No shirt, no shoes, no dice
February 5, 2006Tokarau Beach, New Zealand
6:46pm
Excuse me if my writing reads all garbles and nonchalant. You see, sand from one of the seven pristine beaches within a ten minute drive from our holiday home may be lodged underneath my fingernails, or at least in a small part of my brain.
We sure know how to finish off an almost year of leisure. Doubtless Bay (named by Captain Cook, who named half of New Zealand, at least all the places you can pronounce) is like this little round oasis of marine activity, with islands and hidden rock formations, and, as mentioned so thoughtlessly earlier, a number of really sweet beaches.
We are basically settled. We went through Kaitia on the way to Tokarau, spending a wad on groceries, foolishly thinking it would last us a couple of weeks, when, after four days, we are basically down to Ryvita and pink hundreds and thousands cookies. What are hundreds and thousands cookies you may ask with your eyebrow queered and your heart all a titter? They are cookies with pink frosting with multi-coloured sprinkles on top. They call the sprinkles hundreds and thousands. They also call bathing suits, togs. Why? I have no idea, and when last week I mentioned I had to change into my bathing suit before going for a dip in the pool, Brenden laughed and asked me what a bathing suit was? A tog I replied. Oh he chuckled. He thought I was going to come out in one of those one-piece striped jobbies from the early 1900’s. I admit, bathing suit does sound odd, but togs? Pass me a hundred thousand cookie and give me a frickin’ break.
We are in serious money hoarding time, so our activities are limited to waking up leisurely, staring at each other until beads of blood form at our temples, and then getting in the car and going to the beach. I was never much of a sun worshipper, particularly recently, as the red rash from hell let me know it may not be a good idea to lollygag at high noon under ozone layer free sunlight.
But, my rash has since disappeared, I figure by acclimation, and reading a pulpy garbage paperback, while your son’s hair gets blonder and your wife’s tan gets deeper is simply not a bad way to end this completely wacky journey.
So if I am little darker by the time we get home, well, at least more radishy, it’s because of our time here in Northland.
I am back under my adult all time low weight again, which is good after a couple of weeks of chips and dip and no walking. It did not take a long time and my guess is I was not eating as bad as I thought. I am so much more aware of the sixteen or seventeen pepperettes I am eating now, as opposed to prior to leaving, where you mind as well attach a conveyer built to my lips and get the hell out of the way.
Awareness is key, as is little pieces of motivation. I now have an almost selfhelpy homemade sign up near the pantry and fridge, telling me to do something other than eat out of boredom. That is a big problem of mine. Hey, nothing going on, why not snarf down a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Ha ha laugh, but I have done it. In one sitting. I also used to make BLT’s with a loaf of caraway rye bread, slicing it clean down the middle, and layering at least ten slices of bacon on top of very little lettuce and tomato. It was more like a GB, then a BLT. Yum a greasy bacon sandwich. Oh, not to forget the trough of mayo to give it that added, pass me the defibrillator, kick.
Welcome to gluttonville, population me.
So hopefully those days are gone. I told Steph that I never want to be over that particular milestone weight I just passed. It is an ongoing battle, but as mentioned, awareness is so key.
Tomorrow we are going to Waitangi, to watch the Waitangi Day celebrations. Waitangi Day is a celebration of the treaty at Waitangi in 1840 where Maori chiefs all over New Zealand agreed to relinquish power to the British Monarchy in return for some land guarantees. This of course is the basis of every Maori land dispute now and another wonderful example of the people who were here first got the worst deal.
But, as all who know me can attest, I am just a tanned dude in search of the sun.
I don’t get wrapped up in that political mumbo jumbo man….all I need is some tasty waves, a cool buzz and I’m fine.
Spicoli out.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 10:27 PM
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