All Fired Up

Holy shit, it's cold in my house. Seriously.

There is no such thing as central heat and air down here because there are no real extremes in weather so when it gets chilly, you turn on the heat pump (installed on the wall, electrically manufactures dry heat) or, if you are unlucky like me, you light a fire.

The thing is, most Kiwis are acclimated to the winter and to them, a daytime temperature of 13°C (55.4°F) in the house, is normal.

I am freezing my ass off.

As I write this, it is late morning, and I am wearing sweats, thermals, a hoody, socks, Uggs, wrapped in a blanket with a beanie on my head. And still, my nose runs from the cold. It is a balmy sixteen degrees C, in here and the fireplace beckons.

My neighbours will smell my fire.

They will likely shake their heads and tsk tsk about what a wimpy North American I am.

I think I am beyond caring.

1. Get wood. Lots and lots of wood. And kindling. Kindling is your friend.

2. Stuff the fireplace full of newsprint. Try to use the good stuff (the big city newspaper) because those little community papers are under a tight budget and their rag just doesn't burn as well. Make sure the paper is loosely wadded so there is maximum airflow. Oxygen is your friend, too.

3. Place kindling on top. My husband, who is master fire-maker, takes the time to make tepees of the kindling and strategically places newsprint underneath each of his triangular creations. I say, sod it, and throw them all on top. I have plenty of paper and will burn every scrap of it until one or ten of those suckers catches fire.

4. The best part: the lighting. I am always so hopeful at this point.

5. Beauty, eh? Now, you open the flue wide, leave the fireplace door slightly ajar, and allow the fire to gorge itself on oxygen. I try to psych my fire out. At this point, I walk away saying things like, "Burn, don't burn...I don't care," and inevitably, without me hovering, all that kindling, oxygen and flame mingle like barflies.

6. Add the big dogs, give them plenty of air, and let them burn into gorgeous little embers.

At this point, I flip on the fireplace blower, seal the kitchen up and wait for the warmth to envelope me.

I am a fire goddess. I would have made an excellent scout.

Haere Ra (Good bye)

On Saturday, I went to a funeral.

At our race, the previous week, one of our Waka Ama team members died suddenly.  He wasn't paddling.  Since our club hosted the race, duties like the time keeping, safety briefing, waka inspecting were the responsibility of the more senior members of the club.   He was on one of the support boats when it happened.  He was 41 years old.

I'm not sure the exact cause of death because over the last seven days, there really hasn't been an appropriate moment to ask and frankly, it doesn't matter whether it was an aneurysm or a heart attack, he's still gone.

I went to practice on Tuesday night completely oblivious because I'd had to leave immediately after my race on Saturday and was not there when the tragedy occurred.  I arrived at our ramp to find that I was the only car in the parking lot.  I called my coach.

"You don't know?" she gasped, "Have you seen the canoes?"

I flipped on my high beams and there, in the glare of the lights I could see that all of the wakas had been draped in leis.

There would be no practice for the rest of the week.

At the service, the man's mum spoke.  She was quiet, gentle and dignified.  Her grief was raw and left the back of my throat aching with unshed tears.  "No parent should ever have to bury her child," she whispered.

His partner, a lovely woman from Germany, spoke, as well.  "He was the love of my life," she said.

His boss, a colleague, his friends and his brothers, all talked about how generous, loyal and happy he was and how he positively influenced the lives of all that he met.  A slide show of pictures played through the whole service and in shot after shot, my teammate was smiling, surrounded by people, fully engaged. His life was very obviously rich with people who loved him.

At the end of the service, all of us who participate in Waka Ama, filed outside to give our mate a proper send off.  We lined up on either side of the hearse and as the casket was brought down the steps of the church, we raised our paddles in a canopy.

As the hearse doors were closed, a lone male stood in the clearing behind it and called out the first couple of sentences of a haka.  It raised the hair on the back of my neck.  He was joined by one of our female teammates.  Then, several in the crowd chimed in.  They raged, pummeled their hands against their chests in unison and said good bye in a way that had me sobbing.

It was a fitting end to the most emotional funeral I've ever attended.  I wish I had been fortunate enough to have known him for more than the blink of an eye.

Today, he leaves New Zealand for the last time.  He had always expressed the desire to be taken back to the Cook Islands, to Raratonga, to be buried in the family plot when the time came.  Today, he goes home.

Haere Ra, Tai.

Paddle Waddle

Because of the paddling and my desire to become much, much, better at it, I have reluctantly, shuffled my arse back to the gym.

I still LOATHE it because this place doesn't have the right vibe (yeah, I know I'm whacked) but I am making myself go.  I have to get into cardio shape again because not every race is a sweet, little 5k.  And I really, really, need the exercise.  Working from home with my laptop mere feet from the kitchen cupboards has not been especially kind to my thighs.

I'm also in the early stages of forming a cupcake/dessert company with a friends and there is baking. LOTS AND LOTS OF BAKING.  We call it research.

I can no longer fit into my pants.

So, back to the gym.

Again.

Ad fucking nauseum.

If I ever am able to reach my fitness goals, let me tell you this:  I won't be so cavalier about relinquishing them to inactivity and over indulgence again. (yes, I know I've said that before)

Little Girl Woes

Yesterday, Liv came home a little bit down in the mouth and when I questioned her about it, she admitted that she was unhappy because the previous day, she'd had a problem with one of her friends.  

I should probably preface with some background information.  The friend in question is a child with a less than ideal home life.  Her parents split several years back after repeated episodes of domestic violence triggered by alcohol abuse.  Needless to say, her early, formative years were not ideal. 

The father is a bar manager at a local club.  He's a nice enough guy and clearly loves his daughter but he's a party dude and mostly absent.  The child worships him.

The mother, is a whole other piece of work.  She is the custodial parent but shockingly irresponsible.  A few weeks back, the child showed up at my house after school barefoot and in a spaghetti strapped summer shift.  It was 13 degrees C (approx 55 F).  I asked her where her shoes were and she said she didn't have any as they had been ruined at camp a few weeks earlier.  I asked about pants or jeans and she confessed that the single pair she owned hadn't yet been washed and they were filthy from camp.  I asked her what she wore on her feet to school and she admitted, she'd been going barefoot.  I was gutted.

(When all of the kids were away at camp, her suitcase was woefully inadequate.  She had a single pair of long pants, two t-shirts, no socks, flat "ballet" shoes, a pair of shorts that doubled as her bathing suit bottoms, flannel pj's and a singlet, which doubled as her bathing suit top.  Her shoes were encrusted with mud the first day and for the rest of camp, it was a real struggle to keep her dry and warm.  Other kids, including Olivia, lent her clothing.  It must have been embarrassing for her.)

I sent her upstair to Olivia's room to put on a long sleeved shirt, jeans, socks and a sweater.  Then, we went shopping. It wasn't some big charitable thing, either.  I just couldn't get past the fact that the child went to school, in the late fall, WITHOUT SHOES. What parent allows that?  

We made it an adventure and went down to our nearest Salvation Army store where both girls were given the opportunity to grab a few items so it wouldn't be weird.  I don't know why, but need seems to be soaked in shame and that's the last thing I wanted the child to feel.  

There just happened to be a pair of brand new runners in her size.  We got them, along with a pair of pants and a book for Liv.  Total cost: $8.50.  The girls were delighted.  I told her to keep the clothes she had on, as well, with the excuse that they didn't fit Olivia any more.  As we drove home, I seethed wondering how it was that both of her parents could afford to smoke and drink but couldn't shod the child for $4.00.  

After that, we began to see more and more of her.  Often, she would stay for dinner.  I spoke to her mother, once, and when asked what time the child needed to be home (on a school night), the reply I got was, "Whenever."  It is dark here by 5:30 pm and the woman refused to pick up her child stating that she "didn't have any gas" when the child called for a ride.  It's just a sad situation.

Lately, Liv and the girl have asked to head back to the school to meet up with two boys.  Olivia is ten, somewhat of a tomboy and still mostly little girl in her emotional intelligence.  The girl, is somewhat more advanced, harder and looking at boys in a different light.  She has already learned to objectify herself with her clothing choices, which is heartbreaking.  I was uneasy about the "playing with the boys" thing and put the kibosh on it when the girls asked again, earlier this week.  I tried to explain to Liv that I felt like it wasn't the best choice and she seemed....relieved. 

Well, the day before yesterday, they asked to go back to the school to meet up with the boys.  I said no, so they picked up the phone, instead.  At some point, I heard our front door open and close and later, I noticed Liv curled up in her TV corner reading a book.  Something was amiss but I let it be.

Last night, Olivia confessed that she and the girl had had a falling out over the boys the day before.  The girl "liked" one of the boys and had asked Liv to tell him.  Apparently, Olivia didn't do it the right way and the girl was embarrassed.  In any case, at school the following day, the girl was unkind.  Olivia found other friends to play with but since they had been spending so much time together, she felt the girl's absence.  She was angry and hurt and wanted to lash out.  I asked her to forgive and move on, in spite of her perceived injustice of it all.  I told her that we cannot control the behaviour of other people and that we can only control our reaction to it.  No matter who was right or wrong, I told her that real friendship is not hard work and that true friends are careful with each other's feelings.  I shared that I thought her time with the other girl might be over and that she should focus on new friendships. That seemed to settle Olivia's mind.

This morning, Olivia was still stinging a bit but she had a good attitude when she left for school.   Selfishly, I'm grateful that the relationship with her friend has cooled for now.  Even at this young age, you can predict the trajectory of that child's adolescent life and I think it's healthier for Liv to develop close friendships with some other girls too, so her influences are varied. 

Truthfully, I want my little girl to remain a little girl for just a bit longer.

A+ for Qantas

Yesterday, I was up well before the sun and to the airport for a 6:45am departure with Air New Zealand from Auckland to Melbourne, Australia.  We landed nearly four hours later to a chilly, overcast day.   I picked up my rental car and then in the throes of morning rush hour traffic, I made my way into the heart of the city.  I will be forever grateful that I've had seven months practice driving on the left side of the road because navigating that traffic was something again.

When I was in Vietnam a few years ago, I met several Aussies who hailed from Melbourne.  We'd see them in the hotel restaurant for breakfast every morning and over the course of five days, I heard wonderful things about their city so when I found myself at the car rental counter, GPS in hand, trying to decide how to kill some time, I remembered talk of how pretty the riverfront was.

It just so happened that the riverfront was a smorgasbord of shops and restaurants and I entertained myself quite nicely until my early afternoon meeting, which went really, really, well.

I flew out via Qantas around 5:30pm and that flight is what I wanted to talk about.  It was old school, in a good way.

The flight staff were professional and nice.  I say that because I fly a lot and there just isn't a ton of courtesy or pleasantries in coach these days.  When I fly business, I am treated differently, but economy is usually a whole other shitball experience.

The first thing I noticed was that each of us had a personalized entertainment unit built into the seat in front of us.  That is something I've come to expect in business or in long hauls across one of the big oceans but to get that perk on a three and a half hour flight was a complete surprise AND headphones were included. (It's the small things) The movie choices were current, too.  I watched "Mirror, Mirror" (not much brainpower required but Julia Roberts was excellent) and "We Bought a Zoo" (has to be one of Matt Damon's worst).

They fed us.  I had no idea that Qantas still did this so I hadn't pre ordered a gluten free meal and thought I'd be out of luck.  Not a chance.  They had an extra meal on hand to accommodate me.

They gave us alcohol with our meal.  There is nothing quite as delicious as a bottle of bubbles for which I didn't have to fork over $12.  It tasted better, being free and all.

They served us coffee or tea and ice cream for dessert and for the reminder of the flight, they came around with water to keep us hydrated.

The really weird thing is that the ticket price was competitive, less actually, than my morning flight on Air New Zealand.  As we disembarked at 11:00pm, I was a tired passenger, because the day had been exceptionally long but the Qantas leg of the trip was......

a pleasure.


I haven't felt that way about air travel since before 9/11.

In the future, with all things being equal, Qantas will, HANDS DOWN, get my business.  I hope they don't eventually cave into the nickel and dime, service-deficient wasteland of the competition.

Paddle Update

So.....

The first paddle practice was COLD. I came home with icy hands, freezing feet and blue lips.  Even after I'd emerged from a hot shower, my lips looked like they belonged to someone on a slab in the morgue.  It wasn't an especially good look for me.

The following morning, I was so sore, I could barely move.

The following evening, I paddled again.  It wasn't as cold but I do recall thinking somewhere during the 19 kms that were paddled, that I might vomit my spleen with the exertion.  My right arm, on the side, up high near the shoulder started to ache, deep inside the muscle.  It didn't take long for the bursitis to come back.

I missed Saturday's practice because it was a long weekend here and we went away with friends.

Last night, in the driving rain, with winds that kicked up to 16 knots, I attended practice, because, you know, I'm tough like that.  Actually, earlier in the day, I called our coach to see if the weather would cause us to cancel and she snorted.  Let me tell you something: these Island people are serious about their Waka Ama.  There are just no excuses.

I showed up, threw my paddle into the canoe and hoisted it down to the water with the rest of my team.  We paddled 15 kms last night.  I got soaked.  When we turned the canoe around a bridge pillar, in full race mode, it was my job in seat 5 to use my paddle to push water on the opposing side of the turn underneath the canoe.  In the pouring rain, against the wind and the current, with snot streaming from my nose (sorry for that but you get the picture), it was one of the hardest things that I've ever had to do.  As we got around, wind at our backs and current in our favour, the canoe lifted and flew across the water at a speed that infused my exhausted muscles with energy.  It just doesn't get any better than that.  It just doesn't.

When practice was over, we gently paddled up to the dock, which in full tide, was now submerged in water.  I jumped out, waist high and together with my mates, we shouldered our canoe and took her up to the saddle.  As I was driving home, wrapped in a towel and blasting the heater, it occurred to me that not once during the entire evening, did I wonder what the fuck I was doing out there under those conditions.

I think my transition to Kiwi might be nearly complete.

Thursday, I will miss practice because I'll be in Australia for the day on business.  I'd rather be paddling.  The good news is this Saturday, I am competing in my first race.  I'll be on the mixed novice team for a short 5km sprint. The weather is predicted to be miserable, with pretty serious wind and rain, not unlike the conditions last night.

I could care less.

I can't wait to get in that canoe.