Sunshine and seascapes

After settling in for a day and visiting with Mum, we decided to spend a day exploring up the coast. We were following our whimsy and some narrow, serpentine roads.
The sign said "Hahei Beach" and it sounded intriguing, so off we went.
It was almost deserted.

Except for the tractors, which the locals use to pull their boats onto the beach.

When we parked, we noticed a sign for boat tours of Mercury Bay, and one of the tractors had another sign on it. It was only half an hour till the next tour, so we decided to wait on the off-chance that there was room on the boat. 

We sat on some steps and admired the crazy spider web.

And got dizzy from watching the sun reflecting on the ocean.

And when the boat landed in the surf, we were ecstatic to hear that there were exactly three seats left on the next one.

Within minutes, we had paid our fee and donned our life jackets and nimbly climbed aboard.

Well, the first two, anyway.

Anne and I got to sit in the front, because we are short, we supposed.

Poor John had to sit with his all of his six-foot-four-ness in the back.

We waved at him a lot!

The Coromandel Peninsula was once a hub of volcanic activity, and the islands and cliffs are composed of volcanic rock. It is a mixture of ash and pumice called ignimbrite, and the ash is comprised of glass shards and crystal fragments. It erodes easily and the designs on the cliffs surrounding the bay are fascinating and beautiful.

We covered a lot of ground in an hour and sometimes the boat went really fast! It was a trick, let me tell you, to be gripping the handle with one hand and trying to get a flattering photo of the two of us (with our ears flattened to our heads and our hair slicked back in the wind) and not bouncing out of the boat when we hit a wave at full speed.

It was thrilling. We laughed and shrieked and embarrassed old JD to death. Just as well he wasn't sitting next to us.

We loved the look of Cathedral Cove, where bits if the Narnia movies were filmed. This is where the children arrive in Narnia.

The Cove can only be reached by hiking or by boat. If you hike in, you must run through this archway, dodging the waves if you are lucky, in order to get to the beach.

Sail Rock sits out slightly in the surf.

There are numerous sea caves and arches along the coast, and we went into many of them. 

Inside the biggest cave we entered.

And out we go.

It was an outrageously fun experience and we were very pleased with ourselves for splurging on it.

As we left the town, we saw this funny sight. 

Apparently, sometimes we don't bother with a boat when we go to the beach, we just take the wifey and darling child on the back of the tractor.

We checked out Hot Water Beach, where you can dig yourself a hot-water pool at low tide and bask to your heart's content. Another residual benefit of the thermal activity. We didn't avail ourselves of the moment, but we did make the most of some photo ops.

I made John cover the "s", 'cause he's singular, don't you know?

 

The frangipani, or plumeria, which often adorns leis in Hawaii. The smell is heavenly.

Moko Art Gallery is the best we found. We even went back to it a couple of days later. There was lots of great New Zealand art and, you know me, I could have bought the store!

We strolled along the beach in Whitianga and I loved this tree wrapped around a tree.

On the way home we stopped at the twin kauri trail. We did the short hike, thinking the kauris were along the trail, and got slightly lost, only to find that these trees, which were at the entrance, are the eponymous twins. 

It was getting late and it was a bit spooky in the forest. 

It was a satisfying day and we arrived home tired but happy.

And now, just because I can, some photos of my favourite succulents.

This one was at the Moko Gallery and is a most unusual plant. The spikes are sharp and leave their imprint from when the leaves were tightly folded, so that the leaves look like a patchwork. We asked about buying a start, because there were lots of babies, and the cashier told us to take all we wanted, as it throws babies all the time.
So we did.

The Hobbit loves to walk

My old high school friend, John, picked me up from the airport at 6 a.m. on Saturday morning. Faithful soul that he is. I had requested a stop at one of Auckland's famous weekend markets before we landed anywhere else. 

We rolled into the Mangere Market just as the sun was coming up, and the place was humming with activity. We wandered around and I picked up some fresh fruit and veggies to take to my sister, because she and John love them so much!

About two thirds of the market was like a giant garage sale, with all kinds of used clothes, household and garden items for sale. It was not, quite honestly, inspiring. I had been hoping for some quality souvenirs to take home, but no such luck.

We headed back to John's abode for a little rest before our lunch date with my flatmate of almost forty years ago. John wasn't up for anything in the way of exertion (probably remembering the very long hike I led him on last time I visited) so while he went out to place a bet (he's bad like that) I took a little jaunt across the Orakei Basin. First, I had to do a steep climb up and down the hill, which left me breathless after a day and night with little sleep.

It's a beautiful area, a tidal lagoon in what is left of a volcano. The banks are covered in bush and the air is filled with the song of native birds. There are trails all around it and a walkway that connects them.

Last time I was in town, the walkway's completion had been delayed over some kind of land-use argument. 

I just realised that I never posted any photos of our walk around the basin in 2011. They are too good to ignore. At least, I think so.

Some of the trail goes through neighbourhoods. John liked the look of this bench in someone's front garden and parked himself on it for a rest. And yes, he really did walk the whole thing in his flip-flops!

The trail down to the walkway was blocked off in 2011, but we ignored it and climbed the fence and down the hill, only to be thwarted by The Gap.

Yes, I did think about leaping over it, but doubted my leaping skills.

Me, at the bottom, looking up at John, who didn't brave the steps.

Looking at the other side of the basin. We walked all the way around it. I don't think John has ever walked that far in his life!

The sluice gates, which are opened periodically to regulate water levels in the basin.

There are some rather gorgeous photos of the basin on this blog, if you want to see more.

Anyway, back to 2013.

We went to Derek and Leah's for lunch. You can see my last visit with them here. Leah and I flatted together in 1976 and for some obscure reason, she still likes me. I stayed the night at their house, and spent several hours reminiscing with my friend. John picked me up the next morning and we drove down to Paeroa to meet Anne and John at church.

Side note: they drive for an hour, over horribly winding roads, every Sunday to get to church. I'm afraid that that would test my faithfulness. Yes it would.

On the way, John insisted that we stop at this little cafe. It is strangely named, and looks like a bit of a dive from the road, but it recently won "Cafe of the Year". Inside, it is packed with British royalty paraphernalia and their date scones are heavenly.

The motorbike you see on the left is a BSA bike, the same make my dad owned in his early twenties.

I didn't think about photos until the scone was just a sweet memory. Sad.

My ice-cold water was served in this lovely bottle, which I wanted to steal but didn't.

So, John handed me off to Anne and Big John, and we went our separate ways.

Driving on the Coromandel Peninsula is one unrelenting, unbelievable vista.

After a stomach-churning drive, we arrived at the Love Shack on the beach. It was built almost entirely with their two pairs of hands.

The house.

Not the beach.

Imagine that feat of engineering.

It boggles my brain every time I think of it.

Stay tuned for Hobbity adventures on the Coromandel Peninsula.

Singing in the lifeboats

My main reason for going to New Zealand at the end of March was to spend time with my mum. In case you've been living in a cave for the last couple of years, she has Alzheimer's and is experiencing the slow decline that is typical of the disease. My sister shoulders the responsibility for Mum's well-being, and she made a decision in January to move Mum to a care facility that is closer to where she and her husband now live. She told me how lovely it is and I was excited to check it out in person. 

I have spent time in a myriad of elderly-care facilities in the last ten years, and I can now get a fairly accurate sense of a place within minutes of entering. It's a combination of smell, sound, light, and the demeanour of the care-giving staff. This new home is in a class of its own, and I am so pleased that Mum is there. It is unusual in that elderly people with no cognitive deficits are living in the same area as dementia patients, who would normally be in a locked unit. Obviously, a tendency to wander would preclude someone from being accepted into the facility, as they would soon be out the door and into town, causing all sorts of consternation!

The wonderful thing about this situation is that the more capable residents often make friends with those who have dementia and will consciously (and magnanimously, in my opinion) include them in their world. One dear lady invites Mum into her room to watch Mr. Bean and old movies, and loves it when Mum laughs and has a good time. 

Alby, who is 94, played in bands for most of his life and played the guitar and several other instruments that I don't recall. Most afternoons, he plays old songs in one of the many small, well-lit living-room areas that are scattered around the facility.

Alby told us that he often goes to Mum's room and takes her down to sing with him. Mum is quite famous at "M House" for her love of singing and her still rather pure, high voice. She knows all the words to most of the songs and sings out without any self-consciousness. 

I spent a couple of delightful afternoons with this great little group. The first time, John and Anne were with me and we heard Alby singing and strumming away at the end of the hallway. We took Mum down and joined him. One of his friends, who shall remain nameless and faceless for this anecdote, was sitting in the armchair shown below in just a shirt and a diaper. John sat in the chair next to him and, after a few minutes, he looked at John with a perfectly straight face and said, "I think I'd better go find some pants!" 

And off he went.

Which reminded me of the time I was sitting in the room of a client with Alzheimer's, doing my music therapy thing, and someone walking by caught my attention. I was taken aback to see that she was stark naked, except for a diaper. Inhibitions are often one of the first things to go, and I suppose it is better to find the consequent situations comical, rather than tragic.

Alby is quite bright for his 94 years, although we did sing "Bye, Bye, Blackbird" about five times that day, each time as though it was the first! He will play as long as someone is there to listen and sing with him. Here he is with one of his friends, who is a regular at the sing-alongs.

Another day, this friend played the cajon, a box-like drum. He was a drummer in a band and has a pretty great bass voice as well.

The day before I left the area, I led a music therapy session at the care home. I borrowed John's very nice, rather large guitar, and used instruments from the activities office, and we had a rollicking good time. The usual beneficial effects ensued, including one dear man, who never speaks, who joined in singing several songs. I was reminded (yet again) of the unique qualities of music therapy, as the staff was quite impressed and intrigued by the level of participation of the group, compared to other forms of musical entertainment. I wish that more care homes would recognize the benefits and be willing to invest in music therapy for their residents.

A facebook friend sent me this video, which portrays something similar. It makes me want to work with individual clients again, as the results can be quite astounding. Please take a few minutes to watch this. Notice how Gladys changes her repetitive movements to match the beat, then how she drives the beat and the therapist follows her lead. Then towards the end, an almost angelic surprise. 

The Freezer Fiasco

So, tell me, does this benign face of my husband show any signs of the havoc he can cause?

This living apart does have its challenges. 

The weekend after I left for New Zealand, Jeff came home so that he could have Easter dinner with the family. I had left food in the freezer so that he could take it back to the Ranch for his lunches and dinners. He left on Sunday evening.

Meanwhile, at the little love nest at the beach on the Coromandel Peninsula, I had responded to a facebook request for moving boxes and asked Bethany to pick them up if she was out by our house. I must've been inspired, because when she went into the music room to collect the boxes, she found the freezer lid wide open. This was on Friday afternoon.

Yes. The freezer was open to the elements for five whole days. Apparently, Jeff had forgotten to close the lid after he loaded up his car.

Bethany said only the food on top was partially defrosted, so no food was lost, but there was so much ice buildup that she had to chip it away before she could close the lid.

I confess to complaining long and loud about my poor sweetheart's forgetfulness. 

I may also be guilty of using his misdemeanour to my advantage when I returned home. 

So last Wednesday evening, while still suffering from jet lag and after two long days of working, I spent a couple of back-breaking hours digging all of the food out of the freezer, defrosting it, then refilling it.

To be honest, the defrost was long overdue, but don't tell Jeff, 'kay?
I think there's still a little mileage left in this one!

The Hobbit's busy

Hanging out with the other two Wilson girls.

 

 

Holding hands with me mum and singing songs.

 

 

Riding jetboats.

 

Playing the fool.

 

Eating too much dessert.

 

Having adventures with Pippin and Gandalf.

 

Holding dirty little piglets.

 

You know.

The usual stuff.

I'll be back to telling stories soon.

 

The Hobbit's adventures

My seatmate on the flight from Portland to San Francisco, an older (than me) lady who lives in Norway, spent the whole two-hour flight testifying to me of the wonders of socialized medicine.
As she drank three glasses of gratis wine.
And, as she leaned in close, spitted (spat? sput?) all over the right side of my body.
It was insult added to injury.
I defended myself as a card-carrying member of the Tea Party (after she declared that Tea Partiers were cold-hearted, privileged people who wanted to deprive all the poor and mentally deficient of the benefits that they, themselves, enjoy). I told her that I didn't know anyone who felt that way, and that when I spoke of not wanting the government to be in charge of my health-care decisions, I was speaking from a place of experience and not privilege. We lived around the poverty line for years and were without medical insurance as well. We learned to butterfly bandage head cuts and to splint fingers and we paid cash to our midwife. This seemed to take the wind out of her sails, but I doubt it changed her opinion, just as she didn't change mine.
I was very glad when Madame spittle-flying-propaganda-spouting Holland bid me a fond goodbye and I was left in peace.

I found the International Terminal and also a comfy place to sit. I listened to some retired couples talking about their plans. One was going to Australia for a thirty-day cruise around the continent. One was sailing from Hobart, Tasmania to Seattle, Washington on a 38-day repositioning cruise. A younger couple was going to Hobart for two months for the husband's work.
My travel aspirations felt unadventurous by comparison.
And then, boarding the plane, I had my usual plebian qualms as I listened to the calls for business-class and economy-premiere passengers. There is nothing in the world designed to make one feel inferior than waiting for the economy-class cattle call.
And then, watching the very funny Bear Grylls safety video, I wanted to hurl every time he told those same people to brace against their ottomans in the case of a forced landing.
Seriously?
Ottomans?
Sigh.
I want an ottoman by my reclining plane seat.

I sat next to a delightful Kiwi couple who had just done a whirlwind diving tour of the U.S. in 28 days, and in front of another couple who were on their way home from a year of driving around the U.S. in an RV.
I closed the shades on the windows, as it was dark outside, and the stewardess, while asking me nicely to open them again, used the word "pedantic". I was "ecstatic".

I watched Parental Control and it was hilarious. Billy Crystal still has his mojo.
Then Hope Springs, which was a little weird but had a good ending and don't-you-dare-say-I-recommended-it-to-you.
Then my eyes felt like they had been blasted by hot sand and so I slept, sort of.
A couple of hours before touchdown I decided to give it up and found (oh joy!) two Dr. Who episodes that haven't made it onto Netflix yet, so I was very happy and finished them right before we landed.
Thirteen hours after we ascended.

The entrance to the concourse at Auckland Airport makes me feel very Hobbit-ish.

 

 

Which is better than a plebian.

 

Happy Birthday to my not-so-baby

I'm off to see my Mum and the rest of my family and peeps in New Zealand next week, so I am going to miss Jeff's birthday and Easter and Charlie's birthday and Annie's birthday. 

Method to my madness, ya think?

Anyway, my kids know not to expect a big fuss every time there's a birthday, but once in a while I like to do a special post for one of my darling offspring.

And this is one of them.

This is for Sam, to prove that I did take some notes on Charlie's arrival! Sorry if it contradicts some of my earlier info, Sam, I had to think a few things through.

Charlie was a surprise. 

Just want to put that out there.

It had been five years since our last baby and, well, we weren't trying not to, if you know what I mean, and suddenly, when Jeff was out of town on a business trip, I discovered I was pregnant.

We were happy about it, but I soon became violently ill, as in raging nausea and vomiting, and then my left leg got swollen and painful again and, by three months, I was in the hospital with phlebitis. My leg was full of blood clots and my longevity was in question. Ten days in the hospital and a new regimen of two Heparin shots a day in my stomach pretty much nixed the blood clots. Jeff struggled along with the other three, with help from friends, and got grumpy again. 

Plans for another home birth were shot and I started seeing a high-risk doctor at Kaiser. He was a doll and as kind a man as I have ever met and I fell half in love with him, what with Jeff still being grumpy and all. 

The nausea didn't abate one whit and I got big red spots in the whites of my eyes from the force of throwing up everything I ate. My growing stomach became bilious shades of purple and green from the subcutaneous shots of blood thinner. I survived, but did not thrive. I sent the three kids off to school each morning and went back to bed until Annie came home from Kindergarten. Jeff cleaned the house and took care of everything as well as he could, with me pitching in when I was able.

We had already planned a trip to New Zealand and bought the tickets before we knew of the pregnancy, so, with permission from my doctor, when I was five months along, we went. I had to travel back home with the three older kids alone, as Jeff had returned to work earlier. The trip included a night in Honolulu, which was not awesome, dragging three kids and our bags back and forth from the hotel. Checking our luggage onto the flight, after waiting in line forever, the handlers refused to lift the bags onto the conveyor belt. I promptly broke into tears and some of our fellow travelers rescued me. I've had a bit of a disdain for Honolulu Airport ever since.

Charlie was due on April 1st and, if I didn't go into labour spontaneously, the plan was to induce on the 2nd. I was determined not to have an April Fool's baby and also didn't want to be induced. I guess I was due for some goodness, because I started labour in the wee hours of the morning of the 2nd. We called Jeff's aunty to let her know, as she was coming to stay with Jonnie and Annie. Bethany was to attend the birth with my good friend, Kathy. Don't come yet, I said, we just wanted you to be prepared. Well, she was over shortly and shooed us off to the hospital. I'd never had to be in a car while I was in labour before, and we had to go all the way into Portland. It was the one time in his life that Jeff actually exceeded the speed limits. 

I was expecting my usual long, drawn-out labour, and when things got kind of intense I got some Demerol, thinking I would never make it through the day. My lovely doctor had just come on duty and I felt like I need to push, but figured it was too soon. Nope, he measured and I was ready. Off to the delivery room we went,  all of us. It didn't take too many pushes and out he came, with his little ears all squished to the side of his head and red patches in his eyes and on his face from coming down the birth canal so quickly, and my dad's dimple in his left cheek. He was so beautiful, and we named him Isaac Charles.

"Isaac?" exclaimed my Uncle Charlie, when I called to tell him. "That's a Jewish name!"

"Hmmm, no, Uncle Charlie, it's biblical," I said.

And I sat and looked at him in the hospital for three days, while they regulated the blood thinner, and tried to call him Isaac.

But he wasn't an Isaac.

So we called him Charlie, which fit him perfectly and made my uncle very happy.

The Marines owned Charlie for his last four birthdays. 

We are so glad and grateful that he made it home to us. I know there are stories we will never hear about his time away, and we are proud of him for his strength and resilience. 

I am sure that having Sam waiting at home kept him sane. And now she, their beloved Wrangler, and baby-girl-soon-to-arrive London are motivating him to work hard and study hard and be the man he was always meant to be.

He is a patient and tireless uncle...

...and a loving son, and we are so proud of him.

We often give him a hard time about the hard time he gave us in his youth, so I wanted to say this, just a little bit early.

Happy Birthday, Charlie!

We love you.