Bacaw!
September 28, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
3:29pm
First off. Congratulations to one of my best friends and my best man and his wife on the birth of their baby girl today. Or yesterday really. The same birthday as her mother. Very cool. Chicken Jimmy has his own little hen to raise. How cool is that.
Now that she has finally has arrived and my other best friend Cobes is married, can all the focus be returned to me? I mean I am the one who quit a job I loved, sold a house way under value, and came to a country that everyone says is really really ugly. Focus please people. Spotlight back on Jason.
But seriously folks, shout out to the chicken, who as a provincially recognized breast stroke champion, finally proved that his boys could swim as well. I love you brother. And now Hud will have a choice between Davis and Charlotte to take to his high school formal. And then back to his hotel suite. Prrrowrrr.
Speaking of Hud, we had a good father son day on Sunday. I think I will take him every Sunday to give Steph time to knit and drink expensive coffee. Hud’s lime green sweater should be done just before we leave here. Or in a week. Steph takes to things pretty fast. She is as smart as she is pretty.
We kissed her cheek and drove to town to take back movies and library books. My pocket was full of the random change we put in a small bowl for Hud to have his own money to spend at Sunnys, New Zealand’s answer to a dollar store. They have a huge assortment of toys for $2. They are all Chinese made and have delightfully absurd translations on the box covers. In fact, here are the bullet points on Pirate regalia we bought today for Saturday’s celebration at the playground. (it’s a big ship).
• Classic Pirate appropriation equipments (what?)
• Shortcut in the ocean tool (huh?)
• The metals defends the true version (come again?)
And finally, in bold, after those three gems. Beautiful Music Function. Is that great? The package includes an eye patch, a small cutlass and a hoop earring. Of course it does.
So we dropped off the books and movies and went to Sunny’s where Hud bought a snake. Hud informed me quickly: It’s not a snake it’s a cobra! We settled on calling it a cobra snake.
We drove further along the town and tried a new beach access. It’s school holidays here in NZ, so more people are in town and more people are on the beach. Not in the water, its still too cold, but walking and wishing they could go in the water.
The NZ school year is split into four semesters. They get three two-week breaks and one six-week break (Mid December to end of January) in between the semesters. It seems like a lot, but it’s about the same as ours back home time wise.
Hud and I sat at the edge of the surf and played with the new cobra snake, or at least he did while I got suckered into watching the ocean. It’s like a campfire. You just get hypnotized by the never ending waves that break against the shore. I could watch it forever.
After about half an hour, Hud decided he had enough and announced we should go. So go we did because I am not just his father, I am a servant to his every whim and delight! Yes sir I said hopping to, and buckling him into his thrown, please do not strike me with cobra snake, your trusty head of security and merlinesque advisor.
Next stop, an estuary down the coast a little, for an orange chocolate chip ice cream cone and watch kids surf their kayaks into shore on mini waves. Holy neato did it look fun. Uh oh. Due to my five litres of water a day consumption, I have to pee oh, every 23 seconds. I had to use the washroom. Luckily there was a small beige building near the access path to the beach. We approached and I noticed a green light flashing above the vacancy sign. High tech I thought and we entered and the door slid shut.
“Attention, the door is closed, please press the button to lock the door” The toilet was bossing me around. I pressed the button.
“The door is now locked. In ten minutes the door will unlock” And then, I kid you not, Burt Bacharach’s classic, What the world needs now is love sweet love came on, serenading me as I held the one thing I love the most in this world, my penis.
Hud thought it was pretty cool too. A talking toilet he said to me with a huge smile. Yes my boy, a talking toilet, what an age we live in. And the ten minutes should be enough for anyone.
But it sure would be funny if after a night of cheese and bananas, you were sitting on the throne and that the mellifluous toilet voice announced the door would be opening in three two one…
The scramble to wipe is a very cartoon like image. Cartoon or George Costanza.
We drove home soon after. Steph still wasn’t home so Hud and I played a little more with cobra snake. He hissed at me. I hissed at him. I ruffled his hair. He ruffled my scalp. Steph came home. We kissed her on the cheek again hello.
The last couple of days have blurred into each other. I have written a lot of the novel and was going to have a record week but today was blown apart by my agreeing to go to town with Steph and Hud.
Yesterday I hung out with Hud and three other kids on our street. A 12, 7, and five year old. We ate Mandarin oranges given to us by the old guy from his trees. We rolled down the huge hill on our bikes. I pushed them all back up and almost passed out. We played with a superball. Steph made us pick up our peels and put them in the garbage.
Then the lights came on and I had to go home.
This trip was so worth it.
Love to all,
J
Oh and we are booked in NZ for February. The trip continues.
blankets of blue
September 25, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
7:45am
I don’t have much to write about today. The smell of French Toast downstairs is overwhelming and pretty much dominating all my senses. I am going to have a grapefruit. Picked from our next-door neighbour’s tree. When I cut one in half, the smell of grapefruit is overwhelming. Hopefully the citrus and the eggy bread can have a little scent battle with the tang being the juicy victor.
Friday we went to Pauanui (Pa nu…..I have no clue) after a morning of writing for me (15,522 words in a week) and a morning of music class for Hud and Steph. They all wore their pajamas to music class this week. It’s held at a Baptist church. Those last two sentences have nothing to do with each other. Carol told us about Pauanui when she had us over for dinner. Said it was all hoity toity with cafes and stores. This immediately made Stephanie want to go, and on Friday she got her wish. We drove the 20km up the peninsula and parked near the water.
We took our blanket and walked down the path to the beach.
Spread out amongst burnt firewood and about 3km of beach, we all sat and soaked in a rare sunny day. Hud and Steph eventually went on their ritual walk, leaving me to fade in and out of afternoon nap. It was lovely. I eventually joined them down the beach and watched Hud play in and out of tidal pools of very cold water.
Kids just ignore cold water. My testes sunk into my chest just watching him. We went back to the blanket after a while and Hud played with wood and jumped all over my head as per the usual.
We went to the café and stores after, more like a little strip mall. Steph got a short white and I got a cappuccino and we watched Hud play on the little playground for a little bit, him running around showing off to the two little girls sipping sodas on the picnic table.
Later when we arrived home, I received a surprise phone call from one my friends. We had a nice chat, him talkative for 3 in the morning on Thursday, but then he just arrived home from a bar. At the end of the conversation he mentioned how crazy his week had been, meetings and running around, and he said it must be different for me. I told him three hours ago, I was lying on the beach on a big blue wool blanket, listening to Oyster Catchers caw around me and I fell asleep. I told him at that exact moment, and I told Steph this later as well, I told him I had not one worry in the world. I am talking that exact moment in time, not ten minutes or two weeks, or the dreaded six months from that moment, but that exact moment. There was not an anxious moment of worry in my mind. I was utterly relaxed and happy. It was a bit histrionic, but very true.
Later we watched a movie downstairs on the computer. The Station Agent. We both loved it.
Yesterday was adventure Saturday. We drove back to Karangahake Gorge, a place we visited in our first week here, but had no real time to explore. It’s a gorge that served as a battery back in the 1800’s.
We hiked along a river, along walkways, suspension bridges and then finally the tunnel.
It was truly the only reason I wanted to come back to this place. I had read about the old mining tunnels that were part of some of the tramps. It was about 300m of old mining tunnel directly into the mountain.
It was cold, dark and just on the edge of creepy as water dripped down the walls and collected in puddles on the bumpy concrete floor. Every 50 metres or so on one side of the rounded walls was a sealed up passageway to an old tunnel. It went in about eight feet before the solid wall. It was the perfect place for someone to hide to pop out and turn your hair white. It was pretty neat. Hud held the flashlight the whole way, randomly yelling to hear his echo. Ok, I yelled too.
We finished the walk and had a picnic by the river, laying on the same blue blanket that I feel will became a theme here in NZ. We ate cold basil and ricotta ravioli and peanut butter and jam sandwiches on really grainy bread.
We had raisins and dried apricots, triangles of oranges from the huge bag we bought from the orchard for only five buck, thin ginger cookies like the ones mom has at home, and lots and lots of cold water we bought before we left. It was delicious.
After lunch we waddled back to the car and drove further south to Paeoroa. This town is famous for producing a lemon drink called L&P (Lemon and Paeoroa) so we stopped at their little café for a splash of lemon goodness and a couple of designer coffees. Hud had a brownie. Ok. We all ate it. Ok, I ate it.
Last night we had burgers that I added chili and lime paste to and they were excellent. We watched movies again on the computer and drifted off to sleep just before midnight.
Today I am leaving Steph for some alone time. Hud and I will go to town and….well you can read about it all soon I guess.
Love to all,
J.
It was the breast of times, it was the worst of times
September 22, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
6:52pm
So it seems the way it’s going to work is a post every other day. There just doesn’t seem to be enough substance to write every day and I am not going to wax poetic about my love for my wife and son every day. It’s just too gooey. And too much goo means sounding trite. And sounding trite means I am not being earnest. And not being earnest makes me seem about as deep as a puddle. And the last thing I want to seem is shallow. Even if I am. Anyway. I am dying for a cheese nip. Or a finger full of peanut butter. Or a dime bag. Or Jennifer Connolly. Or a sarcasm free day. Or the old afro back for a couple weeks. Or shoes that smell of cookies baking. Or a hug from my ma. Or pocket fishhooks. Or a long snaking putt for birdie. Or soft vanilla ice cream cone dipped in that crackling chocolate. Or fingernails. Or unconditional love from my son. Wait a minute. I have that one. Forget the others. Oh shit that sounded trite. Cheque please.
Ok. I am ready to begin now. Yesterday we spent the day with a family Steph met at playgroup. Steph went to their house last week for lunch, so this week it was her (our) turn to host. Steph made the delightful beef and barley soup I love so much, to be served with nice crusty, store-bought bread and some cut up vegetables to dip in a sun dried tomato hummus, also purchased from New World, our local grocer in Whangamata. This couple, this German couple, arrived here from Hamburg about four years ago. At least the male half of the couple did. I believe the woman, Frederique, has been here for longer and is now a landed immigrant due to marrying a NZ man prior to settling down with Stephan. They have two kids, one five and one three-year old, which both go to the same play centre as Hud. Hud likes and almost exclusively plays with the older boy because he is more his size with language skills closer to his own.
Oh and by the way, she still breastfeeds both of them.
Huh? What?
I have never seen a breast more in my life than I did yesterday. This coming from a man with a massive digital cable adult film bill before we left. Oops. Sorry dear. We might have been able to spend an extra month away if not for the $10 porn on-demand cash cow that Ted Rogers is running back home. Luckily, the five-year old only breastfeeds at night, otherwise it would have been each kid attached to each breast for the entire afternoon. The three year old would come up to his mother every hour or so and lift up her shirt to get a little liquid snack to tide him over until lunch. Now, I don’t mean to sound harsh, both these people were pleasant, warm human beings with an obvious amount of love for their children. Language barriers aside (they constantly went back and forth between German and English, making me think they were yelling at me half the time, German is such an aggressive language) the afternoon was fine except for the teat flying out every time I glanced over at her. Once, at the beach, after running around for a little bit, I got a little parched and thought about asking for a wee nibble at the milk button. But nope, the boy scooped in and latched on before I had a chance to pucker up.
The only other issue I had with this day, was, after serving lunch, after we all went to the beach together, after we had spent a solid five hours with these people, in the parking lot, both of us packing our cars to go, Steph and I ready to say goodbye, they somehow weaseled an invite back to the house for another cup of coffee. This of course gave the little one another chance to suckle at his mother’s breast, where he proceeded to fell asleep, and she did not want to leave until after he woke up. Lord help me.
They left after six, after arriving at 12:30. As mentioned, they were nice enough, just different types of people from Steph and I. They suggested we spend another day with them to go up the coast to Cathedral Cove, a rock formation that is supposed to be beautiful. I just don’t know if I can do it. But we will be too polite to say no. I guess I best get used to the giant nips flailing about for the whole world to get a gander at, perhaps even take a sip from. If the wee one gives you the chance.
Today was better. Writing in the morning for me (will be my first 15,000 word week and my new weekly goal), play centre for Hud and Steph. In the afternoon we all drove to the next, even smaller town then Onemana (population of Onemana – 400) of Opoutere (Oh poo ter ee). The parking lot is right down on a spit, which you have to cross a bridge to get over.
Looking out over the bridge was a visual feast.
After the bridge, it’s a 700-metre walk through the nicest smelling pine forest and then you are at the beach. A desolate wonder of a beach that must run about 5 kilometres.
The tide was out so we walked, picking up shells and throwing back wayward starfish.
It was very familiar to all the beach time we spent in Australia and Fiji, and because we have made Onemana very home-like, it was a nice break from the day-to-day routine we so quickly have fallen into.
This weekend we will either drive to Rotorua, a town built on sulpher hot springs that supposedly smells like a thousand rotten eggs, but also supposed to be quite beautiful and fun. Hell, the rank sold me, without the accompanying beauty. Or we will go up to Coromandel town to maybe take another ride on an old locomotive. It’s supposed to be nice up there, an old mining town that retained its sense of spirit.
Now, if I could just get the image of the breast out of my head.
Now there is something I thought I would never write.
Love to all,
J.
Polly want a slacker
September 20, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand.
6:57pm
What a great update from Steph. She has created such a nice weekly routine with Hudson, and he is more animated and confident because of it. And Steph, well she absorbs the newness like a champ, dealing with whatever gathers in her net with a big toothy smile and warm, comfortable acceptance. I am blessed with such a flexible and wonderful partner.
The last couple of days have been a furious writathon, with over 19 pages written in the last two days. The characters are becoming richer, more textured, and the language continues to be colourful without being too repetitive. I am 1/5th complete. I was 1/8th two weeks ago. Things are progressing at a rapid pace. All it took was the opportunity of time. That and a new respect and love for coffee. I seem to need at least one bad thing in my life at all times. Coffee seems to be lesser of all evils. Besides I found it difficult to locate a heroin dealer in this tiny town. Although there are a couple of elderly folk that walk around in a bit of a quirky daze. They might be riding the H train. It’s either that or incontinence issues. I’ll ask them at our next lawn bowling tournament.
I hope to be finished the novel by the time the Grahams arrive for Christmas. Allowing my father to be the first to read the first draft. Other than Steph, who I read what I wrote every day.
Other than the writing, the only other writable event was today I took Hud to the park. We brought his new soccer ball and he is starting to get the hang of kicking it, instead of picking it up and running with it. I never thought the first sport I would teach my son would be soccer. But there are no hoops anywhere. What is wrong with this country? Don’t they know who Sean Marks is? He has a NBA championship ring! (There is only one reader that is for, you know who you are).
Once we were finished running through the grass, we got to the pirate ship park, which, we recently found out, was only just built back in May. We are attending the official opening on October 1st and I can’t think of a better way to spend my 36th birthday than watching my boy run with all the other kids, all dressed up like pirates. I think I might wear an eye patch myself for the event. I also will annoy the hell out of my wife for the week prior with my incessant use of the term, shiver me timbers.
Silly jokes are funny. Then almost immediately they are not funny, they are stupid. Then they are really quite annoying. Then quickly kind of funny again. Then, after repeating them for a couple of days, they become really really funny. It’s the circle of joke life. That is my humour lesson for the day.
When we reached the park, Hud went directly to the climbing pegs installed on the side of the mock ship. They are the same pegs installed on indoor climbing walls and are scattered all over the playground. Hud tried, with my help, for about three seconds to climb up the side. I quickly became a little perturbed. C’mon Hud try again. Nope. Onto something else. Hudson, come over here and try to climb the wall. Ignoring me completely now. Please Hud, try again, just because it’s hard does not mean you should quit. I just want you to finish something. It’s important to finish what you start! The level of my voice kept rising with my pleading, and Hud began to get a little upset, well, a little sheepish and confused why his father was getting angry at him for wanting to play on the see saw. It was when he got pretty quiet that I realized what I was doing. I was basically talking to myself. Or desperately trying, at a way too early age, to instill a work ethic, an ethic in general, that I never had in my life.
I so want him to try things that are hard, finish things that he starts, give an honest effort into even the small things in life, because deep down, these are the failings in my own life. Correctable yes, but looking back, if I could change some things, it would be to finish some of things I started. Sure, there are a lot of things I should not have started in the first place, including the red sports car in the garage in Burlington when my parents were away, for a drive around the block (you never stop learning). But mostly it was the hard things that I quit, basically because they were well, too hard.
Now I don’t blame anyone for my lifelong trait of coasting. Life simply happens to people and you try to cope and adjust and mold yourself into something of value, full of love, and warmth and honesty and patience. I find myself lacking in some areas, while being blessed abundantly with others. I want to be the person that finishes something. That will choose the hard path, not because it is hard, but because it is worth it. I am trying to get there. To get to the place of pride in myself. A new sense of self worth.
I so want to put a Dr. Phil joke right here, but I am trying to remain serious.
I also want Hud to be that way. I want him to tackle life and challenge himself and not back down when things get tough and to finish what he starts, even if it hurts a little.
I just think I chose the wrong time to tell him.
I’ll get back to you in a couple of years Hud.
I’ll still be the guy holding you up as you try and climb the pirate ship.
Shiver me timbers,
J.
Days at Play with my Hud
Jason has mentioned in his journal that while he writes his novel, Hud and I take off to various activities around the Whangamata town. I thought that I’d give a few more details and pictures of Hud at play. Here’s the breakdown of a normal Monday to Friday week:
Monster Monday:
Jason up at 5:30. Downstairs to prep for his grueling daily walk. First he must check his emails, chat on messenger and check sports highlights.
Hud up at 7ish. Jason makes Hud’s and his breakfast and they watch cartoons.
Steph up at the leisurely hour of 8ish.
Mad rush to get showered, dressed and out the door by 9ish for our daily activity.
Activity: Playcentre in Whangamata. It is an amazing centre for kids from age zero to five. It is play heaven. All the messy things that most kids don’t get to do at home, they do here. There is, painting, crafts, play dough, costumes, grocery store, dolls, trains, cars, puzzles, story area, snack area. Outside there is a huge sand pit, jungle gym, trikes, swings, trampoline, building area, playhouse… It goes on and on.
After almost three weeks of being here, Hud is really getting used to playing with other kids and just having fun with all sorts of new kid stuff. I feel like I am getting this amazing opportunity all over again to be a mom. While working so much at home,
I almost forgot how to play. It has been a bit of a learning curve for me too. It is slightly different here. The moms are more relaxed about some things. For one, the kids all run around in bare feet. It’s like shoes are optional. I do get a little freaked out about Hud running around in his tootsies in the building area where there are nails scattered on the ground. They also seem to let their kids explore things without as much doting. Like hammering and sawing. They get their hands and bodies for that matter into the paint without a single mom saying…."not on your shirt sweetie". I am trying to be more relaxed. But when no one is looking, I do sneak over and pick up the stray nails and put the jagged saw back in the cupboard.
Tickle Tuesday
Same routine as Monday.
At playcentre, Hud’s favourite things to do right now are costumes. They have these animal tails that Hud manages to go home with everyday. He wears them all around town growling at the locals. Last Tuesday, we also had a play date at someone’s house from lunch on. This week they are coming over here, to give Jason some interaction.
Wacky Wednesday
Morning routine same.
Activity: M.O.P.S. (Mothers of Preschoolers). This is a bi-weekly event that happens at the local Anglican Church. The mothers get together in one room and the kids are looked after by volunteers in the next room over. Last time the moms talked about scrap booking. We did have a prayer before hand and had a little discussion about “spirited” children. This situation is all very new to me. They did serve cake though. Gooey pineapple cake with frosting melting down the sides. Food obsessed.
Hud didn’t like it last time. The other crying kids freaked him out. We’ll see how it goes tomorrow. The topic for tomorrow is Christmas stockings.
Thoughtful Thursday
Morning same.
Playcentre again.
Last Thursday the kids made shortbread cookies. This Thursday is the last day for playcentre for two weeks. It is school holidays. We will have to set up more independent play dates.
Freak-out Friday
Morning Same.
Activity: Mainly Music at the Baptist church. This is where the kids & parents sing songs and dance. Some of the songs are religious. Hud hasn’t asked about God or Jesus yet. Jason and I haven’t really talked about this subject. It’s on the to do list. Not every mom in the group seems religious, but religious organizations seem to be the foundation that offers most of the activities for the people of the town. The other thing that I noticed was that everyone church hops for the different events. So we sing and dance, get a snack and tea and then say Amen.
After this, it is off to the Toy Library to get some loaner toys. Right now Hud has a FP castle and an FP pirate ship. They have to go back on Friday. I’m not sure whether Hud completely understands that these toys are on loan. We’ll face that when we have to.
This Friday’s music class is a Pajama party. Do you think that means dress up for the moms too? I can just imagine it now, I put on my best lingerie and am the only one feeling cold and unwholesome.
That’s our week in a nutshell, full of new friends and fun. We do miss our friends at home. Please don’t feel threatened in any way. We are not accepting any permanent friend resumes. You’re all in good standing.
Love & miss you all,
Steph & Hud
xo
My pretty
September 18, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
6:40pm
Home comes up more now. We are approaching the halfway point of the planned part of our adventure. By adventure I mean dinner at Carols. We are booked until the end of January, but we are desperately trying to skip the Canadian winter so options are being discussed. But we do talk about home now, and if indeed home is home, or home is somewhere near home, or home is nowhere near home, or if home is on the range, where the deer and antelope play. As mentioned, options are being discussed.
I think it is the fact we are set up here as a normal family, not as transient, and it feels very much like a home. Even with my allocated “work” schedule during the week, I find myself both relieved and disappointed on the weekends that I do not have those three hours to bury myself in the novel. I say I can write on the weekends, but the fact is, Steph takes Hud for most of the weekdays, and I want the time with Hud, and Steph deserves a spell.
This past weekend, after the enchanting meal across the street, and the even more enchanting post meal, back at home, fireside chat a la wine and nudity with my wife, was pretty dull. The weather is not co-operating with our grand weekend road trip adventure plans, so on Saturday all we did was drive up and down a mountain to a town called Thames. We went to a mall, and wondered wide eyed like a trio of yokels at all the pretty lights and shiny sales. We ate our packed lunch at a playground, where Hud ran hunched over, exaggerated arms flying, to all the new-to-him equipment. Finally we went to see the Wallace and Gromit movie at a tiny old theatre with about twenty other kids. I ate too much candy and not enough celery and almost, almost fell asleep with my ball cap over my eyes about an hour in. I am really getting old. I used to only be able to sleep, lying, in fetal position, with a pillow between my knees, and my head on a nice flat pillow, in a queen sized bed. Now I can fall asleep anywhere. ……………………………………..huh what? See?
We drove home and did not feel like making a big old dinner so Hud had the beef and barley soup Steph made last week. Ten minutes later, after picking at Hud’s, so did I. I told Steph it reminded me of the Campbell’s beef and barley soup I loved as a kid. Mental note: Comparing homemade soup to Campbell’s is not often viewed as a compliment. Hud went to bed pretty easily, so Steph and I got all cuddled and started to watch Passion of the Christ. I feel asleep reading the first five minutes. Steph watched the whole thing and fell asleep disturbed, tossy and turny.
Last night a storm ripped through Onemana and I thought it was going to tear the roof off. Carol mentioned that September brings strong winds through the Coromandel, but I honestly thought I saw a witch on a bicycle when I looked out the window in the middle of the night. And the rain. Massive droplets of rain for five hours straight. It sounded like machine gun fire on our roof. Needless to say, I did not sleep that well. I woke up at 5:30am and came downstairs; staring at the storm like it was a long lost enemy. I always went for my walk to feel the fury of this wicked wicked storm, but it was Sunday, my day of rest, so it was easy to decline.
Today we simply hung around. It pissed on and off for most of the day, so Hud watched a couple of movies and I finished one of the stupidest books I ever read. The main character was so arrogant, so unappealing, she managed to make me hate her even though she was the parent of a child molestation victim. Not an easy task. The only benefit I took from this book was the fact that if this woman can get published, over and over again, to acclaim even, then my hard-nosed, fun tale of booze, broads and diamonds the size of doorknobs may have a chance.
We did manage to buy more groceries and play at the pirate ship park for a little bit. Steph did a classic mother of the year move in between two other mothers and their respective children. She got Hud on the big swing, gave him a big push, and he fell off backwards. It scared him more than it hurt, but he still cried and we walked away smiling, Steph’s tail between her legs. It has happened to every parent I am sure at one time or another.
Now I am full after the steak, roasted Kumara and potatoes, broccoli and cauliflower meal I just made. I started another book, a mystery this time, my ninth read in four months.
What a luxury.
Love to all,
J.
Jason, Steph, Carol and John
September 16, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
8:27pm
We brought a bottle of New Zealand Shiraz. I drank it in maybe four glasses. I was nervous. It’s not Carol I was nervous about. It was John. John is a builder. Been working with his hands all his life. Whereas I think manual labour is a Peruvian dissident. And besides, his wife has been giving me the look since the moment by burly mass crossed the doorway of her heart. Needless to say, no sparks or fists flew.
It started at 5:40. Just before the later time Carol gave us the option of attending. Just come over between 5:30 and a quarter to six she said. We rebelled against the former time; we were submissive to the latter, later time. She greeted us at the door. Let the whirlwind of chitter chat begin. John get up from the chair, Jason, Stephanie and Hudson are here. John rises. He is not the Billy goat gruff I thought he would be. He is affable with a warm smile and a little bit deaf. That makes three out of four of the residents I have met in Onemana who are hard of hearing. It’s like being surrounding by a neighbourhood of my father, without the Burt Reynolds sex appeal. I keep waiting for the longhorns to come out. They do not come. Shattering my image of elderly folk and sitting on rocking chairs and saying what’s that sonny? Over and over again.
First thing I notice, or try to notice, is how John deals with the incessant, but harmless talking of his wife. Within seconds I realize he does not deal with it, he cannot hear it, and talks over it. So in their living room, in their fine looking recently renovated cottage, all four adults are talking. I glance down at Hud on the floor playing with an old wooden train and I swear he shakes his head and said…fucking chatterboxes…
Chugga chugga woo woo Hud…chugga chugga woo woo.
We were given the tour. A nice old bungalow home turned into a two-floor house with the top floor done in tongue and groove pine. They don’t use the term tongue and groove here, and frankly I am a little bit embarrassed writing it out. But I can’t remember the term John used, I think it was finger in hole pine, or dink in box pine, something like that, but whatever, now I am being juvenile.
Give me a break; my first real social interaction in months is with people my parents would think are uncool. And my parents think we are uncool. So there.
Dinner was great. A roast chicken with all the fixens. Potatoes, green beans and peas for Steph, kumara, which is sweet potato, stuffing, which was served cold on purpose, broccoli and cauliflower. A traditional Kiwi roast meal, Carol announced, with her fingers curled just so. It was excellent and there was something endearing about the both of them. My best strategy in scenarios like this is to question the country, and their experiences dealing with the politics and geography in their long lives. They have been together since she was 19, making them married for at least 35 years and I admire that type of dedication and relationship patience. The fact that neither could hear each other for that length of time may have something to do with the success, but who am I to question that endurance. They chatted, mostly Carol, but with John trying to offer his opinions on the successes and failures of New Zealand world policy. They were proud of a particular Labour leader who died recently, but led them through the nuclear policy they denounced and the boycott of the South African rugby team during apartheid. It was interesting and warm and full of red wine that kept magically sliding down my gaping throat.
She served pavlova for dessert, which is basically baked meringue and fruit, and for a couple who have been dieting for the past two weeks it was like heaven for us, even though we emphatically waved our hands at her suggestion we take it home. We would finish it before we crossed the street, Steph said to many laughs.
There is sadness to Carol that I would be remiss in mentioning. Humour aside it seems her daughter-in-law is estranged from her, and as a result denies or at least limits the access to her two children. Leaving Carol a grandmother to phone calls. She seemed genuinely delighted to see Hud’s blonde mane tornadoing around her aptly decorated retirement home, and there was a bitter mention of the fact that her grandson has been to see them once, and he was two. The four year old has never been up to see them. This is a beach resort town built for grandkids. It was sad. It was the only time she stopped talking.
So no footsies under the table. No ass grabs near the microwave. No making out behind the glass shower curtain. Just a pleasant meal with two retirees who are trying to create a life out here in Onemana.
Who happened to neighbour a threesome of meatheads from Canada.
Ok, I kissed her, just once, and she fainted.
Hud is the only one who saw it.
And I gave him some pavlova to keep him quiet.
Love to all,
J.
Wear do I hang my tie?
I don't want to get you all excited.
At least not as excited as I am.
But.
Dinner at Carol's is on.
Tonight.
And when I said I didn't have a suit to wear.
She said.
Get this.
You can wear your birthday suit.
Prrowwwwwr....
Here is a picture of Hud and a sunrise on my walk to keep you going until tonight's apres dinner post.
Love to all,
J.
Snap, crackle and run
September 14, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
8:10am
No preamble today. Well, a small one.
Yesterday Steph took Hud to his play group and was invited to lunch at Frederica’s house after, a german mother of two who also attends the play group. She still breast feeds her two children. One is five and one is three. That, is another entry all on its own. All I can say on that right now is…”Can I get a hit Ma, I’m going out with the boys…I’m just going to jump in the shower, can you put it in this shot glass? I see the future.
So, I was presented with pretty much a full day on my own. This whole portion of this trip has afforded me the luxury of being alone. A strange feeling when you are used to the frenzy of 24/7 wife and son companionship. 9:30 they are gone. Hud running back along the front porch to give me one last hug. I meet him down on one knee and stay there for about 11 minutes as my muscles have locked up after the morning tramp (I could use a morning tramp duh dun dun tiss!).
So alone has many options. Alone could be Dr. Phil. Alone could mean lighting a fire. Alone could mean the tussled bed upstairs, heating pad still on, waiting for my spread eagled body to dive in. Alone could mean raiding the cupboard for deliciously evil carbs, with their seeds and crusts, and crunches and doughy delights. Alone could mean the cleaning of the house. Alone could mean carnal thoughts and the slippery jar of hand cream. Alone could mean writing.
Alone did mean writing. From 10-12, break for lunch, then from 1-3, I wrote almost 3500 words of the rapidly progressing novel. Writing this is kind of fun. I have the giant story. I have three solid characters. But each day the path widens. Or splits. And you tack on little vignettes to add value to the characters. To give them depth. We have memories. That is what makes us somewhat whole. These characters have memories too. And writing them is interesting, particularly because they have no boundaries. Well the same boundaries of gravity and lack of fire breathing, as this is not a science fiction novel. Anyway, it is fun and I actually miss it when it is impossible to write, i.e. when Hud is climbing Mt. Dad.
At 3:20pm, Steph and Hud had yet to return, perhaps they were all suckling at the giant teet of the fraulein, who knows. I decided to check out a hike suggested to us from Ross, our neighbour who doesn’t let me talk, across the street. The walk began at the bottom of our street, before the descent to the beach where I walk everyday. I cut through the park and jumped a small fence where I could see a path leading off to the distance. Ross told us there are small beaches at the end of these walks, so I had an idea of what my goal was, I just had no idea how to get there. I followed the path along the farm fence for about 200 metres before it swerved into the forest. A small river cut through the forest and down towards the ocean. I could not see the path, so I thought maybe I was to follow the river, which had quickly turned into many many little waterfalls. It was very zen, in the middle of a thick forest, listening to the waterfall, watching it cascade down to the waiting sea. But there was no path here. I was holding on to large vines and scaling down mossy rocks. I must have taken a wrong turn. I climbed back up the waterfall, praying these vines would support my weight, and stood at the point where I initially decided to climb down. Across the river I noticed a small opening in the forest, right on the edge of the cliff. I crossed and looked down. It was at least 100 feet directly down to the ocean. I looked out for a little bit. Nope. No urge to jump. No urge to test my non-existent wings.
To my left was the path so I followed it. More forest and then a clearing. A clearing that teetered on the edge of the cliffs again. I looked down. All rocks. No beach. Was Ross insane? The path continued back through the forest and then along the edge of farm fence again. There were cows grazing on the endless landscape of green as far as the eye could see. I plodded on. I climbed over low branches and ducked under not as low ones. I tested the metal fence to see if it was electric. Actually I did this at the beginning of the walk. The path was too close to the fence to try to avoid it the whole way, so got down on my knees and stuck my tongue to it…just kidding…I slapped it as fast as I could. No jolt. All good.
About twenty minutes into the walk, after climbing and descending large grass hills, I finally got a glimpse of my destination. I was still really high up so was beginning to fear the descent was going to be beyond my ability. But there it was. A beach. A small horseshoe shaped cove with about 200 metres of sand. I soldiered on. The descent was not severe at all. It zig zagged and was pretty gradual, not as severe as I feared, and secretly hoped. At the end, about fifteen feet above the beach, lay a slick rock. I saw a root and grabbed on to it to support my repel. It wasn’t a root. Just a tricky stick. I slid about ten feet and landed on my right knee. Ouch. It hurt. A lot. But the initial pain subsided quickly so I knew I was going to be ok. Besides. I made it.
Certain times in my life I have remembered feeling like I was the only person on the planet. Once on a horse farm near the Oregon sand dunes, I was smashed on rye and ran down the trails as fast as I could, only to come to a clearing right on the coast. A velvety blanket of fog swept through me as I stood there, and there, I felt like the only person in the world. Here, as I trudged through the trillions of broken shells acting as sand, watching thick chunky waves crash over rocks and almost soak my feet, not a footprint to be found, I felt like the only person in the world. Usually I feel small at these moments, such a pinprick, but today I felt huge, like I was part of it all, like I was the cause of it all. It was a nice feeling.
Of course, within seconds, I found a fakenstock sandle, and noticed other flecks of human kind scattered about the beach. At the end, hanging underneath one of the trees, was even a swing. A swing I had to try.
Now the wonderful person who decided to trudge the rope and plank of wood down this path was probably not thinking a ball of gristle the size of myself was going to jump on his/her swing. So needless to say I was a little wary about sitting on it. It was elevated; you had to climb on a rock to get up to it. Slowly I evaluated the risks involved. The tree was still alive, so there was a good chance the branch would not just snap. The ropes were worn, but not ancient, so they may just start to unravel, giving me ample time to jump off. I concluded to jump forward if indeed I heard the dreaded crack of the huge branch hanging about thirty feet above me. All of this became bunk as I swung for about thirty nervous seconds before jumping off back down to the beach.
So I sat for fifteen minutes, and watched the surf. I promised myself at least fifteen minutes before heading back. I made sure I soaked this moment in, not just immediately dreading the return walk.
On the walk back, there was only one moment of mild humour. I climbed up one of the grass hills and rounded a corner, and there, on the side of a large hill, were about forty cows, mostly bulls, grazing and mooing. Every single one of them stopped and stared at me. It was like I rounded corner on a subway platform and ran into a street gang beating someone up. Everyone staring, waiting for the next move. I stopped and tried staring down all these cows, but they just stood there, staring, chewing, mooing. It was pretty funny, if not a tad unnerving.
I made it back in one piece, my legs covered in scratches, my knee a little swollen. Steph and Hud were home when I arrived all sweaty and glowing. Steph hilariously recapped her afternoon with the nice German couple who live here without working and can do so for another five years. Like us, but with way more scratch. Hud greeted me again on the porch with a big “Daddeee”.
He smelled like granny smith apples and love.
Love to all,
J.
Walking in syrup
September 12, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
8:32pm
I miss television. There. I said it. I get three channels. All not very clear. One has a constant whir in the background so you almost have to lip read to get what anyone is saying. Maybe I should get one of the many hard of hearing neighbours to pop over and read lips for me. We could do some quilting and natter on about the oddness of some of the neighborhood residents. Then we could have a cuppa. Then we could learn how to tie nooses.
Sunday it was miserable for the first time since arriving. Foggy, really windy with a thick misty rain spitting across the ocean. It was the first day I skipped my morning regiment. I did not feel that guilty, although at one point, standing and staring out the sliding glass door, I almost went. It’s only rain you big pussy. It’s only mist fruit cup. Then I lit a fire and made banana pancakes for my little sleepinners. They melted in our mouths. And yes I played the Jack Johnson song while I made them. I am so not cool. As the syrup dripped down my chin and puddled on the glass coffee table, I thought to myself, this is so much better than climbing Mount Onemana in the pissing rain.
It’s like my heart is one shoulder saying…c’mon..do it…it will hurt…you will get wet...but I promise to pump for four more days at the end of your life….and there is the ol’s stomach, green, festering like a boil on the other shoulder saying….fuck it…have another pancake tubby…you’re funnier when you’re fat…fat is the new skinny.
Such is life as me.
Later on Tina and her son Zach came over for a little impromptu play date. Zack is five and just a little bit taller than Hud. Within minutes they were playing with each other, or playing beside each other, which is fine. Tina sat and had tea and filled in some of the blanks on some of the empty and occupied houses on the block. So basically we gossiped. Next door to us is a welfare mother, whose teenage daughter ran away and is set to come back, this time with a fetus in her 15-year-old womb. The father is bipolar and last summer was taken to a home after a screaming outburst that was the talk of the town. Tina herself seems like a cool chick. She is a older than me and claims she was once the black sheep of her own family, going over to Europe for a supposed six months and coming back two and half years later. There are stories there, and eventually I will pull them out. She is going to teach Steph to knit. So needless to say, with her two kids and her new job as a midwife, she has settled down quite a bit.
It was great watching Zack and Hud play and then watch a movie together. I sat with them, stealing their popcorn, poking them both in the stomach for a cheap giggle. I do not get the opportunity to see Hud interact with other kids this intimately, so I was eager to be involved, and support his communication. He seemed fine. He is going to be shy big kid. Nothing wrong with that.
Last night’s dinner was Taranaki, a white fish cooked with lemon and onion and served with green beans and carrots. I avoided the rice as I am trying to keep any bad carbs before noon. We were a little bad on the weekend, but it felt good, and I will suffer the gaining back of a half-pound if I can lose three during the week. Last night we watched an Irish thriller in bed. It kept us both awake until the end. That’s saying something.
Today, back to the routine. Did the walk in record time. The clouds were so low it looked like the horizon was hiding under the covers, peeking out to see if Mother Nature was coming. I sucked in the ocean air. I watched my feet collect wet sand, weighing them down. I touched the red wooden box housing the life saving tube. I smiled at the small waterfall near the place where I turn around. The halfway mark. In distance, but not in effort, as the return is one kilometere directly uphill. I swing my flabby arms to assist as the pace slows, like I am walking in the syrup I am trying to burn off. I get to a mild break in the incline and it relieves me. My legs burn and feel hot to the touch. Water streams off my forehead in huge, salty beads. My new sweatshirt feels soft against my slick skin. I am almost there. One more chorus of The Strokes song on my Ipod. I am there. The house is still silent. I make coffee. I light a fire. I check e-mails. I check sports. I shower. I sip. I watch the fire dance. I sigh. I feel great.
Rest of the day included:
I wrote 1840 more words. Made a grilled cheese sandwich for Hud, which I took a bite of and spat back out a la Lorraine. Steph went out for some solo time. Hud and I went to the beach traveling back down the morning hill I conquered. I pushed him on the big boy swing. Such a big boy now. He went swimming in the river near the ocean. Water cold as bejeezus. Steph picks us up. Peanut Chicken for dinner. I let Hud play in the bath for a long time. Read his new Vesuvius Poovius story to him, Steph leaning on my leg, all of us cuddled up on his single bed, Wiggles poster on the door.
Kiss. Hug. Goodnight.
Love to all,
J.
meh num uh nuh...do do do do do....me num uh nuh...do do do do.
September 10, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
6:21pm
You may be wondering why I am writing at this moment. You are perhaps wondering why I am not presently at the dinner table at Carol’s house sliding my toe up and down her knee high nylon calf. Well she cancelled. Her husband is suffering through a brutal chest cold. I think he was catching on. And to avoid the potential fisticuffs, she cautiously nixed the invite. She was breathing heavy when she dropped by to let us know. To let me down. She said the breathing heavy was because of helping John pull something in the garden. But I think we both knew the real reason. She’s got a bad case of Jaseitis. And Carol baybee, it’s time to put down your quilt pattern. Cause I got just the tonic.
Wrote another 2,000 words yesterday. Moved on to another voice. The pretty boy. It is harder to write as him. It’s easy to write as the snake. Hmmm. I think I can pound out 8,000 words a week. That would get me to completed book by January. Enough room to edit out the crap. Which it may all be, who knows. All I know is the morning three hours has been a blessing for me and my roller coaster mood swings. The sense of accomplishment drives happiness home.
Yesterday afternoon we bought another boatload of groceries. Basically more of fresh produce we need to sustain the healthy regime. Steph’s new found mommy friends were nice enough to give us some local tips on where to buy the produce and which butcher to use. There is a large supermarket here, but there is something about getting your produce somewhere, and then your meat somewhere else, and just the sundries at the supermarket. I did a price comparison and it was all basically equal. But if the lamb chops we had from the butcher were an indicator, it is the quality that will give the local people blue ribbons. Small towns. Affectionate I am becoming.
I also strangely enough am enjoying the act of hanging our laundry out to dry. We have no dryer here so there is only one option. There is something about seeing my boxers, which the neighbours must think are some sort of novelty underwear they look so massive, swinging in the wind, that makes me feel good. And the smell of freshly outdoor dried clothes is like a hug turned into air.
I am so gul darned country. Pass me a whittlin’ stick ma, I’m gonna go sit me out on the rocker for a spell…
Today started nice and slow. I went for my walk, which is great only because we had kind of agreed to slack off on the weekends so we can enjoy ourselves. But I am enjoying the walks, so I did it anyway. When in my life am I going to be able to wake up just after sunrise and walk along a beach with waves so big and menacing it feels like they are going to reach up and pull me in. My shiny head disappearing quickly under the white foamy aggression. So I will continue to do the walks. The uphill part still hurts. But less so. And I know if I ….er…when I keep this up…I will have to make them longer to ensure optimal physical value.
After breakfast (grapefruit, three flatbreads with light cheese and tomato, fat free yogurt) Carol dropped by to tell us everything we already knew about the area. I was just getting out of the shower when she arrived. You be the judge.
Before we left on our driving adventure, I called home to try and catch Andrew at his stag. I did not, but I did manage to talk to Jim, Tony and Sam, three other lifers. None of them sounded to eager to talk to me, but strippers were in the room, so I will give them the benefit of the doubt. It was still nice to hear their voice, especially Jimmy, who is on the cusp of fatherhood. So much so that he is wearing a pager and not drinking at the stag. Yeah right. He’ll be pissed in the delivery room.
Our day began by driving 75km up the coast to a town called Whitianga. The town was basic, but I was able to snag myself the birthday present I was looking for. A huge grey sweatshirt with a hood, which they call hoodies here.
I love it. I had been searching for a couple of months to find the exact cotton of my youth. And I know, barring any unfortunate misplacements, I will own this sweatshirt for the rest of my life. Hud will wear it one day. It will be massive for him. It will never ever fit him well.
I did get ahold of Andy, and wished him well. There were forty to fifty people at his stag, proving how well liked he is. He is such a special and warm human being. I am lucky to be one of his friends. It kills me to not be there.
After lunch at a small café (BLT’s and salad, remember, weekends are free) we drove back down the coast and stopped at Hot Water Beach. Hot Water Beach is aptly named because between two hours on either side of low tide, you can dig into the sand and very hot water created by underground geothermal activity will fill the hole, allowing you to have your very own hot tub as the cool water of the ocean washes over you. We had planned to come here at a different time but we were in the area and realized it is only about 40 minutes from our place, instead of two hours we anticipated before.
An adolescent rugby team was there at the same time as us, playing in the waves and digging into the sand with shovels they brought with them. It was a lot of fun and we will go back when low tide is in the middle of the day, and it is a little bit sunnier out.
We continued driving, stopping a couple of times to bask in the beauty of our surroundings and take a few pics. It is almost exactly as I pictured it to be here, and that is saying something. Back in Toronto I thought there is no way it can be as beautiful as I imagine it to be. But it is. It reminds me of being back home and rounding the corners on country roads and seeing a golf course in the middle of nowhere. The shock of the green. The carving and shaping. Well it is naturally like that everywhere here. The dormant volcanoes and the dairy farms (way more cows than sheep where we are) are all covered in this almost fluorescent colour green, only interrupted by the occasional big mountain, or thousands of miles of beach and ocean.
It’s phenomenal.
It’s earth’s phenomenon.
Love to all,
J.
Scratching my underbelly
September 9, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
One more day until dinner at Carols! I am one large rippled ball of excitement!
My legs are sore. Today’s daily walk choice included 400m of direct incline right at the finish. I could feel the thick blood rumbling through my veins. My heart like scared lungs. Up down, in out, up down. And then I was home. So sweaty and puffy. So red and lovely. I jumped in the shower. Mildly cold shower. Didn’t take. Still sweating, I ate a grapefruit and drank green tea. Finally the tap shut off and I was able to sit for a spell. It was when I stood up the re-streching of thigh muscles occurred, and I almost toppled like a card house after a sneeze. So I sat back down. To type.
Yesterday was pretty uneventful, except for the beautifully ugly 2,500 words of CMSG that I feverishly wrote while listening to techno and staring at the ocean. I was happy. I am happy about it. In Byron I had convinced myself the only way I could write that story was to be half drunk with a full pack of smokes beside me. I romanticized it. Recluse writer. Drink in one hand, smoke in the other, ranting at the screen, yelling at my wife, getting in fights with locals. What an asshead I am. Now that the groove has been established, the routine has been accepted, the three hours a day of power writing is starting to be something I look forward to, instead of dreading. It’s at 45 pages. I am 1/8th finished.
Yesterday another neighbour Sandy dropped by. She was actually the one left the firm and juicy oranges in a bag at our door. Very interesting. Soon I will be courting all the sixty-year old women on the block. Pitting them against each other. Making them ache for taste of the big chunk of fudge. I need a really good name for this soap opera. Love After September….Way Down Under….Your Oranges or Mine….Call Me Momma….Ew. Nix the last one.
Sandy invited us over for tea, so after our lunch and a movie for Hud, we walked across the street and sat down to talk to Sandy and Russ. Russ immediately took me outside to show me his garden. This was not unlike us scratching our sacks and shooting whiskey, except a lot gayer. Russ is also hard of hearing so, instead of attempting to actually listen, or have an aid, he just keeps on talking, opining, lecturing, while I stand there, mentally smacking him upside the head.
He did ask what I did for a living and I told him what I used to do, and that I am trying to be a writer now. He asked what I wrote and I said right now I am attempting a crime fiction novel, about the darker side of life, the underbelly. Have you ever been involved in the underbelly he asked?
This is the point where I wanted to say…. well I once shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die.
But I did not, I shuffled my feet, kicked a nearby stone and just as I was about to answer, my mouth open, my finger poised to make a point, Russ began talking about volunteering in a prison and how, if given a choice, the prisoners would choose pain as punishment instead of confinement. I thought it was an appropriate juncture to punch Russ right in the wiggly jaw and he dropped 25 ft to his garden faster than a bag of hammers.
After that round of fascination, we went back inside and Tina; Russ and Sandy’s daughter had arrived with her five-year-old son Zach. They will be staying here this weekend, so everyone was trying to get Hud and Zach to play together. They did eventually, going out to the garden and circling the property. The property is very nice, including the garden. The lookout directly over Onemana beach, a view I could never get tired of.
Tina was ok. She was all scowly and quiet when she arrived and I think she was tired or not really happy about being at her parents’ house. She is a midwife covering a much too large region, so she spends a lot of time in her car. It was nice to have some interaction with someone my own age. Steph gets that with her playgroups. I get that with Steph. It’s amazing how much you miss talking to people.
Last night we had a great bbq pesto chicken with broccoli and cauliflower and big spinach salad with apples and red peppers. Yum. The food regime goes well. We will treat ourselves a little on the weekend, but I am going to try and not over do it. Since Monday I have lost over seven pounds. I know its all water weight, so I will start with a new number this Monday and use that as the actual start weight.
I am loving the exercise though. Even if I can’t get up from this chair.
Love to all,
J.
Trains and Rockets and Bridges that bounce
September 8, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
7:27am
Hud is sitting across from me eating a bowl of Rice Bubbles. Crisps are chips here and chips are fries. Just like Australia. Can you tell I am on a diet….or food regime?…it’s all I think about. Actually, that is not totally true. I think about beer as well, and diet coke, and coffee, and wild ass circus sex. And Andrew’s wedding this weekend. And Chicken Jimmy’s upcoming baby. Sigh.
I had a nice note from one of friends. She told me when all the gang gets together there is a definite gap because Steph and I are not around. It was nice to hear. You begin to convince yourself that you never mattered much to your friends. Or I begin to wonder that. Only because of my automatic sulk mechanism. I do miss them. My family goes without saying.
I am back to writing the novel. 2-3 pages a day for the remainder of the trip here. That is my goal. It should be attainable with the 3 hours a day I have allotted to me for writing. Writing is work. You have to sit in front of the blank screen and type. Type until your hands cramp. Then read. Then type again. It’s discipline. An attribute I have trouble with. Even before the chronic pot smoking days. The garage days. I used to sneak out during the week and come back at 4 in the morning when we lived on Glengarry. Someone’s parents were always away. What a privileged teenage life I squandered. But full of memories. I think.
So Andrew is getting married this weekend. One of the last of my friends to take the plunge. I am at the age where some have even taken the plunge twice. Andrew is marrying his girlfriend of 11 years. They are wacky. Everyone has a wacky couple in their social circle. I have known him since I was 12 years old. He was at my parent’s wedding. Well one of the weddings. I have been to four. Four weddings of at least one of my parents. What a great statistic. I wish I were going to Andrew’s wedding. I hope they take a lot of pictures. It will be naughty and dirty and wonderful.
Yesterday was more than just me wallowing in the house. We went to Waihi, a small gold mining town about 30 km south of us on the Eastern side of the Peninsula. With a little investigation we found out an old train runs just for passengers along a 6.5km track retained from the old gold mining days. They still mine gold and silver here, they just transport it differently. Well, we were the only ones scheduled to go on the train so we just took the engine car.
Meaning Hud got to sit in the front and blow the whistle as this relic of an engine chugga chugga woo wooed down the track.
The scenery along the track was more the rolling hills of green then the gaping maw of chasm I thought it was going to be, but this truly was a trip for Hudson. He stood silently, a little shy of the conductor, a wonderful retired architect living his dream, but Hud loved it, and cried when we had to leave.
Dennis, the instructor, was inspirational.
He just loved his job. He was 63. He worked two days a week and had really great teeth, which he showed non-stop. He knew all about the train, the route, the history of the region. When he first applied to work on this tiny railway, he thought he was going to work in the gift shop, or help clean up. Nope, they told him he would be driving, and he must have jumped up and down like a drunken kangaroo. I am sure there is not a week that goes by where Dennis does not leap out of bed on the days he is working and kiss his wife a little more passionately, wink at all the cuties on the way to the railway, and smile to every single one of the passengers who are lucky enough to ride his small train. I have never met someone who loved his job more. Inspiration appears so randomly.
After the railway we went to playground with a rocket ship with a slide in the middle of it. Hud played around and raced another small boy who was smaller but probably two years older. Hud lost the races but he didn’t care, he was running.
We ate our yoghurts and were off, down the highway to the Karanghake Gorge, right in the heart of all the old gold mines. We walked on suspension bridges with allowances for only 10 people and they bounce!
We plan to come back here, as there is some good walks here, one through an old mining tunnel 180 meters long. You have to bring your own flashlight. Scary shit man!
On our way home we dropped by a beach here recommended to us by the large man who works or owns the small grocery store in Whangamata who always gives Hud a free lollypop. It is 10km of white sandy beach with a really nice break. There was one guy surfing and he kept on skipping the big waves. He’s chicken, said my wife, resident surf Betty.
So, during a great dinner of steak, green beans, sliced tomatoes and a small amount of roasted potatoes we summarized that Hud had been on a train, a rocket ship and a suspension bridge all in one day.
Life is good when you’re three. Life is good when you’re almost 36
Love to all,
J.
Big in Germany....
September 6, 2005
Kiev, Ukraine. (just kidding)
Onemana, New Zealand
6:59pm
We are going to Carol’s for dinner on Saturday night. For writing fodder alone it should be worth it. I can’t wait to pull her husband aside or just make one small inside joke about how much and how fast she talks. I did find out from the owner of our house that she suffered quite a serious accident in the Whangamata surf a couple of years ago that has left her fairly deaf. The odd part is both Steph and I never noticed. She either does a wonderful job of reading lips or she truly is not listening to a word we say and just keeps on talking to mask her mild defect. Anyway, she promised us a true Kiwi dining experience, whatever that is.
I am planning to get obscenely drunk and start hitting on her as she washes the dishes in the kitchen. I am talking blatant come-ons, like,
“Carol, your ass looks rocking in those stretch pants”….or
“wow Carol those oranges you gave us from your tree were so firm and juicy” I would then slide my hand under the suds and nudge her finger… “not as firm and juicy as you though huh momma?”
That would be so much fun. And mean. But admit it. Sometimes mean is fun.
The funk is eeking back a little. I am going to blame it on the food sacrifice. But there was a point during last night’s Scrabble game, and again today at the park with Hud, where I thought I was going to explode in fiery anger, or just curl into a fetal position and sob. I don’t know exactly why these feelings seem to come. I think the pressure to write is getting to me. I am feeling like another hack who will starve himself and his family before realizing he was never good enough to begin with. And really I am not good at anything else. I am a good father and husband but that does not pay that well. I always thought I could design really solid glassware, and I dream of owning a jazz/steak restaurant/bar, but other than that I am spinning the giant wheel in the game of life waiting to see how far I can move my car.
Steph bolted out of the gate here and now has landed activities for Hud and her every morning of the week. Leaving me a solid two hours to try and write. I did write something this morning, something other than my novel. My novel should be the screenplay it started out to be. The new thing is closer to me, writing what I know and all, but it just seems to be tripe and trite and crass and occasionally hilarious. Is that the type of writer I am going to be? Is that the type of person I am going to be? Who knows.
I am not drowning like I was in Byron. But I am looking over my shoulder making sure the zinc-nosed lifeguard is watching.
Needless to say the activity portion of the program has been non-existant. I did manage to do my uphill walk this morning and stayed very close to my food regime.
I just wish I was phat and not fat.
Love to all,
J.
As the stomach turns...
September 5, 2005
Onemana (get used to it), New Zealand
8:20am
It will be difficult to fill these pages with tales of wonder and awe. I am living in a town of 200 people in a two-bedroom house that smells of new wood and old bug spray. My guess it will become a little bit like a boring soap opera. Me, Steph and Hud the main characters, the neighbours, the secondary characters and the random people we meet the tertiary motley crue.
Take Carol for instance, our greeter, our neighbour across the street, our supplier of a toy bear for Hud, and one of the fastest talkers I have ever met. She says the word yeah after every thought burst, although it sounds more like yeh, more like a bird call then a sentence break. And her hands, brown spotted, fingers full of rings, some real, some not, wave like T-rex arms, flailing, random air punches and slaps as she tells us what television show is on tonight that Hud might like. She was a librarian and Steph accurately suggested that maybe, after all the years of shushy silence, she is making up for it. Her husband, a man I have yet to meet, works outside constantly. When we arrived he was painting the fence surrounding their quite large house. My bet is that fence has changed colour about twenty times since they retired here to Onemana. Him just seeking solace in the gentle up and down strokes of a large brush. Instead of being driven to murder by the non stop chirping of his harmless, bespectacled wife.
We met another neighbour yesterday as well. Three doors down from Carol. John I think his name his. Retired here from Palmerston North 14 years ago. I think he was lit up and he admitted he was hard of hearing, so the conversation went accordingly. Gives you an idea of the age of the people that live around us. At least the people that live here year round. Most of the places are weekend or summer homes. In early evening, when blackness has taken over, I stand on our balcony off our bedroom and look at all the empty homes. One in five has the familiar flicker of fire, or reading lamp being switched off, and by 9:00pm all the houses are dark. Bedtime comes quick in this docile community.
So will I become bored? Hopefully. I want boredom to drive my writing. I want there to be nothing else to do but write. Steph is fervently seeking clubs and groups to join to occupy her and Hud’s time and before you know it, she will be rooted here like new tree. I appreciate and am terrified of the time she is offering me to write. It is up to me now.
The question remains: What am I going to write? I love the story of my novel; I can see it from start to finish. But the voice is hard to come by. I have another idea that may suit me more. Food and friends and the drama and reality of everyday life. That may be more my thing. I have taken advice from a treasured ex-coworker about finding my voice and to stop writing so linear. This is day one, and no matter what, I will still write this journal. Perhaps as something to fall back on when all else is stymied.
This is also day one of our diet. Yesterday we proved that by going out for lunch and dinner to celebrate the end of rich food. Before lunch we drove into a park and did a short circuit walk to a lookout point hovering over Whangamata.
We watched two kayakers walk their vessels out past the waves and Stephanie counted twenty surfers riding the small swells in. It is a true coastal town, population 4,500 in the winter, and 45,000 in the summer. Being a local here must be maddening. So quiet and lovely for ten months and so chaotic and annoying for two. I guess the money that pours in during the holidays is worth the Aucklanders strolling the main street guffawing at all the small town fare.
Lunch was basic, in Whangamata at a café, where a number of other families were stuffing their kids’ faces with fries and crud. Back to the grocery store after to ensure I have all my food for a rigid diet I wrote out in the morning. Five days of low fat, low carbs and then the weekend to indulge a little. Not gorge, indulge. I hope I know the difference.
For dinner we went to the restaurant here in Onemana. There is one restaurant and one convenience store in this town. And a real estate agent. That is Onemana. Sunday is roast night at the restaurant so lots of families were out. We walked through the door and everyone said hi to us. I of course probably scowled, completely taken aback by this kind of familiarity. I may have salvaged my rep by being loud and funny with the waitress. She thought I ordered a Pina Colada instead of the beer I was requesting. The whole exchange was funny as I feigned doing a salsa. The waitress laughed, and Steph, well, she just shook her head.
Dinner was pleasant even with Hud’s wild eyed, I need sleep, hysteria. We were all stuffed after so we walked almost to the beach and then back to the car to burn off some of the sugar and fat we just shoved down our throats. It was repulsive, feeling that stuffed. I am going to take this diet one meal at a time, and I need to look at food a different way. Not as a comfort, but as a simple, basic requirement, like oxygen, or orgasms.
This morning I also began the exercise portion of my routine. I walked down the hill to the beach, along the beach to a red container housing a lifesaving ring, back along the grass to the sidewalk, and then up the massive hill, the last part being a steep walkway through the bush that ends right at our house. It took 35 minutes and I was sufficiently sweaty and out of breath for a good five minutes. This leads me to believe that it is a good start to the diet and my day.
My breakfast was one egg, one tomato and a grapefruit. And a litre of water.
Let the soap opera begin.
Love to all,
J.
my new band name...
September 3, 2005
Onemana, New Zealand
6:17pm
So I am starting a diet in two days. Actually we both are but we are doing it separately so if one fails or succeeds, there is no pressure on the other. It’s stupid I know. Not the diet, but the method. The diet is a great idea. A hated, abhorred idea, but a needed break from the culinary extravaganza we have been on up until this point.
If I can lose weight in the next six months, before the trip towards home, then I will feel really good about the second half of my life. And of course we will be rounding into swimsuit season and I need to reign in the thunder thighs and second person that my stomach has become. Oh and a good Brazilian wax to top it all off. I will be shiny and skinny and new.
Can you imagine the look at the wax ladies face if I sauntered in the small room as her next Brazilian wax client? I would whip off the towel and get in the old spread eagle chair, pull my ankles over my head and say “Be gentle darlin, I had mixed bean salad and lots of draught beer for lunch” She would scream and quit. And then of course turn gay.
Today actually felt like a real Saturday. Only because our new fangled routine starts on Monday along with the diet. I woke up early and had another great chat with half of my family. The other half should step up to the plate technology wise. Steph and Hud slept past eight so I made them poached eggs on toast, with grapefruit, apple, plums and two chunks of sharp cheese. I watched as I had eggs yesterday. I then proceeded to finish off what Hudson left, including the retrieved piece of yolk that fell on the floor. It was my Alice impression. Oh Alice. I miss the smell of your breath.
Hud played while Steph and I lollygagged, reading our books, opening all the curtains and windows to let the ocean air fill our neat little house. Immediately Hud is sleeping better, as if he somehow knows there is a break from all the traveling and his bed is now his own. The only problem with rooting ourselves for this two-month period is Hud will once again get very comfortable in his surroundings. I hope pulling him away again will not be too devastating. Especially if he makes friends at the daycare.
Yes, as ironic and strange as it sounds, we are thinking about putting Hud in a daycare for two mornings a week. Or at least one morning a week. He is painfully shy around other kids and the only reason is because he has very little interaction with other kids. He needs a friend, or friends, other than us. We hope we are doing the right thing. Both of us are torn about the scenario of leaving him somewhere. Whangamata seems to be a really solid community and the daycare facility Steph visited was nice and recommended by others we had met in town.
At around 11 we realized we should do at least something today. I was all for just chilling at home, but Steph gets anxious and feels guilty if we are not doing anything. I told her to just chill out, we have been on the road for a month, there is nothing wrong with just hanging around the house and reading, and organizing, and letting Hud play with his new toys. We came to an agreement to pack a lunch and at least go to the playground and the beach for a little picnic. I cried, because I hate picnics and playgrounds and beaches on sunny days with the ocean lapping at our feet and the giggles of small Kiwi children dancing in my ears. I mean, sure this is paradise, but where are the skanky chicks?
After a lovely picnic and drifting off on the large blanket we brought from home, we went into town for more vegetables and a major ATM withdrawal in case we are declined at the teller again. We had our first problem drawing a large sum off our credit card (which we then pay, settle down adults). The donut at the bank just stared blankly at us and said declined. We of course spent 12 bucks on the phone getting a hold of our bank that told us all our accounts (all our accounts, like Warren Buffet we are!) were in order. I think the teller was just lazy and did not call MasterCard to get the authorization number like we have done previously. Sometimes small towns just don’t work the way you want them to. But they do have good produce, so we got that going for us.
Steph made Tikki Masala for dinner and now they are upstairs, Hud in the bath playing with his creatures, a $2 pack of sea animals he loves.
Tonight we will begin what I hope will be a long spirited battle of Scrabble.
Tomorrow is Sunday. I think we will try to relax a little.
Love to all,
J.
Weightless and care less
September 2, 2005
Onemana (oh knee mon uh), New Zealand.
9:17pm
I am not 300 lbs.
We are home. Home for now as the title of my last entry suggests. We are nicely settled in our two bedroom, two level cape cod style cottage with a wraparound deck and constant views of the placid ocean. Onemana is on the Eastern side of the Coromandel Peninsula, about 150kms east of Auckland. We will be living here for two months. We have been here for 30 hours and already it feels like home. Well, home for now.
The last day on Waiheke was spent picking our jaws off the grass due to the magnificence.
I swam for the first time in New Zealand. It is cold. But not the coldest I have ever been in. Hud also joined me in the water. In his tighty whiteys.
We also managed to eat a paper satchel full of the best French fries either Steph or I had ever tasted. That alone is saying something, seeing we have only known each other for eight years and I can guarantee I was eating fries before meeting her. I think as my ass was being slapped I was crying “can I get fries with that”. Of course by my ass being slapped I mean as in moments after birth, not last Saturday night. Ba dum dum. Thank you. I am here all week. Try the veal.
I think that is the second time I have used that joke. In this journal I mean. Not my life.
The last night on Waiheke was spent near the bbq chatting with big Brian, the male half of our host couple. His gut could house sheep so while he drank bourbon and I drank beer he went on about various attractions we could stop in at on the way to Coromandel. Hud weaved in and out my legs almost to the point of annoyance, but he at least he was being active and looking at Brian when he spoke, instead of hiding behind my thigh.
The next morning, the 1st, we arranged our luggage in our blue Subaru and waved goodbye to our hosts. Carol, the other half, gave Hud a little plush Kiwi bird whose head spun 360 degrees like an owl. I think it was broken. Hud thought it was neat.
We were first in line for the car ferry due to our, or my need to be early. We were on the discount ferry so I had to back down the ramp. Now I am not a pretty, fancy boy fairy type who squeals when pinched or cries when slapped, but I am also not the hawk spitter or the press one nostril snot clearer, big badass blue collar man either. But suddenly, when presented something as inane and easy as backing down a ramp, in front of the rough and tumble ferry workers with their cool orange vests and their woolen caps, I get all cocky. I gun down the ferry ramp and then realize what I am doing and overcompensate my turning. I get all flustered and forget to look in all my mirrors and keep getting confused about which way to turn the wheel. All the while, I watch the old crusty worker guide me backwards behind a truck and instruct me to stop where I was.
I asked him if I was ok and he said yeah, but I would have preferred you closer to the side. Prefer this you salty Kiwi fuck I thought and then cringed thinking he could read my mind.
How did I do? I asked my wife. You were fine, she answered, a bit tentative, but fine. Sometimes it is all in your mind.
The ferry ride was nice, except for the gas fumes that made me a little nauseous. Hud was not as impressed this time and I think he is getting a little spoiled from all the neat things that have become normal. Ahh let him get spoiled. Have another candy Hud. Can I get you a beer?
The drive to Onemana took about two and half hours with one stop. Not bad. The drive itself started by carving through green fields full of jersey cows and tired sheep. Then it was up and down the side of a mountain, where we all had to swallow to clear our ears. The trees are coniferous with the occasional palm and giant fern mixed in to make us double take.
Onemana itself is a tiny community with about 800 meteres of absolute beach. There is forest on either side of the sand so the contrast in colour is quite dramatic. There is a small break, unlike the dead calm of Waiheke. Our house is less than one km from the beach, which is not bad, except it is up a pretty steep hill. It is exactly the type of morning hike I should do everyday. It is also exactly the type of morning exercise I could ignore. So we shall see.
Whangamata (Fang a mata, (wh is pronounced with a F sound)) is about 6km south of Onemana and has all the conveniences of a small town. We bought $270 worth of groceries at New World, the ominously named supermarket in town. We spent the first night milling about the house, putting our clothes away, claiming sides of beds, Hud going out of his mind with the box of toys the owner sent up for him. We all slept well last night. Well I woke up for about 90 minutes and chatted with my family. But that is par for the course for me on the first night.
Today we woke up slow and let the morning rub our shoulders. Carol, our neighbour from across the road, came to drop off a paper. She greeted us yesterday and boy can she talk. She has short black hair and a lean body except for the typical middle aged widening of the hips. She waves her hands like a town gossip and when she told us our neighbours to the left are a little weird; I knew she was the mouthpiece. In my head I thought, bring on the weird, weird is closer to us than you. She is pleasant enough and Steph is thinking about joining her quilting group. No I did not just make that up.
Later we went to the local playground, which is so new, it’s like they had a town meeting to discuss upgrades before we arrived. It’s in the shape of a giant ship with ropes and tunnels and planks and steering wheels. It is steps from the beach, so even just watching Hud go nuts is blessed by wicked sights and smells. Steph disappeared down the beach for a little walk while I stayed with Hud and pushed him on the swing. I kept trying to smell his head as he came back to me.
We went home for lunch to avoid paying for lunch in town.
We had pasta with broccoli, tomatoes, garlic and basil. I drank a beer and Steph had a glass of wine. It was just after one o clock. Sigh.
After lunch we went into town and:
• Tried to withdraw our accommodation money but were told by slow teller we could not.
• Spent too much time on phone finding out our accounts were fine and could be bank’s issue
• Went to info centre to get info on potential playgroups for Hudson
• Bought Hud some cheap toys and crafty stuff for rainy days
• Checked with library about potential story times
• Joined video store and rented three DVD’s
• Bought a scale and contact solution
• Took out large sum of money from ATM in case other options do not work
• Bought sunglasses for me that look cooler and feel better.
• Had ice cream
• Bought almonds and diet coke
• Checked out one of the suggested daycares. Hud and Steph to go on Monday
• Drove home.
I made garlic onion burgers for dinner and we ate at the kitchen counter, all of us sitting on barstools.
I cleaned up while Steph and Hud watched the Incredibles. And here I am now. Almonds and diet coke making me feel fat.
I am not 300lbs.
Love to all,
J.
