It was the breast of times, it was the worst of times
September 22, 2005Onemana, 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.
posted by Jason @ 1:48 AM
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