You flipper you brought her
December 31, 2005
Ruby Bay, New Zealand
12:49am
Woke up after consuming six quick beers and a half bottle of cheap red wine. Basically the story of my holiday season. Not only did people travel across the world to spend time with us on Christmas, but they came to accompany me in the raising of many a beer, scotch and wine glasses to my gaping maw of a mouth. I can actually feel the weight creeping back on my body. I even stopped the morning walks, using a tiny blister on my heel as an excuse, when really it was the lethargy and hazy malaise from all the drinking and eating. Must. Get. Back. On. Track.
Tony is here. Picked him up at the airport the same day I dropped off Dad and Miriam. Felt a bit like an airport shuttle service doing the same drive over and over again. Needless to say the parental visit was awesome and so far so good with the little Italian friends stay.
The last couple of days with Papa and Oma were spent going for drives up the coast to small hippie artisan villages on the coast. This included the drive up and down Takaka Hill, which my father white knuckled in the passenger seat the entire way. It was a bit like a slalom course, and if I was new to my 15 year old car I would have winced a little on the curves as well. I did manage to get everyone back to the barn in one relieved piece.
Later that night we went for dinner at the Riverside Café, a small restaurant Steph, Hud and I attended weeks ago and loved. It was a nice meal with Hud finding a playmate to secretly eat cane sugar with as we feasted on cheese fondue, monkfish, steak and roast chicken.
Hud looked pretty darn cute in his new Canadian hockey jersey, so it was easy to dismiss his arcane sugar woofing down.
Sure he went to bed a little after two in the morning, but a small price to pay to look at this every day.
After dinner, a spirited, spirit filled conversation ensued back at the ranch. I managed to both agree and disagree with my father without getting too emotional. I have a tendency to emote heavily when a discussion gets heated, ignoring articulation, tripping over a collection of tears in my eyelids. But it was all fine, if not resolved, with Steph and I being more the opinion pitchers instead of the problem catchers. The next day everyone awoke with good old fashioned smiles on our faces.
It was departure/arrival day, so with bags jammed into the car, we drove and dropped off my father and Mir at the airport. It truly was a great visit, with enough downtime to get comfy, and enough activity to avoid annoyance with each other. Hud, of course, benefited the most, relishing the new attention, seeking out the love of 2 of 6 grandparents.
And then there was Tony.
After lunch in Nelson city, we drove back to the airport three hours later to find Tony waiting in the airport lobby. He took an earlier flight and was there a mere 45 minutes after we left the airport the first time. But Kreskin I am not, so he got a feel for Nelson by reading the airport brochures.
His first couple of days at Casa Graham/White were spent drinking and eating and generally filling the gap of time between May and now with anecdotal tales of his, and our mutual friends lives. Nothing much has changed he said. Which we knew to be the case. We did manage to get up to the beach for a true taste of what NZ summer holidays are like.
It was pretty crowded, but nothing like Wasaga or even like Toronto beaches in our summer.
Yesterday was a pretty awesome day. One that will go down as a trip highlight, partly because Tony will have the same memory, and partly because what we were able to witness. It started in the morning as we boarded the twin hulled sailboat that was to take us into the park for a day of sailing. It was a bit overcast and chilly, but we bundled up and made our way to various points of interest up the Abel Tasman coast. Hud stayed with Tony for the most part, finding a new friend to chill with, something Tony looked like he earnestly enjoyed.
We stopped in Anchorage Bay for a sausage and steak bbq aboard a floating backpacker home, and then returned to the boat for an afternoon of gentle sailing back home. The other people on the boat ranged from quiet Germans, to friendly Brits, to a talkative buck toothed Asian, who had her eyes on her own little Italian sausage. Prrowwwrrr.
About halfway home, Mark, our curly locked captain asked if anyone wanted to have a go at sailing. I quickly said yes and made my way to the back of the boat to work the two rudders. It was a nice feeling, standing there, sailboat under my control, my son sitting next to me asking if I was steering the boat. I demanded Steph take the appropriate over the top picture.
Almost immediately after relinquishing the controls back to Mark, he announced we were going to take a detour. There was a pod of dolphins to our right and he wanted to get a closer look. The ten passengers all quickly emerged from their various stages of slumber and went to the front of the cat.
I thought we were going to look over yonder and get a glimpse of the curved dorsal of the dolphins as they jumped out of the water. Big whoop, we had seen it many times before on our journey. What I did not expect was the pod of dolphins to approach and swim right along side of the boat for a good five to ten minutes, completely thrilling and surprising all passengers, including an almost giddy three year old. Four or five dolphins actually swam and crested and leapt right in front of the boat, moving with such speed and grace and playfulness it literally left us with non stop smiles. It was quite simply one of the coolest things I have ever seen in my life.
The rest of the trip was spent trying to recapture the joy of the dolphins after they quickly disappeared.
Mostly it was spent under the now clear sky and hot sun, drifting in and out of consciousness, dreaming of Aquaman leading an army of grinning dolphins.
Maybe that was just me.
Love to all,
J.
He remembers nana the best
December 26, 2005
Ruby Bay, New Zealand
8:56pm
I just went upstairs and my father, my favourite man of all time, is lying on my, now his bed, with a cold wash cloth wrapped on his face to sate the sunburn he received today. He looks like a sarcastic radish.
New Zealand is known for their proximity to the hole in the ozone. A fact I shared with our guests in the car ride on the way home from the airport. It will be a tan tomorrow. My father is part Indian you know, right spike?
So duh, my father and his wife Miriam arrived on Christmas Eve day, father decked out in his traveling sports coat and Miriam looking smashing even though they had spent about a week on many airplanes to get to our little nook of the world. Hudson was shy for about 45 seconds before trying to wrap them both around his little finger. What a joy to watch my son with my father. It was like crystal balling my own childhood to see how I became a goofball. A total treat I tell you.
Christmas itself was a total success. We set up the Thomas wooden set we bought for just under $62,000 and put it under the tree and told a wide eyed Hud that Santa must have put it together between bites of lemon cookies we left out for him.
He was totally mystified and even admitted to seeing Santa arrive at our little cottage, even though he is sleeping on a bunk bed above Steph and I. It was rich and beautiful and the stuff legends are built from.
Hud loved all his gifts, but admittedly, the Spiderman costume stowed away in Papa and Oma’s luggage from my sister and her clan was a pretty big hit.
It was immediately adorned and worn for a good long time before we convinced him to remove the mask so he could eat the cheesy farm fresh eggs I made for Christmas breakfast. Good call Aunty Mitch, good call.
After all the presents were unwrapped.
(I got running shoes!! We bought them four days ago! We wrapped them for Hud’s benefit! Teaching him a non-greed lesson! Aren’t we progressive!) and after breakfast we went for a walk on the beach. Just something you have to do in the whole reverse season phenomenon. I swam; in a rocky, clandestine floored ocean, waiting for a lion fish to puncture my heel before realizing my heel is basically like lathered diamond juice, only penetrated by other diamonds, leaving me to sigh and wade further into the water.
Later on we caught crabs and all three of the Grahams feared the pinch but soldiered on
Dinner was at six, a full turkey ensemble and home made gravy, which was great, if not a little burnt. Steph made Pavlova for dessert, a classic Kiwi soft meringue dish that melts in your mouth and makes you beg for more. All in all a pretty successful holiday dinner.
Today, boxing day, was spent on a small cruise ship up the coast into the Abel Tasman National Park for a day of adventure and walking and golden sand beaching. In other words, total boxing day traditions.
Hud is really enjoying other people. I will give my father and Miriam the benefit of the doubt and say it is because he really loves them, although it really seems he is just happy to have the attention of other adults besides his sometime milquetoast parents. One thing I know, he will love going back home and basking in the glow of the rest of the parents. We have become old and boring to the shooting star himself. Maybe by high school he will dig us again.
Tomorrow we are going up to hippie country for a café lunch and perhaps a couple of gallery visits. Not really my bag, but I will suffer through it if only to watch my crusty goofy father waffle the blonde mane of my crusty goofy son.
I, of course, will continue to muck around in the gap.
Love to all,
J.
Crazy slowly going am I 6 5 4 3 2 1 switch
December 21, 2005
Ruby Bay, New Zealand
9:04pm
Three days until people, namely my father and stepmother, or Papa and Oma, as I refer to them by accident to Stephanie, because I say it to Hud so much, arrive on the overnight flight from I guess LA. I am waiting for the moment to gauge my reaction upon being around people we have known longer than twenty minutes. I am excited and eager and wary of the hype. I have gone longer in my life without seeing my father. Hud waxes on about it daily. First Oma and Papa, then Santa, and then Tony, quite the triumvirate for a three year old.
The whole Christmas season will be great. People from the outside world, boat trips, both sailing, motor and whitewater all crammed into about nine days. Our trip budget is bursting, but we are happy about it. There goes the kitchen reno we laugh, ha ha, cry, dream, ha.
Our frigging broadband internet connection disappeared for no reason. I have exhausted every software/hardware avenue on this Mac and am left stumped and somewhat stranded on an informationless island. I was so connected for the last three weeks, so current with world events and hapless Raptors scores, I was digging it, except for the consistent distraction from the novel, which, after some quick research, I have found I am already well over the expected word count of first time novelists, with about a third left to write. If you think that doesn’t change the perception of a novel, especially someone as eager as I to finish it, then you got another thing coming sparky. I want to wrap it up right now, not so neatly, with smiles and scotch on everyone’s faces. Alas, I hate movies that do that, hit the two hour mark, and go oh shit, people are fading, wrap it up, wrap it up! Johnny marries Suzy, Suzy’s unrepentant father gets hit by a bus, Johnny’s drunken mother cries a wistful tear, secretly knowing Johnny’s happiness was because of her sacrifice, a rose dies, a dolphin jumps…and….Scene. So I write on. Plodding. All quicksandy.
We met another couple from up the road. Interesting only because they are Aucklanders through and through, a NZ animal we have yet to run into so far on this trip. We were only in Auckland for a couple of nights before disappearing into their island fantasy life in Waiheke. So these were city folk, him working for BASF, her a true soccer mom with workout arms and coifed hair and a good old fashioned gin habit. He was a traveling man, operations and strategy, fast talker, short without the disease, and woo hoo, a beer drinker. We welcomed them when they arrived only because the house sitter pawned her job on us in exchange for the use of the pool, a fair trade actually. Later the next day I met them on the beach as Hud and I searched for crabs on the beach while Steph volunteered at a flower shop. Yes, lovely Stephanie is doing three hours a day at a local flower shop to investigate if that is the next adventure in our lives. Anyway, the couple have three kids, 6, 4, and 2, the younger two boys, the eldest, the sweetest, a girl with a pout and seven million questions, including my favourite, “ do you like sausages that come from a cow?” I did not have the heart to tell her that sausages do not come from anywhere but the floor of a slaughterhouse. Ok, I did tell her, and after she stopped crying she thought I was fun because a skipped pretty well for a fat guy.
So Hud had kids to play with for the last couple of days. He ignored them and went straight to the diggers. Good thing too, because the two boys, especially the four year old was a freak, non stop energy, the aggressive energy that is kind of funny and kind of scary as he swings from the chandelier to try and crush his little brother’s cranium. The parents knew it as well, and curbed it as best they could, but they mostly lived in fear of the impending disaster, whether bloody or just expensive. As mentioned, thankfully, Hud just blinked and nodded, brushing his too long blonde hair from his eyes, and went back to playing with the new toys. He is so wonderfully subtle and serious sometimes. Just watching the crazies go by. God I love his little but big personality.
Doing the guest grocery shopping tomorrow. This should be fun.
Love to all,
J.
Murky life, clear water
December 18, 2005
Ruby Bay, New Zealand,
7:21pm
Eight days since my last post, not including my tribute to Dora, the little slut. She ran off with Boots and last I heard she is shacking up with Joe from Blues Clues. My heart is still in her little backpack. Vamanos Dora. Vamanos.
So what have we been up to in the last week or so you must be saying to yourself? Well, lots of basic living, with the odd dashes of sunshine and heat in mid December. Both Steph and I are having difficulty getting into the spirit without the blanket of snow, or at least snowflakes lollygagging to the ground. We have since decorated the banister with some cheesy multicoloured tinsel and are playing grainy Christmas music from an Internet radio station in Cleveland. As the late great Dave Villineuve used to say, ho fucking ho.
Since my last post, our neighbours left, continuing their own journey to Blenheim, where they were moving into their new house. They invited us to come and visit either during our stay here in Ruby Bay, or on our way to Picton to take the ferry back to Wellington at the end of January. They were nice, even the little slow motion talker, and our last dinner there was more even, with Tana making a great pumpkin soup with pesto pasta. Pumpkins are squash here, is that crazy? Are you just shivering in your own cold sweat from the excitement that Kiwis actually have different names for fruits and vegetables then us Canadians? No? Me either.
I am having trouble actually thinking what we did this past week. A couple of raspberry and boysenberry picking escapades, where you could fill a Kg bucket in about 45 seconds the fruit was so abundant. Trips to Nelson and Richmond to finish off our shopping, lots of covert op stuff, one distracter, one purchaser, things we must do as we are always together. Always. Are. Together.
The highlight I guess was cutting our own tree and putting it up last night. It is a wild pine and not the most well rounded tree, which matches our family’s personality I guess. We bought some red balls and white lights, the rest we have filled with pinecones and shells and some of Hud’s toys. I did not like it at first, but it is growing on me. It was the first time I cut my own tree for Christmas, so it will have that statistic going for it.
Hud continues to be naughty and nice, and completely immersed in the fantasy of Santa Claus. It will be the best part of the holiday (that and my father being here) I am sure. Watching him open his gifts and be mesmerized on how Santa got in and out without him hearing it will be a joyful ruse to witness. He grows up at rocket speed. I am almost afraid to blink.
Today I can recap cause I can remember it. We ate lunch at Riwaka Resurgence, which may sound like a Maori political group, but actually it’s the origin\ of the Riwaka river which flows down the side of Tanaka hill through caves, underwater and then explodes to the surface, thus the resurgence moniker. Our luck was bad, as DOC (dept of conservation) were doing some repairs at the resurgence point and we were not allowed to climb the bank.
We did get to see and drink the water where it first appears, and it may be the cleanest water in the world. It flows down marble caves and pools at this one point called crystal something or other. It was at least twenty feet deep and you could see the fluttering of algae on the rocks at the bottom. It was so clear, and too cold to jump in, but excellent to drink. We actually saw a guy walking the path when we were leaving with two big water jugs to fill and take home. Not something you see in every country.
I had a bad day emotionally. The first day in a long time where I actually longed to be home. Not because I missed anyone (no offence), but I was getting an impatient feeling of getting our life back together again. Steph and I talked about it, and we reluctantly admitted we were getting a little bored. I want to work again, just not in the same type of job. I am still working on what I actually am good at doing. Good at doing that offers some sort of income.
I am sure it will all pass as people from home arrive and the season wraps around us. We have some nice boat adventure stuff scheduled, so that will be fun. As well as some good old fashioned debauchery with my little Italian.
I miss Dora.
Love to all,
J.
New Love
Well it was inevitable. With Steph’s new found obsession for knitting, and her constant attention to our son and hair plucking, I was forced to look elsewhere for love.
I know what you all our saying, how could I do this to the woman I promised to spend the rest of my life with?
How could I tear apart a family right smack dab in the middle of the adventure of all of their lives?
But, as the cliché goes, men are pigs and pork is the other white meat, or something like that. So, with apologies to all of our friends and families who thought Steph and I were the one couple that could survive all those drunken group erotic chocolate fondue Friday nights, the hot tub ecstasy wife swapping parties, the Sunday afternoon lap dancing competitions and of course Crisco Twister, you were wrong and you must forgive me as I launch into a poetic soliloquy to celebrate the love of the new olive skinned girl that has since become the reason I keep on truckin’.
You love adventure and I love you for it. You have a pet monkey which makes you kooky and crazy and just adds to the mystery that is you. You are constantly aware of all the danger that surrounds you, that seeks you out, that tries to swipe what is yours. You remain in touch with your childhood friends and that makes you loyal. You constantly seek out answers to all of life’s big questions and I admire that. You skip along life’s path always smiling, always affirming and sharing your victories with your friends.
But I tell you, what I love most about you is your almond eyes, looking at me with your beautifully cocked head, telling me I did it.
No, you did it, sweetness, you really really did it.
Click below to catch a simple glimpse. I warn you, she's hypnotic.
New LoverJ.
Reciprocal
December 10, 2005
Ruby Bay, New Zealand
3:54pm
Five days since my last post. Not because I have nothing to say. Ok, partially because I nothing to say. Mostly its because our first week in here was pretty low key, with Steph and Hud off to playcentre in the morning, and either chillaxing in the afternoon or doing something small, like the aqua centre or the library, you know, real life things, simple things.
We have spent a lot of time with the couple up the road, and their methodically talking son, who on occasion tells Hudson he is annoying. I bite my tongue bloody, holding back what I think of his forced fucktard way of speaking. How it grates on my soul, how it feels like peeling off the skin on the back of my calves and forking a lemon over it. He is only seven. Forcing me to climb to the next plateau of the old mountain of patience. Slapping my own back in congratulation.
The novel writing started. It will not be finished by the time my father arrives. So he will have to wait with the rest of the masses to get a taste of the magic that is my writing. Please note the sarcasm. Please understand I am battling the inner demons of inability. At this point, it’s about finishing it, polishing it up like a statue, and perhaps tossing it into a fire. The sense of completion being the true reward.
The walks started again, up to just under 8km every morning, a third on the main road, a third on a very quiet farm road, and the last third on the beach. The beach close to us is not the white sandy tropical beach we’ve seen in other places on this journey. It is rocky and a bit stinky. Steph breathes in the brackish, seaweed smell and revels in it. I breathe in and think: Dead fish. Maybe because I never really dug seafood, so the smell if it rotting is not something I want to bask in.
Two weeks until the visitors arrive, which you will all never hear the real dirt about, because they read this as well! Maybe I can slip in a couple of clandestine references about any embarrassing tales. We shall see.
As far as my little Italian friend’s arrival, his tales of embarrassment will be documented in point form for easy laughter reference. His scorn I can take.
We went out to lunch with the couple and slowmo, up the street to a small café with a river running through it. In the river are many many eels that you can hand feed meat on a stick (only $2 a stick!). Eels are gross. Their little mouths opening up and snatching the meat off the stick, their little eyes staring at you, wishing you were on a big stick. Total ick. As a three year old of course, the ickier then better.
So, the other night, I suggested we have dinner together, the couple and their son and us, up at their place (it’s bigger), insinuating a potluck sort of deal, nothing too fabulous, just good drinks and good eats and mediocre conversation (the bar was set low). So Steph and I, as we do, made couscous with peppers and onions, a bean salad that was so good it should be outlawed, and 10 chicken kababs, with tomatoes, onions, peppers, mushroom, zucchinis, three draped in Thai curry flavour, three in a peanut satay sauce, and four plain. I spent the last part of the afternoon pushing meat and vegetable onto the skewers I soaked in water, arranging them beautifully on a tray, so they would be impressed. They were impressed, and we set up all our goodies on their table. I cooked all the brochettes and brought them inside and we sat down to eat. Oh, what did they make you ask? Potatoes. In the microwave. A squash. That they mistimed and served after everything else. I think it cost them maybe three bucks. They are 40 years old and retired. Maybe that is how they saved all their money. I don’t get it. We have been invited back to their place tonight. It’s their last night and I asked if we could bring anything. She said no. I accepted. Although on the way home we stopped off and bought a bunch of pastries we can cut up for dessert. We just can’t arrive with nothing.
I am going to get drunk and tongue kiss the woman while smothering the little boy’s mouth with my hand. The father is shy so he may say something. He may not. Something I will risk. Here are some shots of us and horses.
Love to all,
J.
Sure do got a purty mouth
December 5, 2005
Ruby Bay, New Zealand
9:27pm
We feed all our wet garbage to a big pig named Ben that lives in a pen at the top of our driveway. Now this is not a wee pink Wilbur with a remarkable smile and a sweet curl of a tail, oinking all around, this is a massive, black with brown bristles, steel ring through it’s snout, wet swine mouth licking and smacking his pig lips as it vacuums up anything we give it. Shall I define anything? Orange peels, grapefruit peels, lemon peels (I looked for a pucker, a shudder, anything), avocado stones, eggshells, bones, small pieces of lumber, a lost Asian tourist and a couch cushion. David, our host, also made sure to tell us to just dump the bucket of slop into Ben’s pen, because if you try to feed him by hand, he will not distinguish between a rind and your ring finger, leaving you a nickname of stumpy for the rest of your life. Needless to say we follow his instructions quite rigidly. I have yet to feed him a piece of bacon or a pork chop bone. Yet.
Day four of our new home and no complaint, minus the ugly fat pig, as we further immerse ourselves into the communities that our near our eight-week home.
Saturday was spent at the Nelson market, and checking out Nelson in general. It is a nice medium sized town that we will probably only occasion on market days and if we need something specific. And of course when visitors arrive at the end of the month. Otherwise it is just a place where we would spend money. We seem to have a desire to watch the colourful bills drift out of our wallets (which I check every four seconds to make sure it is there) and into the waiting hands of all the sweet salespeople with their caked on make up and fairly large asses. The market itself was pretty nice, with a number of hippies or flashy types offering us their wares at low prices. There is a huge hippie element to this region, and its something I actually like, except for their acrid onion pit smell. I like the influence, the “peace man”, the organics of it all, but come on, hop in the shower every six or seven days please, the water conservation argument only works for so long.
After the market we ate Thai and then drove to a place called Rabbit Island, which is basically miles and miles of beach serviced and protected by the regional government. We were only on a recon mission, so we only checked out what locals would call a crowd, which was basically a smattering of people, about 1/50th of what would be on Wasaga any summer weekend, on a beach 50 times the size. There just doesn’t seem to be enough people here to warrant us calling them a crowd. It is a good thing.
Rabbit Island is about ten minutes from our house. Everything we need is basically within a ten-minute drive. This is different from back home where everything you needed was usually within a ten-minute walk. It’s a car culture, but I guess anywhere small enough to be a small town usually is.
The property we are on has three houses. Ours, the owners and another one about 200 metres from ours that is also available to rent. It was more expensive than ours by about 100 bucks a week, with the only difference being a little bit bigger with a clear, clean view of the ocean. There is another couple staying there for 12 days. We all arrived at the same time and were given the same orientation speech about the pig I mentioned earlier. They have a son, a seven year old, who Hud has taken an immediate shine. I, however am less enamored. For whatever reason this kid speaks in such a slow methodical cadence that it takes him about twenty minutes to get a sentence as short as “Can I have some juice?” out of his mouth. He is obviously bright, but it just irks me the way he talks. If Hud starts emulating him, I will immediately cease contact by making up some story about weird Canadian viruses that fester around meaty pigs and olive trees. His parents, Glenn and Tayna are pleasant enough. They are emigrating here, or to Blenheim, about a 90-minute drive from here. They are just a little bit older than us and they are retired. Yep, retired. I did not ask him how (although I was just dying to, but he suspected I did, so I didn’t, how cool am I?), but Steph has since eked out info that he is an engineer and sold a company. They have a house in Santa Barbara, a house in Utah and have just purchased a house in Blenheim, which closes in two weeks. Anyway, on Saturday we went over to their house for some drinks and some cheese and bread. David, our host, and a bit of a gabber, also joined us all as we chatted and got to know each other a little better. I like her better than him, as she laughed at my jokes more, and as you know, that is the only reason I like people.
I drank a nice chewy bottle of Chardonnay and three beers, leaving me of course with a bout of insomnia forcing me wide awake at 4am for the day. The day being Sunday.
Sunday was spent at the Motueka A&P Fair, which is basically a country fair displaying livestock, farm machinery and greasy food. All things we love! There also were logging exhibitions meaning there were a number of men in undershirts. Men that should never wear undershirts.
They also had really old rickety rides that Hud went on and laughed as we cringed as they creaked and bent, leaving us breathless and hugging him immediately after the smoking teenager stopped the ride by holding one of the merry go round horses and plowing his boots into the ground.
As we were leaving we did manage to sneak a gander at the team of oxen being led around by men that looked like the men that raped Ned Beatty in Deliverance. I was more afraid of them then I was of the ox that looked only a little bit smaller than a hippopotamus.
The last part of the day I took Hud on a small car so he could drive us around a small track. He loved it, and I even got him to cut off and Indian woman and her two year old on the inside lane. No one takes the Grahams on the outside.
Today Steph and Hud and Tayna and her son went to Rabbit Island for a real beach visit. I stayed behind and got started back on the novel. I was tentative, but the flow came in spurts, and by tomorrow, when Hud and Steph start at Playcentre, I should be back in the groove. I still like the story, I just don’t love the writing.
Later Hud and I went to the playground and to get an ice cream while Steph had a nap. I love the dad/Hud times. He just listens to me talk about anything with such interest, even if without comprehension. I listen to him as attentively, and we hold hands as we walk down the sidewalk, ice cream streaming down our faces and onto our shirts.
We are quite the pair.
He’s easy to love.
Love to all,
J.
Be Gentle Annie, you too Ruby Bay
December 2, 2005
Ruby Bay, New Zealand
10:01pm
“Well, that was fun”
This was Hud’s satisfied summary of the evening we just spent in Moteuka at their version of a Santa Claus parade. People in shorts and slides being the only difference from Toronto’s version. Not that the Santa Claus parade at home always had snow, being they hold it in the middle of November, but it is was 24 degrees and sunny today. Santa’s jingle bells must have been a bit dewy.
We made it. Our place is wonderful.
All anxieties are dashed. Our bags are actually close to empty. Dresser drawers are bursting.
The fridge is full of green vegetables. Our car weighs less than a hay filled rhino. The sun sets over an olive grove we overlook from our patio.
The beach is seven minutes away. Sigh.
We arrived yesterday, after a slight detour up to Karamea to retrieve my wallet, which some angel like man found in the middle of the road and turned into the police. Humanity, it’s me Jason, I believe. I also believe my wife’s glass is always full because it was her who never gave up hope that my wallet was out there waiting to be recovered. Oh, and not a dime of the money was missing. Of course if you are reading this first without reading the last entry you have no idea what I am talking about. Of course if this were a real diary I would not be talking to the people reading it. Of course if I were as a real writer, I would not use these silly repetitive sentences to try and be funny. Tough guys don’t dance.
To summarize. My wallet was lost and found and now sits bulging out of the top of my right buttock, with less cash in it only because we had to buy vitamins and q-tips and probably coffee. I loved New Zealand people before, I love them more now.
So we drove, 300 kilometeres from the west coast to 45kilometres north of Nelson, the third largest city in the south island. Our cottage is a two storey, two bedroom converted barn with totally enough room to not drive each other crazy, and even can house two wayward parents and one wayward Italian, although thankfully, not at the same time. Our host, David, is a former committee member of the Nelson tourism board and has provided us with amenities that only being close to a city can offer. The most important being of course, Broadband Internet.
Yesterday we chilled mostly, the town closest to us, Moteuka, pop. 10,000 is about 12 kilometres away and has everything we need in regards to groceries, sundries, cafes, bars, etc… It feels very odd and a little bit nice to be this close to civilization again. The last five weeks was a mish mash of absolute isolation and faux crowds that appeared and disappeared with the flash of a camera bulb.
Today we spent infiltrating the town of Moteuka. We registered Hud for Playcentre, the same organization Hud and Steph attended in the North Island, allowing Hud to make friends, allowing us to make friends with the parents. I went today and scanned the mothers to see if there were any Germans, no luck. Oh how I miss the Germans. So Hud and Steph have two and a half weeks to make relationships as Playcentre shuts down for the holidays until after we are gone. Pressure’s on Steph, work that charm, flash those Chiclets, fake that laugh. Same with you Hud..
The library was next as I needed something to read besides Guns, Germs and Steel, which I almost got interested in again. We signed up and I took out the last book by Michael Cunningham, the man who wrote The Hours and At home at the end of the world, the latter of which I loved, if only for this description: “He was big and inevitable, like a tree”.
We drove home and ate lunch and almost did nothing until Steph decided we had more towns to see, more things to register for. So we hit Mapua and Richmond, one small and one quite big, the latter where we went to a mall for vitamins and q-tips, did I mention that already?
So the novel writing starts again on Monday. I am terrified. In the last five weeks I looked at it exactly no times. And my confidence is shot because I happened to read two great books, Middlesex and A Fine Balance. What a mook I am to think I can write a novel. I will finish it though, so it can lay covered in dust on a shelf somewhere in the studio apartment we all will be living in upon our return.
It’s still all worth it.
Every last playground.
Every last small town café.
Every waterfall.
Every grain of beach sand.
Love to all,
J.
The drive from
November 30, 2005
Gentle Annie Beach, 45 kilometres north of Westport, New Zealand
9:06pm
I lost my wallet. And this place, no matter how beautiful, and what a nice, simple quiet time we had here, will always be, the place where I lost my wallet. $350. Credit cards. Original birth certifcate. Drivers license. Picture of Hud wearing my basketball shoes when he was two. Gone. Bummer. Guess what I miss most? The cash of course. I may be a sentimental doofus, but I now have over two thousand pictures of Hud. It was kind of ripped in the corner anyway. It was cute though, he put my shoes on and looked like a giant L.
Gentle Annie. It’s where we are now. North of Westport. South of Karamea, the beginning of the Heaphy Track, a world famous four-day tramp. From icy pints, zinc lips, hiking boots and talking to familiar strangers to endless raw beaches, driftwood graveyards, rock pools with black crabs and red beaked oyster catchers squawking at us to get away from their nests. Not that Franz Josef was huge at all, but where we are now makes it look like a booming metropolis.
Other than that, it’s the place where I lost my wallet.
How did someone as smart as me lose my wallet? It’s honestly what I was thinking. It was easier to think that instead of wondering how I could be so stupid. I left it on the roof of the car and drove away. Leaving us to look for it on 60 kilometres of the windiest, steepest stretch of highway you could imagine. Needle? It’s me haystack. Needless to say the moment I realized it was gone, I knew it was hopeless. Steph remains positive and will until we depart this location and make the four-hour drive to Nelson, our home for the next eight weeks.
So that was day one here, not including travel day where we arrived to find our host Ellen doing the last bit of cleaning on the beach cabin we rented very reasonably for the last three days. It is about 100 metres from the Tasman Sea. It puts us to sleep. Its aggressive waves are easily mistaken for cars driving up the unsealed road in front of the cabin. The cabin itself actually is the first place that reminds me of cottages back home. Minus the palm trees on the front lawn. It is rustic enough to feel cozy. And not so pastoral that we are boiling hot water for our baths. It’s a three bedroom, but one room is single bunks and about eight inches of room to get into bed. Hud sleeps in the double across the hall from us. We have a double as well, which has only proven to be too short, where I thought it would be too narrow.
The end of day one did give us the opportunity to climb to the other side of the point and mess around in the rock pools.
The difference in the coast line from high to low tide here was about 100 feet. I walked here in the morning and took pictures of the waves crashing into the rock formations. When I came back with Steph and Hud, the waves were not even touching the rocks. Why I continue to be amazed by the tides I will never understand. Especially from someone who loves routine so much.
Day two, today, was spent here at the cabin, up the road to a beautiful walk along an old railway line, through a tunnel and over bridges, right beside the Mokahanui River.
Good stuff here. At the end of the day we went to the beach. I swam and Hud dug as Steph wondered out to the sand bar to watch the waves and contemplate her simple yet complicated life. After we came home and ate chicken fajitas. All of us quiet, eager for tomorrow to arrive to see what the next place will look, and feel like.
Our host Ellen is an American who came here 32 years ago to teach. She met her husband in Auckland and moved here a couple of years later. They raised four kids here, some of which have left, others have left and come back. It’s about 1000 acres of both bush and beach, including Gentle Annie point, which they lease from the government. It is pretty spectacular.
But what wasn’t in the last five weeks of adventure (for us). Between the stoked jet boating, the lazy seal swimming on our doorstep, the yellow train chugging along on viaducts built 140 years ago, the couple of drunken nights hunkering down and remembering how to talk to people again, to watching Hud adjust to life like a gypsy with the excited smile of a blue eyed monkey.
Everyone says he will forget everything he will have seen and done by the time we come home. He probably will. My hope is it soaks into his alabaster skin. Making him remember for no reason that life can be full of opportunity and adventure.
A new soap opera begins tomorrow.
I am ready,
Love to all,
J.
