Leapin' lemurs

On the last day I spent with Mum, we took her to Hamilton Zoo. It was a strategically selfish move on my part. Ever since I saw (recently posted) facebook photos of my nephew's family in the lemur enclosure, I had been determined to do the same.

And you know me:

Susan T. Osborne.

"T" for Tenacious.

As luck would have it (and luck was with me on this trip, except for the mosquito bites) the Face 2 Face time with lemurs was on Mondays. The first Monday was during school holidays, so we nixed that as a possibility, as only ten people can partake of the lemurs' charms in one day. The second Monday promised to be torrential downpours, but we decided to risk it.

Now or never.

Do or die.

And it was perfect.

The torrential downpour waited until about three o'clock, when we were done anyway.

So, for a mere $10 a person (admission not included) we spent some quality time with ten ring-tailed lemurs and a ruffed lemur or two.

Hint: lemurs love grapes.

Carrots, not so much.

So if you ever meet one on your travels, you will know how to get on its good side.

Who, me? Oh, I couldn't. Really.

Must. Resist. The grape.

Oh, alright, if you insist! Mm mm mm.

I was in lemur heaven.

We were only allowed to pick up the ruffed lemurs.

Who were, quite frankly, only in it for the grapes.

Ring-tails don't like to be petted, apparently.

Lies, all lies!

Mum got a huge kick out of it. She thought she was going to lose her hat.

John is the only person I know who gets a greater kick out of this sort of thing than I.

It was all very delightful.
Hamilton Zoo is a small but unique zoo, with wonderful habitats for the animals and friendly volunteers who love to share their passion. There are still some marvels to share, but sixteen photos in one post is enough, don't you think?

With fronds like these, who needs anemones?

One of the things I wanted to do while in New Zealand was to hike in the bush with my dear friend and flatmate, Leah, and her husband, Derek. The planets aligned just so and I met them the day I flew into Auckland (Thursday) and on Friday we went for a hike in the Hunua Ranges. 

The weather was a bit iffy but we took jackets and Whittaker's peanut slabs and hoped for the best.

The jackets lasted about ten minutes.

This was mostly what we saw of Derek, as Leah and I did what we do best: yack and walk.

There is nothing quite like the New Zealand bush. 

The way the sun filters through the fronds of the tree ferns.

The way the undergrowth stacks in layers.

The way epiphytes make each tree interesting.
Yes, there is a trunk under all those plants.

The vines, mosses, and parasitic plants that live on the tree ferns and other trees.

I believe this is one of the four reservoirs in the park that supply up to 60% of Auckland's water.

We stopped for a few minutes to rest in the kauri grove. Kauris are mighty trees and one of the largest trees in the world is a kauri tree that grows north of Auckland. Its name is Tane Mahuta, which means Lord of the Forest. Its girth is 45.2 ft, trunk height is 58 ft, total height 168 ft, and the total volume is 18,250 cu.ft.

The ancient Maoris revered the mighty kauris as gods, but unfortunately only about two dozen of the giants survived logging by the early European settlers. Many of the trees that were felled were much bigger than the survivors. 

Leah and Derek.

I love them!

There is nothing in the world like the damp, fertile smell of the New Zealand bush.

Clambering around on the rocks was not my favourite part, but I managed it without mishap.

Leah said the falls were not impressive, so we didn't bother.

The impressive part was the bush track.

We emerged from the bush a few hours later, damp, sweaty, and tired.

It was perfect.

The tie that binds

All women become like their mothers. 

That is their tragedy.

No man does.

That's his.

Oscar Wilde.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers in my life.

The three (horrible) bears

My sister, Anne, and I spent the first week of my time in New Zealand cleaning out my Mum's little house. For those of you who are new to the story, my Mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in January and went into a care home. We needed to go through Mum's house to get it ready to sell.

It was a job that was at times disturbing, often heart-rending, and sometimes hilarious.

My Mum was an avid collector of things.

Which she then proceeded to wrap in gobs of tissue paper and plastic bags and boxes.

These are just a few of the books we unwrapped. Sometimes, there were multiple copies of the same book, especially if they were new. We don't think she ever read any of them.

John particularly liked this purse. 

He actually pleaded with Anne to keep it instead of the black patent handbag to which she was inclined.

Mum had closets full of clothes that she had never worn. Most of them were op-shop bargains, we are sure, but some of them were new with expensive price tags. And sometimes there were multiple copies of the same item! 

I persuaded Anne to model a couple of outfits, because some of them were kinda gorgeous. 

And I could never have squeezed into them!

John took off for the beach after a day or two. Work to do, he claimed, better than hanging around with the girls. Then Anne got sick with some kind of virus, which I managed to catch a week later. 

Sharing sisters!

One day, after hours of sorting and tossing, I walked into the living room where Anne was lying, dying, on her mattress. I looked at this basket that has sat by Mum's wood stove for years.

Those bears are horrible, they've got to go! I declared.

What? says Anne, suddenly alert.

Those bears are horrible, they've got to go!

I'll have you know that my children made those bears, she said, and we both started laughing uncontrollably. Which act usually entails clenching the thighs tightly, because, you know, weak bladders and all! It was worth a good thirty minutes of entertainment, as she showed me the unique qualities of each bear and how she could tell which child had made which bear. 

We rolled on the floor and we cried real tears. 

All she had to say to get us both in stitches again, for the rest of the holiday, was Those bears are horrible!

Now, I don't want you to think we were disrespectful. It was a strange situation, cleaning out one's parent's house before they are dead. Mum has always been a very secretive person but she never threw anything away. 

Not one envelope.

So it was an enlightening week and I think I learned more about my mother than I have learned all the rest of my life. It was good in most ways and helps me to be more compassionate towards her in her present state. Some of the history was rather bizarre and shall not be repeated here, but it just goes to show that still waters run deep. 

And I tell you this, if there is anything in your possession that you want to remain a secret, dispose of it now.

This very day. 

Because when it is discovered, you will not be there to explain it. 

And that is a very bad thing.

And about that grove of trees.

Mine to know and yours never to discover.

And in case you're wondering, there is no documentation!

The View

This is a running post.

And a scenery post.

And a little jaunt down memory lane.

See? Something for everyone!

You can thank me later.

I lived in Temple View, which is in the Waikato, New Zealand (think Hobbiton) from 1967 thru 1979. Give or take a few absences of varying lengths. 

Never, in that time, did I run.

Unless I was late for school, or the bus, or the school bus.

Even then, I suspect I probably walked fast.

So it was kinda fun, on this visit, to run around those roads that I love so much.

Come for a little jog with me.

This is what we see as we run down Mum's driveway...

...and then we turn right.

We run past the house that Mum had built after Dad died. 

My sister and her husband bought it from Mum, then added onto it so that it would accommodate their growing family. They only just sold it so that they could move out to their lovely beach house. Now, another family lives there and I was happy to hear children's footsteps running around the upper story as I jogged past.

Past the straggly tropical trees.

Up and around the corner, past the house of the new Kiwi Seventy (non-Mormons won't get that one at all) who is buddies with my sister and brother-in-law.

Next to that is the house where Mum and I lived, for a few months after Dad died, with our dearly departed friend Lamia. Lamia built her own house and this lovely wall.

Down Deseret Road...

...and all the way to the end.

That grove of trees in the distance holds some ... interesting ... memories!

Dad used to take us out at dawn to gather mushrooms in these fields, which backed up onto our house. We would come home with buckets full of the big treasures.

Back out and up the road. This part of the road used to be gravel. 

Mighty nice of them to pave it, don't you think?

Wonder if this bad boy is friendly?

Nope. My hand still holds the bruise to prove it!

That large, dead gum tree that's leaning to the right is only held up by the evergreen next to it.

Major disaster waiting to happen.

Hello, brown cow.

This hill is much longer and steeper than it looks and I confess I walked some of it.

Feeling the burn, so back down the road we go and through the shortcut and around the loop to our old house.

Eight happy years I spent in this house. The current owners have been in it for over 30 years and yet it still feels like mine. I always visit and tell them how much I appreciate their taking such good care of it!

Then, up the hill that I walked every day in my teens, often more than once.

And yes, I did make it to the top.

Even though it aged me several years.

On other days my route included the temple.

This is the view from the bottom of Mum's driveway.

Here we go.

I ran up the steps and back down again.

It felt a little sacrilegious, but strangely satisfying.

If you hung around to the end, thanks for that!
See you tomorrow.
I'm ba-ack!

Braving the body scans

I have a couple of awesome ideas for blog posts roaming around my head, but my plane for San Francisco leaves in twenty hours.
And I am a bundle of stress.
One of my few recurring nightmares involves missed plane flights, so you can imagine how catching a real plane affects me!
And, because I am self-employed, I am working flat stick today and tomorrow in order to miss as little work as possible. And packing. A 50lb checked bag and a 15lb carry-on.  And organizing things for Jeff so that he doesn't starve while I'm away.
Actually, he kind of likes it when I'm gone. 
He gets to eat fast food any time he wants!

So, you will have to wait a little while longer to learn about my new magic laundry ingredient.
And the other thing.
Whatever it was.
I'm sure it will come back to me tomorrow.
Oh yeah, something about fascists and royalty.
It's a good one.

Meanwhile, I will be greeting old friends and hugging my Mum and sister and little grand-nephew and generally soaking in the Kiwi ambience.
It's a rough life.

And, just because a post without pictures is boring, here are a couple of new photos from Sam and Charlie's official wedding album.

A boy and his Mama.

And a picture-perfect princess.

Wish me luck. 

With that old plane thing.

More wisdom from The Canadian

I had a pleasant interlude this morning with friends Karen and Nicole. Mani-pedis and Quiznos for lunch, all with coupons! (My manicurist was kinda attitudinal, but other than that....)
Anyway, over our spectacular lunch, they reminded me that I hadn't yet posted the last of Mark's essay on America. If I'd have known anyone cared that much, I would have posted it weeks ago!
So here it is, with a few added links for those of you who (like me) are unfamiliar with some of his references. I suggest following the links, they are fascinating stories. Sadly, I was completely unaware of both of them.


How America is different.

I see American exceptionalism in that desire to be the light on the hill and to aspire to the highest values of representation of the people. Not only were the slaves freed, but the 14th amendment ensured that they were also given political franchise. The Constitution and its amendments serve the people. This is as opposed to political structures where the people serve the state. In serving the people, I think the most important facet in the entire American political system can be seen by example in the 1st and 2nd amendments to the constitution. In these America can claim its place as the light on the hill.

The freedom to assemble, the freedom to speak out, freedom to worship or not to worship, whom or what or whenever you please. These freedoms flow from the first amendment. They are found in other countries to some extent but in America they are law. 

In the cartoons of Mohammed controversy and in blasphemy laws like those now in place in Ireland, freedom of speech is under fire. The so called Ground Zero mosque also illustrates the right of freedom of speech and religion. The planners do have the right to build their mosque. But that same freedom should also mean that, should people like to protest in front of the mosque against whatever grievance they have with Islam, they should be tolerated along with pork roast festivals, showings of “Fitna” and the like.

The right to bear arms on the other hand, elevated the people to the status of equality with their government in defending themselves lawfully. I am sure that the original intent of the amendment was also to ensure that the government remained humble and subservient of the people rather than the other way around.

These freedoms in America have not been won cheaply but have cost the blood of generations of fighting men and women. And now these freedoms are in danger again. Modern threats to freedom include erring too much on the side of political correctness and a loss of economic freedom through irresponsible federal spending. On face value political correctness is a virtue as it embodies tolerance and deference for diversity. But when political correctness means tolerating intolerance then it has gone too far and I think that Europe for example is approaching that point. Geert Wilders has gone on trial for inciting hatred. (Read one of his blog posts here.) What kind of a crime is hatred? An imaginary crime I suppose. How can you know what is in the heart of another? But a casual overview of what is happening in Holland will show that the only obvious outward display of hatred comes from those Wliders is exposing so for example, Theo Van Gogh is dead, and open critics of Islam live under 24 hour armed guard. 

The United States must not follow Europe. It must not give up its unique position and must hold fast to the freedoms that make it what it is. To a large extent this uniqueness stems from the freedoms which to many in the world may seem quaint. But it is these very freedoms that have been a magnet to millions of immigrants who have become Americans over the centuries and it is these freedoms that must remain for the sake of all the world.