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.

we are family

It's been an interesting weekend for my homeboy husband.

 

Last week he had a dream

that may or may not have been prompted by 

Mags and I laughing over old family photos.

 

He dreamt that he needed to call his aunt,

sorry he has so many I can't remember her name,

to ask for photos.

 

In the dream it didn't specify photos of what or of whom

but just that he call.

 

This is a man that I have to chase aka nag to call his mother.

Anyway he woke filled with conviction that he needed to call said aunt.

So he didn't but what did happen was that

an unmet cousin unknowingly posted a handful of family photos.

 

It was at this time I discovered that my homeboy husband

had never seen the face of his father.

This was a man who he never meet as he died when Homeboy was about two.

 

In the time between Homeboy's birth and his father's death by car accident,

his father lived overseas,

in theory attending university as by all reports

he was a very intelligent and inspiring man.

In reality Homeboy's dad was sowing his wild oats

while his wife staying on da islan raising his first born.

 

Turns out there is no denigning parentage there,

same nose, same thighs, same skin colour,

would be the same abundant hair if Homeboy had enough

 

Hard on the heals of Homeboy's dad came

and private message on the old Facebook

from a sister he had never heard of,

well sister plus one more.

 

So a face he has never seen materialised plus two sisters.

They knew about him but he knew not of them.

They are so his sisters too,

matching noses.

Nuff said.

 

It was a bit of a teary and exciting weekend.

 

And then, then, THEN!

Today we finally heard that Homeboy has New Zealand Residency.

Oh happy day!

 

 



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.



solution oriented answers

I'm sure your mother taught you,

that if you can't say anything nice

don't say anything at all.

 

 

This partnered with an active decision to be solution oriented this year,

I find that it's flipping hard to blog.

 

Not that I was always complaining,

but a good complaint really helps a good blog post.

 

So here's a few non-complaint words of pride and wisdom

(I always liked Hailey Mills's Pollyanna).

 

Easter Sunday (not an Easter Egg day in our fam-damn-ly)

was the first ever time in his lifetime

that my fulla spoke in Sacrament.

He did extremely well.

I reminded him that all he was doing was reading to a large group people

that he mostly knew.

It was like being in Sunday School,

except with a microphone and a podium.

 

 

This is not my husband or our Ward but

photos of Tongan speakers are limited on Google images.

The principle is there.

 

I also reminded him that people never listen,

and even though there was way more people than normal in the congregation,

they are all zoned out hopefully thinking good Easter thoughts,

but probably thinking about chocolate Easters Eggs

(that they should have eaten on Monday,

the actual third day after Christ's crucifixion

by my mother's count).

 

Turns out I was wrong.

Heaps of people spoke to my fulla afterwards

complimenting him on his talk.

Bless him.

 

He knew he could do it.

His problem was he is fakama or kind of shy but only in public places.

Believe me my fulla can spin a yarn when it suits him.

He can do it in a number of languages too.

 

 



Married

I've been missing in action lately,

cause I got married to my fulla two weeks ago.

That takes quite a bit of effort.

I have had a few other changes too.

I shall be informing the world shortly.

Christmas classics

I think I have enough posts now to make a wee list of Christmas classics for you to return to.

Baking is compulsory at Christmas.

It's a delusional way of thinking you are making inexpensive gifts.

That is lies, lies I tell you.



The other lie is that making gifts is a loving and thought filled joy.

Believe me making cookies, truffles and coconut ice

at 10pm on an evening where the temperatures are hoovering upward

of 28C all the love and thoughtfulness ebbs away rapidly.

Having said that though,

it's like at Christmas you make time to do cool baking.

Baking that you wouldn't normally do

cause it's fiddly, sticky, messy, involves an eye for detail

and patience.

Cathedral Cookies are a fine example of this.

The other thing that I love about Christmas,

I mean other than feeling like I can actually be arsed to do fancy baking,

the other thing is family.

I think its that there are a couple of weeks off.

It's summer and it's almost a new year and a clean slate.

Laughter and teasing fill the air.

Ok some teasing has an edge and a bite,

but why risk it when people are thinking presents.

I think the women in my family have a pretty good sense of humour
about ourselves,
the men have equally as good senses of humour,
just not about themselves.

Stories that just make me wet my pants with laughter
and always will are things like this post
involving Mags, her baking efforts and kitchen disasters.

It's always cool at Christmas time to give back.
Big and small doing good things for others
has wonderful warm fuzzies that go on and on.
It's like a bank that you store up and can make withdrawals when you need to.

Last Christmas my especially gorgeous niece Mem came to stay.
One cold and rainy day probably this very day last year,
we joined a bunch of farmers to fill bags of food to give to
families stuck between earthquakes and hard places.
The food parcels were pretty spectacular.
A roast lamb, kilos of fruit and veges and lots of treats.
Mem even made it onto the front of our local newspaper!
It was a good day to give to others and
reenlist with the Farmy Army.

Two days later the neighbours house was rasied to the ground
and two days after that we had a nasty earthquake
that unsettled all of us.

But giving is always better than receiving.
(another lie, but we'll go with it)
And right now some blokes need a hand.
A while ago I started following this fulla Jimi
on his Odyssey of floating down the very long Waikato river on a lilo.
(if you are like me that movie Lilo and Stitch makes it impossible to say LIE-low)
Jimi suffers from depression.
Floating down the river was his way of helping himself up.
It's a bit odd but I think the saying
"what ever floats your boat' is applicable here.
Some other blokes made a documentary about Jimi and his lilo adventures.
TV3, the awesome people that they are, picked it up
and are showing it on the telly.

This is very cool.
Not so cool is the time slot....
4pm on New Years Eve.
First its a work day and
second that's probably the busiest hour in any off-license in New Zealand
so people are going to standing in queues buy booze
not on the couch watching a doco
that will inspire and uplift.
So here's the teaser of "A Bit Mental"

A Bit Mental - Teaser from Kontent on Vimeo.

Now what I want you to do is go here

and

let TV3 know it's needs a better time slot.

Go on, it's an easy run on the board for doing good.



relatives

One of the things about visiting places with your mother,

is that at some point that relative you haven't seen for 20 years,

but your mother has kept up with

will need to be visited.

Now this isn't something I particularly mind

now that I'm a little older

(emphasis mine).

These visits uncover a goldmine of gory information

current gossip and family myths.

On my mother's side, a wicked sense of humour prevails.

least I've been lead to believe this is case,

though have proof otherwise.

On my father's side it's a bit hit and miss.

This case is a hit, thank goodness.

My most recent visit uncovered a mammoth of gory details

from the minor, everyone knew that stuff like

my Grandma made her younger sister Ginge swap birth years so

Grandma could be younger than my Grandfather Dave.

A not so secret secret.

To the major.

This visit uncovered this doozy.

My father's cousin Sue was told when she was 19 and

about to marry her first husband

that the man she had grown up thinking was her father,

in fact wasn't.

In an age of Jeremy Kyle and Dr Phil that's pretty pedestrian.

But this is 54 years ago.

And the plot gets thicker.

20 years ago Sue got a call from an English genealogist

that started out by telling her she had been disinherited

but could she please provide documents proving who she was.

Hmmm interesting.

Now a days you'd be checking the caller ID

to see if this person was calling from Nigeria

but this was the real deal.

Sue's birth father was a Le Vie,

this is a super posh English family with linage back to the year 1066.

That's as far back as an English family can trace and

maintain it's pure Englishness.

I know funny considering Le Vie is French-ish.

Still not the gory stuff.

By this time Sue had found her father's family

and discovered a half-sister.

Aww nice.

The half-sister was from a third marriage.

Now before you think what a canny old man this father was,

he didn't marry until he was 30.

He lived with his mother until then.

His mother was good friends with my great Grandmother Winifred,

very good friends.

When his mother, oddly not called Mrs Le Vie, decided to travel overseas

(think steamships and months of travel - this was 1937)

she also decided that her boy needed to be married.

Now who would be better than her best-friend's daughter?

also 30 and unmarried.

So they did get married..... for four months.

Turned out birth father wasn't proficient in bed with ... ah ... females.

By the time Sue caught up with her birth father's family,

the father was dead.

Which in the scheme of things is not such a bad thing.

He did live well into his 80s.

And during his life had been a Scout Master.

Not to cast dispersion on Scouting but do you see where this is going?

Hmmm in our modern times,

there's a place for people like him and

it's called prison.

But to be fair, what a repressed, repressed, unfortunate and sad man.

Not excusing his fiddling in any way.

Meanwhile turns out when you catch up with relatives you also

find out how the cousins you aren't sure you've ever meet

are doing well in their marriages, parenthood and careers.

In our case this means for one cousin,

a successful and in demand career as a pole dancer.

Not as in Poland,

though she has gone international.

More power to her, I say and if I ever meet her,

I will no doubt be envious of her tummy muscles.

You can choose your friends,

not your family.

Gotta love them though.

Good things about Christmas part I

Yes! almost better than actually eating Pavlova is licking the bowl!

That's Mags in the background being careful not to get her boob caught the in the electric beater.

Does my tongue look big on this?
That was one lick... hmmm I'd hate to have a fat tongue.

We already have leftovers!

Pippapotamus and Daya arrived last night, and I use that term for 1.30am loosely, from Brisbane and so we cooked up one of those super yummy chicken in a bag things and man its good. Cold chicky sammies for a early morning snack.

I'm beginning to think that Christmas is all about cold meat sammies....

and...

I love my wonky Christmas tree!

I love having summer Christmases and shopping at the mall until midnight even though I'd only ever do it to fill in time before picking family from the airport in the early hours of the morning. Did discover that there is no waiting time at Just Cuts at 10pm.

To temper this post... I've just figured out after careful calculation that it's going to take 3 and half hours to roast our leg of lambie!!! and that my bathroom scales don't register anything under 25 kilos.

Good thing I weigh more than that! Stupid BNZ insurance man (long story for another post)

Merry Christmas!