed with an old wooden house

with lots of very solid timber and nice wide wooden door frames

but I've only ever once hugged a door frame,

 it was then.

After that Mags came towards for a hug....

I thought...

but no she was checking her china on the table behind me.

There was no power, the world was completely dark and silent

except for the beeping of incoming txts.

Not from Pippapotamous.

No she ignored the first txt and the second I sent after the first aftershock

saying that the earthquakes were continuing and it might not be ok after all.

It wasn't until four hours later when she got to work that a Kiwi workmate

asked her if she had family in Christchurch, knowing she did,

and told her there had been a massive earthquake and it was bad.

That'll learn her for ignoring txts.

(I know you are reading this Pippapotamus!)

What can you do? 

We went back to bed.

It was two hours until dawn

and there wasn't anything you could do until then.

Never even occurred to me to listen to a radio

which would have required going outside to the ute,

never occurred to me that anybody might need help

it just seemed like a really weird event that had randomly happened.

It turned out that less than 100 people went to hospital for quake related injuries

and only one man was extremely injured.

But most importantly I knew dawn was coming

and it would be ok once the sun came up.

 We would get our bearings.

Little did I know that there was so much more to come

and how personal and close the earthquakes would affect us all.

We have had 8521 earthquakes in the year since Sept 4th 2010.

One while I've typing this.

Nope, didnt feel a thing.

I hardly notice them for many reasons

but there are people who feel them all.

So here's what I've learned from the Sept 4th earthquake.

Your experience and response to the earthquake is in direct proportion to those around you.

Parents:  I have friends with kids who are frightened rabbits and those who register the quakes and carry on.

What I have observed is it's the parents who create the response in their kids.

One friend was away for the first time in her kid's life.

In Auckland and stranded, unable to get home.

She was pleased with her pragmatic husband's response to their two wee ones hunger that morning.

They came out to their kitchen pantry across the floor.

He saw about the only thing that hadn't broken or spilled was the lollie jar.

It sat cradled on the top of the mess of vinegar, flour, spices, glass, coffee, golden syrup.

He grabbed it and gave his kids lollies for breakfast

Now they have fond memories of the day they got sweets first thing in the morning.

Now when ever there's a decent earthquake they want candy.

I am thankful that Sept 4th 2010 was sunny, warm spring day,

just like today.

I am thankful nobody died that day***.

I am thankful that we didn't know what was to come.

I am thankful that I have people,

even though it got super crowded that night as friends and strangers came.

I am thankful I had experienced earthquakes before

and that my parents were calm.

I am thankful I experienced something so extreme and surprising

because I learned so much about who I am and how I need to be.

I was surprised at the food shortages, the damage, the stress

and so, so never want quake brain again.

For something that took 30 seconds

it changed everything.

* Talking makes it sound conversational but it was that "Are you alright???"  type thing, a bit disjointed and obvious - cause you say things like "That was an earthquake!", "It was big!".

** I txted Dae and Ali von der Barr too, and Emma... actually quite a few people so my phone was going off beeping away all morning until the cellphone towers were over loaded.

*** There was a considerable spike in heart attacks on the Friday night following of which the majority died.  Earthquake stress was the culprit.

LATER: After feeling like there should be an earthquake there finally was.  Well there were about four smallish ones.  To give you an idea at 4.52am there was a 2.2 which releases about 33kgs of energy.  At 7.41pm this evening we had a 4.4 earthquake which is 53 tonnes of energy.  That one felt like the house was pushed a few metres eastward and then it bounced back. 

Orange snow day

Pippapotamus's favourite colour is

ORANGE!

SNOW DAY!

oh and Pippapotamus and CLoD arrived from the tropics to this...

Well not quite, these photos are from this morning.

Pippapotamus and CLoD arrived at midnight Saturday,

it's Monday morning now.

And it's cold

but so beautiful.

It's so pristine

and I can't wait to go and stomp all over it...

before you think I'm being selfish and destructive...

This is what it's like outside now

Last night we, Pippapotamus, CLoD, Punky Pete and Me* 

had a snowball fight in the dark 

while the snow piled up around us.

Then stood watching the snow float down around us

through the security light beams.

Turns out snow in your eye is really annoying.

Snow in your ear isn't too flash either.

My ute is going nowhere today.

I wouldn't want to disturb the snow.

The cats are loving the snow.

They like pouncing on what they think is a solid lump

and smooshing it.

They come in, washing their feet first,

and rub up against your leg

and we all get to be wet and cold.

* I wanted a capital letter too.

Im on my hols

but that doesn't stop a 5.1 earthquake

at 5.40am about 20 kms north-west of us waking  me up.

Man those things make me very awake.

Plus it is really cold today.

I have a week off

and it's going to go like this...

today, my plans have changed a little

but there will be baking, visiting and napping

oh and cleaning.

Saturday will be similar

but on the stroke of midnight

Pippapotamus and CLoD arrive from Brisbane

so they can enjoy freezing their butts off

and if they are lucky we will find some snow somewhere.

Nasty stuff that it is.

Sunday is Stake Conference at 10am

and we will have a new Stake Presidency.

All our leadership have been exhausted by caring for us all

during the 10 months of earthquakes.

Apparently this number of aftershocks is unprecedented

 in the history of all earthquakes.

Funtimes.

Monday, I think we will head up into the mountains

and visit the snow and maybe go up to Arthur's Pass

to see the cheeky kea.

Tuesday, Wednesday will be in Hanmer

specifically in the hot pools.

Pippapotamus has organised it all so it'll be nice to be taken care of.

Thursday will find me helping to organise a fireside for Sheri L Dew.
Super Mel has organised it all,
all I have to do is trouble shoot on the night.
But that meeting starts the little Sheri L Dew fest
that will be going on for me and Dae.

On Friday I go to Auckland mostly to meet up with Dae
and go to Time out for Women
but also to raise a fair bit of money for NZYF.
Making the most of my time...
ok getting work to fund flights for my social life.
But as a birthday present for Dae
I thought I'd see if we could meet Sister Dew
for a minute and it turns out we can
and will on Saturday morning.
Nice.

That's my coming week.
What are you up to?

need gumboots?

the problem with being away from home and busy is that your real life is also busy and goes on without you.

Real life for us is a little bit worrying just now

because

Pippapotamus and the Compassionate Lord of Darkness

live in Brisbane,

Central Brisbane,

not too far from the river

but on a hill

in house now filled with refugees from the flooding.

But Pippapotamus,

the responsible egg that she is,

is still going to work

which requires her to cross the river*

that is now in flood,

biggest (deepest?) since 1974.

Pippapotamus, be sensible eh?

The only reason I went to work during our civil defense emergency

was because it was outside of the Quake Zone and peacefully un-shaken

(since the Boxing Day earthquake three buildings have had to be torn down in Methven

so keep the un-shaken in perspective).

Stay dry Pippatotamus et al and boil your water.

Believe me the aftermath of a disaster is worse than the disaster!

Welcome to Post Traumatic Stress land.

* There are bridges and they're quite high over the river to be fair.

the reason

why I do not live in Queensland or Australia for that matter.....

Yup I don't like wooden fences....

My sister Pippapotomus lives in central Brisbane city with snakes.

Not actually by choice, they were there first and are part and parcel of the Aussie experience (I like my snakes in a zoo, behind glass, locked up or dead). Keep in mind there are also random bush turkeys running around and untold other monsters like stinging, biting ants.

The other night she and I were having a chat when she told me of finding a snake in her letterbox and freaking out just a little, as you do.

What the? to quote another Aussie pest.

The snake was poking it's head out of the letterbox slot, which sounded a little, tiny bit cute but it's a freaken snake - all cuteness instantly removed!

Love you sister dear, but Mags is kinda right in that I'm probably not going to visit you anytime soon. Love and miss you though.

nicknames

in Young Farmers it seems like everyone has a nickname except me. Aww poor me.

See in my family nicknames are signs of affection. From Pippapotamous to Mags/Margaline and friends called Goose and Dae, there are nicknames all around me.

The other day I nicknamed a new friend. Panda got his name because he is elusive which reminded me of a book title - "Eats shoots and leaves" a play on grammar. It can be a panda that"eats shoots and leaves." or a panda can "eats, shoots and leaves". My new Panda, he is of the second kind because he is so elusive. I don't think he knows how elusive he is. He seems to be places and then isn't. The perfect nickname for someone who lives in the back blocks of nowhere Otago.

Then there is Lucky. I work with Lucky and her nickname evolved from her name Lucy being shortened to Luc as in Luke which became Lukey and then Lucky. Now we don't even notice we introduce her as Lucky. Actually I'm not sure I even remember her real name most of the time.

Then we have Mr Legs. Guess why he is called Mr Legs??? go on, just try. Yup he has quite nice legs, that he does. Not like that tragic bogus sheep farmer on the Silver Fern Farms ads. Now his skinny legs are a shameful indictment on townies. Mr Legs doesn't know he is called Mr Legs but I'm sure he won't mind.

Pippapotamus is a play on Pippa. Margeline, is one of Emz's names. My dad, I call by his real name so that's like a nickname when you've called him dad all your life.

But me, no nickname.

at work

and I was working but I have a very depressing and secretive task that has forced me to eat healthy fruit and nut chocolate from the stress of avoiding doing it and now I have a headache.

And I just tried calling Gavy to see if there really is 180 organic farms supplying Canterbury Meat Packers but the number was some guy called Paul who is a builder. I hate that number swap thing that happens in my stupid phone - whoa! very negative sugar rush in my head just now! And now I still don't know if there are 180 organic meat suppliers - that number sounds a bit high to me though.

Ok exciting things since I got back from Gore (as if leaving Gore wasn't exciting enough). Let's see I've booked Mags tickets to visit Pippapotamus in Brisbane, wore my fuggs (that's fake uggs) to work, almost ran my car off the road on black ice, discovered that I don't like Black Eyed Peas which is a bummer cause I just bought their CD (I think I may have fallen into the Black Eyed Peas trap before, now have foggy sugar brain), threw out a tonne of rubbish from the office, admired the stacking of recently chopped wood (chopping courtesy of Goose, stacking of Mags), finally mastered answering the Contest phone with "National Bank Young Farmer of the Year Contest, Sara speaking" reads easier than it is to say, found out our electricians name and asked him to come an install the heat pump that has been sitting in the office for two weeks (good thing no-ones been here), changed the work answer phone message and it only took 3 gos and I don't sound like I've just ran a marathon because I was trying to pack the car and leave while changing the message at the last minute, half unpacked the boxes we took to Gore, did actually unpack my suitcase within one day of coming home (usually I forget I'm home and just keep living out of it until it's empty), bought a cute little table for the deck so we will actually have something to put the dinner plates on this summer ($16 too, excellent bargain), set up an account at Hunting and Fishing cause I do so much of that, bought two new rugs, grumbled a lot about a lot of things, realised I'm still tired and should stop eating bagels and successfully watched Greys and Outrageous Fortune at the same time last night and then kicked myself for not just going to bed.

two hours

it took me to get home tonight...

These are the beautiful Southern Alps with fresh snow.

They looked like that last week and this morning (except with some low cloud).

At Methven it was clear and bright, not exactly sunny, with little flurries of snow that melted before it hit the ground so there was no sludge to walk through.

A beautiful, cool, fresh day.

Raikaia is 20 minutes from Methven. It's where I turn in from State Hwy 1 towards the Alps.

This evening I left work at 6pm, it was already very dark, so dark that when I walked to the car I could hardly see in the 3 degree temperature. I couldn't even see my breath frosting in the cold air.

If it were light the sky would have looked like this (that's yesterday's sky by the way). It wasn't exactly raining as I neared Rakaia but I should have known from the steady, stream of traffic coming towards me and Methven, yes the bleeding Rakaia Bridge on SH1 was closed.

Very closed, not even some cars across in an orderly spaced, safe manner crossing but closed, closed.

And so after driving for 2o minutes to Rakaia, I was turned around by a sick sounding volunteer fireman who agreed with me that getting home was going to be a bit of a hassle.. about 2 hours of hassle as it turns out.

I just tried to find a map that would show you what a 2 hour detour entails but I slipped down some back roads and there is no map that shows those roads.

I have always driven a lot for my jobs and my be safe in uncertain terrain and detours plan is to follow the trucks.

This worked to a point then I remembered that the trucks would take the back road past Christchurch and I needed to turn back onto SH1 much earlier than that!

I remembered Hororata had a direct road to Dunsandel which is on SH1 and meets up with a back road to Leeston. Good thing Cantanbrian road mapper and namers are predictable and named the roads in the most obvious manner, like where they go to and from.

Pippapotamus, Oti and Dae you will remember the scenic Rakaia Gorge drive we took (not together and at different times), you know that drive into the mountains, along the Rakaia River, on the plains - well imagine that in reverse and in pitch blackness.

Epic is the term I think but I made it home to the fire and a hot bath and to bed in a minute.

Tomorrow it will be like this again and I'll wonder what the big deal was.

Then I will have a grumble about how much better the North Island roads are than ours.

I used to believe

Mags has been crazy funny today.

I think it's her giant nostrils, too much oxygen intake. It's true she has massive, almost hairless nostrils. Hairless on the inside, there's a whole other story about hairs on the outside of noses but that can wait til certain people die.

So Nana, Mags's mum, my grandmother, always told Mags that her nose was her Norwegian heritage. Personally I would have gone for blond, healthy outdoors overall look but Mags got a Norwegian nose. She has always imagined that one day when she goes to Rakkestad to visit our far removed relatives that she will be in the land of the Norwegian noses and giant nostrils.

When I was a kid I seriously believed that her nostrils were the size they were because she picked *her nose (come on, we all do, just some more than others) but it turns out it's the Norwegians fault.

Now while we are talking about Norwegians, I will now state very clearly that my olive skin, Mags's darker olive skin, Nana's even darker olive skin (you see the pattern here) all the way back to Anna and Anders Larsen and then all the Dangstorp family were really dark skinned Norwegians. I know! How weird is that?

When I was a kid I thought they must come from a heavily forested area in Norway because in my young mind dark skinned people must come from dark places, like forests - I didn't know that the sun makes you browner cause everyone knows Norwegians are blond, fair skinned muppets not brown eyed, brown haired, olive skinned folk like my family. Besides it was the 70s and 80s when we still sunbathed and got very brown - see it makes sense.. except for the forest bit.

So for today for your laugh out loud reading pleasure... please go to I used to believe - you'll pee in your pants laughing about what adults used to believe when they were kids and sometimes not so little kids. Then you can add what you used to believe.

Just so you know, my nose is similar to Mags but without the giant nostrils - could be due to less nose picking.

*Mags denies any nose picking, Pippapotamus will be the judge of that.

The big 'C'

Actually that 'name' is banned in our house because it's just damn cancer, it doesn't deserve a nickname.

Mags has just past her 5 year anniversary of having breast cancer. This is good because statistically she is now a cancer 'survivor' and the rates of cancer 'survivors' are increasing... however there are no stats for post-5 years but basically once you've had cancer that's pretty much what you are going to die of later on, hopefully not in year 6.

And we get rid of this well abused little helper...

Keep in mind please that cancer are cells that have mutated and gained momentum and as we get older that is what our cells do as a rule except that as we get older our ability to stop the momentum is reduced and our good cells get overwhelmed - see it doesn't sound so bad that way does it.

I don't want you to think that the only thing I talk about when talking about Mags is her boobs but, ummm, well today it is.

All my life Mags has had a fantastic pair of C cup perky boobs - this is important in our house because Pippapotamus and I take after our paternal grandmother in the boob department and the sizing is quite different to our maternal side. But 5 years and one month ago (yes right just before Christmas, December is always a big month in our house) a lump was found and a visit to the doctor was organised.

Because Mags is a surgical nurse she didn't want to have her operation at the hospital she worked at so she got a referral to a breast clinic in Auckland - this was super convenient cause it was very near where my job was based and I commuted to Auckland most days.

All was going to plan EXCEPT on the day of Mags pre-op check the silly surgeon (and she is the voice of the Breast Cancer awareness ads - grrrr) totally freaked out about Magses x-rays cause there were lots and lots of shadows on her ribs and on her pelvis - shadows are medical talk for bad things in the body - and so she (not the cat's mother but the surgeon) wouldn't operate based on the idea that Mags had advanced bone cancer.

So picture this - I was waiting the car, after all Mags is a surgical nurse so she knows the pre-op check drill quite well and was waiting and waiting and then a nurse came out and invited me in. Nothing like that to create a feeling of impending doom.

I remember walking the hall to the surgeons office and opening the door and seeing, wait for it... the surgeon crying! Not Mags because she is of tough Northern European stock so stoic is the word for her but the flippin' surgeon... crying? What's that about? And it was big tears crying too.

Geez I'm glad I hadn't watched Grey's Anatomy before this all happened cause I'd think this was normal behaviour for a surgeon.

And so started a journey of surgery, radiotherapy, pills, doctors visits, ruling out chemotherapy, more pills, stress, more pills, bleak outcomes, changes, fatalistic attitudes, depression, frustration, more pills, more doctors visits and lots of frank discussions with doctors who really don't know what the shadows are but we know they aren't cancer (by we I don't mean the doctors) but probably will be, not because of the breast cancer but because Mags is getting older and that's what cells do, breakdown and can't get up again without lots of nasty help.

Mags decided the shadows weren't cancer and dropped the 3 monthly doctors visits to 6 monthly (saving you, the tax payer a wee bit of money) and basically took control of her relationship with the Health System (warrants caps as you can imagine).

Scariest things about cancer is how little doctors know about it, each type of cancer is very different, as is each patient, and that really conventional medicine has only limited response to cancer. There is so little control over what to do because the options are so limited. I admire parents who take their kids to Mexico to have alternative therapies, keeping in mind alternative these days just means not Government approved. Taking control of something, anything is a really important part of recovery.

And recovery is what we celebrate today!

And lopsided boobs, the mark of a breast cancer survivor!

(Please note: Mags is the one not in black - my boobs are even,

can't speak for Pippapotamus though)

So at Arrowtown

which is like a Disneyland exhibit, very cute and quaint....
and quiet and hot and sunny and shady and a good place for a long evening sitting outside talking This woman came with the motel we stayed at along with the duck called Milly - actually I have no idea what the ducks name is or if it even has a name but I thought Milly suited it.

How kiwi is that lawn outside the motel!

Once we got settled, we took the strange lady into Arrowtown for a stroll and wandered along to visit the Chinese gold miners houses...

I couldn't believe that these guys lived in these shacks panning for gold after coming from the tropics to what would be bone freezing winters and they worked so hard!



It was cool wandering around the settlement and reading about the people who lived there.

Maybe Ah Gum needed to use some gum to hold his wee house together?

This is not a Chinese miners ghost...

This house won the Chinese gold miner's house idol competition..we liked the little wooden window on the left.

Then along the path to Pooh's house.. nah just joking there was no Chinese gold miner called Pooh.

Then back onto the main street of Arrowtown and along the leafy path to the motel for more Christmas lambie sammies

and a big sleep before we, read I cause I wake up early to make the most of the day, the others sleep for ever. I went to Boxing Day breakfast at a wee cafe with great art...

and a walk back to the motel to see if anyone was awake yet... they were.. takig photos of cute Arrowtown houses...



This is my favourite one, very simple and no garden, now that's the perfect holiday house!

Excuse me Constable I'd like to report...

these two for excessive waste of water as according to the by-laws of Brisbane city...

clean gutters though!

No! Brisbane is over there!

Phew we is in Leeston where there is lots of water!

Kickin' cows

As part of the visiting the country experience you get when staying with me is you get to go milking. Now I am blessed to have a choice of farms to choose from and yesterday we went to Emz's farm.

I think this is the grumpiest looking cow I have seen in a while...

The Lord of Darkness and Emz had a discussion about how hot the milk is when it comes out of the cow and heats up the pipes it gets sucked through to the vat. It is hot, about 30 something degrees.

At this point the Lord of Darkness asked Emz if he could put cups on, which she said yup to. But just as that was about to happen Emz's very helpful worker opened the gates and the cows hadn't been teat sprayed (usually my job, one at which I excel at but I wasn't working that day) and she had to hurry to teat spray them before they headed back to the paddock for more fed AND so I had to put my camera away to help even though I wanted to document the Lord of Darkness's first ever milking experience so there are no photos of me being kicked by the irritated cow.

It didn't hurt as much made me realise that my butt has more padding than it needs.

Actually it kinda of hurts right now.

The Lord of Darkness is teat spraying.

Shiny, happy cows being milked.

Actually they were shiny or happy that day. They were hot and grumpy and easily spooked which might have had something to do with Pippapotamus standing at the exit end of the shed smelling very human. She's so scary!