Entries Tagged 'Random thoughts' ↓

Someone with a similar vantage point to us made this cool time lapse video of the Bay Bridge emerging from the fog yesterday morning. Very cool.

In 2012 will the Orange Girl actually become more girly? An Orange Lady even? Thanks to not swapping Christmas gifts and all the sales on at this time of the year I’ve purchased a couple of *very* girly items with a fantastic effort on The Mister’s part cajoling and researching and ooo’ing and aaaa’ing and ecouraging! (Not a regular husband, which is why he’s so wonderful.) I vow to wear and use them although early trials are still a little uncomfy however channeling Kate Beckett I am persevering!

The items are a pair of black pumps with a *proper* heel

A handbag that sits on the crook of your arm which leaves a very demanding flapping hand available for very-busy-and-important wrist snaps!

The handbag is somewhat obvious. It’s orange. My previous 2 orange handbags have been loved and battered to death.

The shoes on the other hand are somewhat of a revelation. I do actually need a pair of shoes to go with the couple of evening dresses I have for things like the Xero Gala Dinner each year but part of me also just wanted to own a pair of girly shoes (OMG. Am I going through The Change??!) Over email and with surreptitious photos from various shop floors around the city I also enlisted the help of Short Dark Friend (she found the whole thing hilarious!) – her and The Mister’s impossible task was to get me to like and buy a pair of shoes that would go with a dress AND jeans. God forbid I need shoes that go with just one outfit!

So I have the shoes. I’ve worn them around the house with jeans (for our New Year’s Eve dinner party) – God they are uncomfortable but have to admit they do look quite good. I definitely don’t feel that ladylike or like Beckett just yet but with confidence, that will come.

Sent Father on a mission as well, I realised the last time I actually owned a pair of black pumps was 20-something years ago when I had a pair of training-bra heels that I wore with my high school bouffy 80’s prom dress – I had him dig out the photo for you all

So I need to get from feeling like a high school ball misfit, to Kate Beckett!

I forgot I’d written down a list of things about my mother which I unearthed when we were packing up to move. When she turned 60 and had a big party at the local hall with friends and family we drove up and some part of me wondered if I’d get over my fear of speaking in front of people enough to say a few words, tell a few funny stories. As it happened my nerves couldn’t handle it and her friends had gone to a lot of trouble to put on a locally inspired opera so there was enough to see without me stuttering and stammering.

I never told her I wrote all this down – she’ll chuckle and probably be very embarrassed to read it! Just a random collection of things she’s done, can do and some random memories.

My mum:

• can pot – at some stage in my childhood she had a potting wheel and made lots of very good things, perfectly round and symmetrical although I seem to recall they never got fired so they dried into the most delicate of muds in the garage and Dad grumbled having to move them between a couple of houses.
• can fly a plane
• made lots and lots and lots of chocolate eclairs for birthdays, dinner parties, take-a-plates, school fairs, family treat and she still makes them now from time to time
• was a wild lady from the lupins once – my sister and I (probably about 7 and 9 (probably the last time I wore togs)) were building sand castles on the firm sand at the beach and Mum was doing what she loved best at the beach which was lying basking in the sun, on this occasion fairly hidden in the sand dunes. There was hardly anyone else about. The sand castles that we’d built were perfect and we were building roads to join them together in a castle town when a couple of naughty boys who’d wandered along the beach came up to us and said “stupid girls with stupid sand castles” and stomped all over all of them with their feet laughing – I can’t recall which of us, or perhaps both, burst into tears, loud enough for Mum to hear – next minute she came tearing out of the dunes through the lupins shrieking and waving her fist at the boys “get away you horrible boys – leave those girls alone – how would you like it if we smashed things you made?”. Her hair was all over the place, she’d been asleep, she was a bit pink, she was screaming – a sight that scared them away. But she saved us
• has run/walked a few half marathons – all of them when she was over 50
• is an amazing cook – I remember a lot of dinner parties at our house in Woodlands Road. For birthdays she always made our faves, and would now were we ever at their house on our birthdays – roast chicken and lemon meringue pie for me, pork chops and berry cheesecake for my sister, sausage casserole and golden steamed pudding for Dad.
• can run a high school single-handedly
• made me some amazing birthday cakes – ones I remember most are a piano (with while chocolate and licorice keys) and a pink fairly castle (the cake tins she used for the turrets were cans from tinned goods, peaches she told us, but I’m sure they were from  the cats jellimeat, not because of any bad taste in the cake but because Mum never had tinned peaches or other fruit, she bottled everything!
• would never give us luncheon and tomato sauce white bread sandwiches for our school lunches – oh no, always brown bread with left over cold roast meat and salad … usually had to find my school friend Natalie to switch for her luncheon sandwich and loved staying at her house on school nights because that’s what her Mum put in my lunch box! Kids just don’t appreciate the good ground work their parents put in – I’m sure my good teeth, nails, hair, weight and constitution are due to a decent helping of brown bread in my childhood diet!
• was very VERY mad with me when I ran away to Joanne Brown’s house on the orange school bus. I wasn’t actually running away from home. I don’t recall being angry or upset or particularly rebellious, I just wanted to go visit. I should’ve got suspicious when I got on the bus at the lady driver asked me if my mother knew I was going on the bus (small town, small bus, she knew every kid and I was a spare) “Oh yes, I’m going to visit with Joanne” … yes Joanne was there so the explanation was plausible. Got to Joanne’s house where I was greeted with a similar question “No, but Joanne invited me to your house.” Obviously Mrs Brown phoned my mother, I stayed and played for a while, then was driven home later. A rather frosty reception from my mother who questioned me repeatedly “do you know how worried I was?” with my sister looking smugly on, usually it was her that was in trouble. I was sent to my room and told “wait until your father gets home’. Hmmmm, I recall that dark night, he was home way after I’d gone to bed and sleep but the light when on, I was hauled out of bed, given a big explanation about how worried my mother had been and to never ever go anywhere without telling her again and I think that was the last time I got the wooden spoon … when the last of the decorative fruit got whacked off I’m still scared of buses to this day …
• once sprayed fly spray on her hair instead of hair spray
• loves to dance and her and dad are great dancers together and sometimes, even fairly recently, well, certainly on The Mister’s first night with the family, we dance as a family to Boney M – crazy laughing arms-out-whirling family. (He just watched. And yes he still married me.)
• can smell berries, plums, pepper, spices and all sorts of things in wine.
• once left the car keys in the house when we were late for school and shouted out to me as she was rushing back in to the house  “you back the car out while I go and get the keys”!
• has been married for 38 years (at the time I originally wrote this)
• has worked her whole life, although as home after school for us and now wants to travel the world.

Feels like a bit of an abrupt end to the list, but had I actually made it into a speech I’m sure it would’ve had a more planned out ending.

It’s been a few years now since The Mister and I watched movies with great regularity – the fact that we can download TV shows means that we usually always have something to watch. We’ve kept our DVD collection growing though. For a while there I kept a notebook handy near the couch and if we were watching a movie and someone said their phone number I wrote it down – the notebook was recycled in the move but I kept the page of numbers.

Most phone numbers in movies (well American movies) start ‘555′ … here’s a few I collected, although it seems I didn’t write down who they belonged to very often! Seems 555 0199 is popular from the movies we watch.

555 4823 Back to the Future
273 9164 Sneakers
555 6429 Fast & the Furious (Dom)
555 1226 What Women Want (Nick)
555 0139 Angel Eyes
555 7219 Bring it On (choreographer)
555 4202 Hackers
555 2312 LA Story
555 9175 Terminator 1 (Tech Noir Club)
555 1439 Terminator 1 (Tiki Motel)
555 0199 Collateral Damage (the bomb)
555 7600 Godzilla
555 7606 The Net (phone Angela steals)
478 000 Speed (Harry)
555 3123 Die Hard 2 (Al’s fax number at the station)
555 0122 Slackers (Dave Goodman)
555 4240 Hackers (modem at OTV network)
674 9565 Scrooged (Frank)
555 2310 Last Action Hero (woman in video store)
555 0123 Bruce Almighty (God)
555 0134 Sum of All Fears (paged Jack Ryan)
555 9091 Speechless (tele-prompter)
456 1414 American President (White House)
555 2148 Mean Girls (Kevin Ngapoor math geek)
555 0199 Italian Job (Netcom van number)
555 0199 Miss Congeniality 2 (Miss Arizona)
555 0168 Miss Congeniality 2 (Dolly Parton impersonator)

Mother sent us an article the other day on a woman who’d given a monarch butterfly a wing transplant – a potentially upsetting article given our experiences with a poor unfortunate butterfly at their place last summer.

Apparently this woman had saved a dead butterfly in a flower arrangement last year and when a recently hatched butterfly had trouble getting it’s wings to unfurl, she cut off the dead butterfly’s wings and stapled them onto the crumpled fella’s stumps. Ouch! Although I guess wings might be like hair and you can’t actually feel that stuff. According to the article the butterfly had survived a couple of weeks at the time of publishing the article so I don’t know the eventual outcome.

It’s in the latest NZ Gardener magazine if anyone wants to hunt it down!

Found an envelope of poetry that I wrote during my first stint at university, those moody years transitioning from teenager to adulthood – well so it would seem for me looking through these old pages typed on my electric typewriter. Produced a few depressing pieces, seems I had a problem with finding somewhere to be alone in the city and sunset! Here’s one as a #keepsake.

Ode to Denton Park

‘Til blue dusk the hands approach
Like the beginning of some bizarre horror movie.
Shadow crawls
beyond the soft breeze.
The breeze which ripples
But gently
The swings in Denton Park.

Patches are the rays
which once warmed the sunny yellow faces -
of daisies now enclosed in white.
Bent heads.
Fading are the rays to a world beyond
Up there -
cotton wool paradise
A muser’s haven.

Is this city silence?
The traffic away but here -
A faded sound.
The city surrounds, but -
only glimpses invade this green land.
Where life passes -
and the occasional creak, of
a swing, where
I
am the aerodynamic being
A blur of colour with
A beat of heart.
Heart

Heart

Sinks to the pit. I am suspended.
Again
I think. I muse and contemplate
Life … which I shouldn’t.
I can’t
without tears

The cold now prowls
bringing grey to this green.

The hands take flight -
Rushing
To a new, new day.

5 November 1988

Wow, I’m so grown up and chirpy now!

Cleaning out the beside cabinet I came across a pad where I’d written down a few things that The Mister had called out in his sleep. In fact twice in many cases because I got woken up the first time and asked him what he said and luckily for me instead of mumbling something else he just repeated himself louder!

Thank you for your maintenance of my bissi once colour.

I know you’re rolling your decimals. Go for it.

It’s a lady bug.

Probably never had HTML before in that way.

Where’s my bag? I can’t find my bag? I love my bag!*

Various late nights between 2004 and 2011

* This one had actions, he’d lifted up the covers and was calling down to the bottom of the bed!

I cry every time I come across this and read it. The pencil is faded and the paper thin. #keepsake

Sometime after March 2, 1990

The hole is huge – and so is the ache. I just can’t explain the feeling – the force that hit me when I heard that it was Uncle John. I heard and saw the event twice on the TV news. The first time I was drawn to listening by the key words … Ardmore … Harvards … aerobatics team … and then I saw it. The ruin. The once handsome, proud world war fighter, a crumbled wreck – a mere sheet of distorted corrugated iron after a cyclone. But – a green Harvard – relief. He has a green one. Until but a few terrifying minutes later when it dawned on me, a creeping crawling realisation that made me feel ill, that one of Uncle John’s new toys was a GREY Harvard – like the mess on TV. The phone rings, and a distraught father on the other end chokes to a hysterical daughter, the ghastly, horrific news of a dearest friend once alive, now dead. I was shocked of course, and all I could do all day was think about how utterly repulsive it was that Uncle John lay mangled at the bottom of a six metre pit with his plane, his dream, passion and life destroyed on top of him – never to let him free.

Many horrible hours passed as I drifted about, stunned – the picture in my mind of Uncle John – his smile, his sparkling eyes, his tallness and amazing strength, his love of life and willingness to do everything and help anyone. Years of memories kept flooding back – best not to shut the door – smile and remember fondly the man, love him still – these things don’t have to stop just because his life did. Boy it’s hard to convince yourself of this – but you have to.

Many days also passed – always filled with happy memories but so much disbelief. Horrible times of choking and crying, a slow dawning that it was true and no amount of grasping was going to bring him back – just the kite-tail of memories floating above.

And in a minute of relative calm I all of a sudden sat bolt upright – Auntie Catherine … what was she going through? And their sons Paul and Colin? Their husband and father – never to return. It’s just too, too tragic. Nothing but. That’s what makes it so unbearable. Their house will be empty, the bike, Porsche and plane will roar no more. How will Auntie Catherine sleep? And then thoughts wander and more terrifying possibilities creep in, what if it was my family? Just can’t shut them out.

Blank faces, many of them look at me: faces that don’t know, faces that don’t understand, faces unsure of emotion, faces of fear – fear of not knowing what to do. Sue, Gareth and Damien helped me to regain a little strength, we talked openly – talked about the accident and life before it, for me, for Auntie Catherine.

And to the funeral. To be in Auckland – I was going that day anyway, Uncle John was going to pick me up from the airport – I was going to stay with them – what a terrible terrible turn of events. I clutch Mum at the airport and cry – she has taken it really badly – Uncle John played an important part in her life when it was difficult. Mine too. How can I help her? Everyone cries. They play his music. I hold back tears. The service was lovely. Brian spoke beautifully. I cry hard only when I see Auntie Catherine and the boys leave, even more when I step out into the sun and I’m alone. Many faces of strangers pass by me – everyone is comforting someone else. Mum and Dad meet up with old friends united by the worst of reasons. But we were all there for John and Catherine, all grieving in our own way, and all loving them as we never have before.

I love you Uncle John.

About a week after 2 March 1990

John was a friend of Dad’s from high school, part of a three-some who were lifelong friends, friends of your parents who you call ‘Uncle’. I can still remember his face, smile and sparkling eyes vividly to this day.

Not sure what prompted me to scribble this down, probably another Sunday evening when I realised the weekend was over – it does seem rather targetted towards housework!

I hate

• tissues lying around
• going to the supermarket at the weekend
• doing the washing at the weekend
• crumbs on the floor
• being inside when it’s fine
• the rubbish

I like

• cups of coffee
• picnic in the car with the planes
• washing the car
• going for  a drive
• watching movies
• going for a walk

2002

I still like all those things and have pretty much eliminated or accepted the hate list! Achievement!

I’ve got more readers on my blog now than a few years ago when I posted a bit on the choice to be childfree – haven’t much lately – perhaps that’s because I hope everyone’s accepted it by now or at least accepted it’s none of their business. But judging by some ramblings on a little folded up note I found in our storage locker, I didn’t post everything. However, now, for #keepsake’s sake, I am. Usual disclaimer – these are my own thoughts (probably should be private and not shared but why shouldn’t they? it’s my blog) and doesn’t mean I think any less or want to spend any less time with those who’ve chosen or got children and yes I know the world wouldn’t go on if there weren’t future generations. If you don’t like what you’re seeing, judge for yourself if I am a horrible person and de-friend me although I reckon if someone raved on about having children they wouldn’t come under any such scrutiny … hence my ramblings!

Random yet fairly serious thoughts:

I get irrationally annoyed at societal norms surrounding people with children – things like: wide carparks near the front door of the supermarket – I know I should be grateful that people with kids park there because kids won’t open and bang their doors into my lovely car or scratch their toys or greasy fingers down the side of it (a lovely car by the way that I am “so lucky” to have because I am “so lucky” I can afford such ‘luxuries’ because I don’t have kids); work compromises and acceptance to accommodate children – long phones calls with the partner who is at home with the child, timing of meetings, domestic leave, job share, lateness.

Do you have to produce medical proof that you are pregnant in order to qualify for maternity leave? Despite being necessary, this is time and money for people who make this choice, and there’s no equivalent for those who make a different choice.

Many women take 1, 2, 5, 10, 15 years out of their working life to raise a child. No-one questions their decision. If I choose to take 1, 2, 5, 10, 15 years out of MY life to *live* or do something that’s important to me, I can guarantee you I will be questioned. No-one asks a mother ‘Why aren’t you working?” Other than the question of who will support me financially, I wonder if I’ll ever be brave enough to do this? And for those who think about when the best time is for them to have a child, I wonder when the best time would be for me to be out of the workforce. My 33rd year? My 35th? 35-40? Entering the workforce again at 40 could be difficult, especially in these technological times when everything is changing so rapidly. I’d face similar difficulties to people who’ve taken time out to raise a child. Whilst age is no employer’s business I bet they’d more readily accept ‘I raised my children’ over ‘I took some time out for myself’ as a reason for not working for an extended period. They’d probably think I had mental issues.

5 February 2003

Hmmm, as I’m now closer to meno-pause years than I am to prime breeding years I think my time for a ‘life break’ has passed me by!