too good to be true...

...is what the Wednesday prognosis proved to be. The piano cleared customs and agriculture (!) yesterday afternoon. We await a sign from the PianoShop as to the delivery. A phone call from Sue, the agent at our NZ--end mover, alerted us to the fact that the Ministry of Agriculture and Food opened the long-anticipated container today. Word has it some official crunched a ‘black widow spider’ with his foot. An entire nest of the creepy-crawlies was then espied. (Did the mom enter our container in Sydney? Valencia?) This means that a fumigating bomb had to be thrown into the container which then needs to sit for twenty-four hours. Very serious stuff, spidies. Once the threat is under control (exterminated) the MAF gentleman will check for any possible dirt on garden tools or other species of bug in the rattan and wicker furniture. For this honor, we will pay between $500 and 1,000 big ones. (Is this how their salaries are paid?) We may see our household goods on Thursday—or perhaps Friday…

It is now Wednesday. Household goods now confirmed for Thursday delivery. The piano is going to lose the arrival race after all. This is a disappointment. It will be loaded onto a truck Friday and turn up on Tuesday or Wednesday of NEXT week—day to be determined tomorrow. (still Wednesday: late afternoon phonecall--the truck is in town and will be here between 8:30 and 9 in the morning!!!**@##!)

Our hiking boots will be held for 'cleaning' and arrive in a week or two (we mightg have visited a farm and be bringing foot and mouth disease into the the country...) Our weed-wacker (given to us by Tessa's cousins who transported it from NZ--it was never used in the US) was confiscated. We had the choice of have our LL Bean door sealing 'snake' fumigated or destroyed for $11 dollars. (We chose the destruction because it was cheaper...)

On a more cheerful note, do you know much about rhodo’s? They do very well here and are starting to bloom like crazy. We have one in our front yard. From our second story window it began to resemble an elephant and now that is all anyone can see when they look out at it. The haunches of the elepahnt are visible out the side window and around at the front window is the large head, trunk raised slightly in a salute to the harbor far away and below. Visualize a ceremonial decoration for one of those Vishnu type gods or goddesses (I know almost nothing of what I speak…) (Botanic Garden and Rhododendron Dell info follows at the tail end of this entry…)

Enjoying some tasty ham for lunch yesterday, I was again bitten by the conversion bug. The ham was smoked, had a perfect natural thickness and seemed to be cut from a real ham as opposed to being processed. Was it high-end, expensive stuff or quotidian? Would it add to my enjoyment to know the price?...was it a bargain, or an extravagance? The price was $12.95 (NZ) per kilo. Divide by 2.2 and you get $(NZ) 5.89 per pound. That makes a good price in NZ $’s and a bargain in US $’s. Actually (now I'm certain) it tasted fantastic!!

Introduction (for the gardners...)
The Dunedin Botanic garden, New Zealand’s first, was established in 1863 on a site now occupied by the University of Otago. Under the direction of David Tannock, Superintendent from 1903-1940, development of the Rhododendron Dell began in 1914 with the planting of 500 rhododendrons. Some 640 had been planted on this site by its opening in 1916. As the collection increased older hybrids were shifted further down the gully to make way for new and more popular hybrids. A major re-organization was initiated in 1988 to bring together plants in various thematic groupings designed to better display parentage, scent or hybrid origin. Today the Dell occupies four hectares in the south-eastern corner of the Garden, between Lovelock Avenue and the Water of Leith. It may be entered by following any of the signposted foot tracks, or directly from the visitor’s carpark off Lovelock Avenue.

The genus Rhododendron comprises about 1000 species and more are still being discovered. Classification is now based on the work of Cullen and Chamberlain, which groups similar species into subsections and horticulturally important forms into Groups. Labels in the Garden give these details as well as the country of origin of species and, where known, the parentage of hybrids.

Dunedin’s equable climate is well suited to rhododendron culture. Annual rainfall averages 776mm (30.5in) and is evenly distributed through the year, while mean temperatures range from 16 degrees C in January to 8 degrees C in July. The City receives an average of 1700 hours sunshine a year. Within the Dell’s variety of microclimates many different types of rhododendrons thrive in its loess and basalt-derived soils. Established in 1863, Dunedin Botanic Garden is the oldest in New Zealand.

RHODODENDRON FESTIVAL
Dunedin holds a rhododendron festival every year, usually in the last week of October, when many of the plants are in full bloom.

the telephone rings…

…it rings for me. I lay down to take an innocent little nap. The cares of the world that do such a great job of getting one out of bed at 5:30 or 6 in the morning also provide justification for an honorable forty winks after lunch. So there I was, just starting to drift off when it began to jingle…downstairs. The telepathic person at the other end immediately figured out that I was lying within earshot, pretending to be an island unto myself alone. After ten rings, I realized that my caller was serious—but certainly would give up before the receiver could be at my ear. At twenty rings, it was clear that a mistake had been made (on my part) but now there was absolutely no point in bestirring my bones, was there…? Twenty-nine rings were achieved in all! (If the caller is reading this, my hat is off to you—kudos). [If one can hear the Telecom NZ double ring in his/her mind’s ear, we could technically count this as fifty-eight rings…]

Tessa’s outgoing call this Monday morning to our NZ broker/mover turned up the information that our container has landed!**##@! The additional news is that MAF (food and agriculture gov’t types…I give up on the M) have kindly consented to inspect our gardening implements for us! This means that our entire, tightly-packed 20’ container that has seen the antipodes will be unpacked by some guys somewhere that we are not. Oh, we are allowed to pay for this government ‘service’! The remains will be packed in a truck and appear at our door on Wednesday—don’t hold your breath. The piano was to ‘land’ at Wellington this morning at 6 AM. [Yes, I was awake and imagining this event.] I think you know this: customs will probably clear the piano “in one to two hours or days…” and this just in...the piano has cleared customs and is in the hands of piano movers...

Commerce: The new phone we await was like the bed and mattress we fell in love with. The story is--you visit the beautiful store. There are attractive, useful items on display. You turn things over in your mind as you try to make a choice, balancing what you need with what you want and what you can afford. Your partner-in-buying is making parallel calculations in a non-parallel universe. Discussion ensues. Mars and Venus send mutual planetary emissaries. Things eventually fall into place…a decision is hammered out. The ever-so-helpful, well-informed, earnest salesperson congratulates you on your choice. You can expect your phone in the store in three weeks time. Harvey Norman called late in the afternoon. The 29-ringer on redial?

Garaging Suzuki registered the fact that the temperature was as temperate as it felt. 20 degrees C on the dash—add 15 and multiply by 2—and yes, it really is 70 degrees Fahrenheit at 7:36 PM and feels like it. Your scotch-guard moment has finally arrived! It did not seem like this protective coating could do its thing at the 35 to 50 degree F. range we have been experiencing. (Don’t forget, it should dry for at least 12 hours before contact.) Tonight was the first application at the first opportunity. Civilization leaps forward! Hello spray, good-bye yogurt worry. Have any snack you want on the way to summer vacation (in December) (well, perhaps hold off on the soda-pop…) onwards we meander...towards a rehearsal tomorrow for one of the four (for me) concerts in two weeks time. we hope to leave pathways through the boxes and to be able to find the rest of our concert program (oops, programme) ; )

Strong northwesterly winds will bring hot...

...dry and gusty conditions to all eastern districts Sunday and Monday, exacerbating the fire risk in Otago and Canterbury. (Waikikamukau is in Otago.) MetService spokesman Bob McDavitt referred to the winds as “equinoctial gales”, caused by the contrast between cold in the Antarctic and emerging tropical weather heading southward. “This spring’s equinox is on Saturday and, after that, the days are longer than the nights. The southern hemisphere tropics are warming as the sun comes southwards while the Antarctic is at its coldest time of the year.” Westerly winds feed off the difference in temperature between the tropics and the Antarctic, so it was no surprise they were strong and widespread at the moment, Mr. McDavitt said. The MetService is forecasting strong northwesterlies with the possibility of severe gales, for Southland, Otago and Canterbury tomorrow, before a cold front crossing the South island from late tomorrow. Winds will calm down behind the front and then strengthen again on Monday, ahead of another cold front.

…and in more weather news: because of the windy gales in the Antarctic, the holes in the ozone layer are larger than normal. The levels of UV rays, already stronger here than in other parts of the world, will be 25% stronger than normal. A UV advisory is in effect for people going outside for any length of time.

The uncertain state of the weather suits the mood here, the feeling we have waiting for what may/could/should finally be the week of boxes, furniture, flatware and piano!

About three days ago, I walked home from practicing at Pat & George’s…quite a long ways. The rise up the hill waiting at the end I already had experienced but that the long drop down into town—where I planned to visit the stationary store--was also a hazard became clear the next day when I had instant shin splints! Walking to a rehearsal yesterday afternoon was more painful than you can imagine. I considered rolling for a ways but decided that the pavement would be too unforgiving—the knapsack might make things difficult too and even if I could roll, how would the stopping happen? Last night after sleeping for two hours, I awoke with my legs on the verge of cramping along the hamstrings and took two aspirin. The fog in my head in the morning did not unduly impede my throwing together buckwheat-blueberry pancakes…Sunday breakfast triumph

Lily had her first non-cousin playdate yesterday with Ilana. The two of them started a girls-only club which will have its clubhouse in the garage. They made posters and membership cards. Today Willem and Mitchell started clearing out the old tree house. We planned improvements but with no hammer or nails, all is talk at this point. This is progress (?)

And yes, Willem aced his twelve spelling words…!!!

Tessa and I are off soon to the Grandparents. Wim & Lily will puddle around there while we have our first rehearsal for the concert that is a bit over two weeks away. Time to get serious...or...not...

my irrational exuberance

is not connected to the fact that my outer sweat-pants were donned backwards in the dark. (my habit is to arise whilst my sleeping partner continues blithely on in her own trajectory, blissfully unaware that i am poking around for my garments.) even now, having reversed the pockets back to the front where they belong, things are exciting in Waikikamukau. our ship is landing tomorrow! we just have to live with the mystery of having it visit our hometown port then proceed to the next port for unloading. (‘our’ mover uses an agent in a different port—if this makes no sense to you, don’t worry, you are not alone.) our container will then be off-loaded, carried further north, then start the trip south to us.

in more shipping news, my piano is in the air as i write! after landing in Auckland, it will continue its' travels in an Air New Zealand truck to Wellington for official entrance into the country. this is called air freight. when asked for a prediction about how long it would take for the piano to clear customs, the broker said it might take one to two...either hours or possibly, days. if the agriculture people decide that the wood of the piano might contain woodborer, they can order that the crate be fumigated. the piano may make it to this city before the container from the ship. or, they could still both arrive on the same day. this triggers the expression ‘nip and tuck’ whatever that means…the piano will be our second item of furniture. the first, our handsome rimu bed, arrived on monday. in an unusual stroke of good luck, our bed and mattress appeared on the same day! that night was the first in the month in NZ that yours truly slept through the night.

if you are unaware of the time difference between the states and NZ, you should try imagining life at sixteen hours in the future. if you plan a telephone call to us, it is easier to subtract eight hours then tell yourself it is, you know, say thursday (instead of wednesday—the day you are dialing)…all this by way of preamble to my next night in the new bed when i got up at 4:43 am to accomplish the final stages of arrangements with credit cards and invoices that were required to allow piano travel. the bell-bird was starting her arias when i got back into bed, sleep eluding me though for that day. [if you are doing business with an entity in the states that operates from 9 to 5 and you wait for tea and breakfast before starting your long distance tasks, you’ve missed your chances because 9:00 am here is the close of the states’ workday, 5:00 pm. this arithmetic will be altered when daylight savings time takes effect on october 1st, but in which way, i have no desire to worry about yet]

back to/on to food: there are three useful designations here in NZ categorizing certain tasty items--take salami for instance. we chose ‘Danish’ as a type, but within that flavor were the choices of ‘mild’, ‘medium’ and ‘tasty’ (we found medium to be suitably tasty actually). your everyday household cheese (reminding you of cheddar) is available in ‘mild’, medium’ and ‘tasty’ (in this case, even tasty leaves you missing the tang of Cabot’s but it is still an honorable confabulation). it is difficult to talk about the meat available here without sounding like a reverse snob—‘it’s so much better here than where i come from’. if you, oh stateside carnivore, are accustomed to grass-fed (is it coleman’s? sometimes omaha) beef, you know what we have here. the difference is that you see it in all the markets on the ‘everyman’ shelves instead of in a gourmet section by itself. lamb and pork seem to be also of very high quality. the eggs are very orange-y and like the US high-end product, but really, more excellent. buckwheat flour was discovered yesterday in the health food store(!) so things are good in the gustation arena…

we have news about the friday fish. although the schools are religiously affiliated, the fish has nothing to do with that fact. the fish is a Cadbury confection, made from chocolate, made in the shape of a fish and packed into a box where it is made to look like a sardine. simple…a real treat if you earn one as did our speller. yesterday, wim said that a band had played and he that had a headache from sitting in front of a speaker. he said that today there would be a special assembly for blues. i tried to give him some tissue to plug his ears with if it was again too loud but Tessa intervened to say that ‘blues’ meant an awards ceremony where outstanding athletes were recognized with ribbons or letters or something. today in flag rugby, wim accidently gave one of his friends a goose-egg on the forehead. mark had to go to the school nurse and was then taken home,,,hopefully, wim's head will be clear for friday’s ‘indigo’ words: soliloquy, loquacious, chateaubriand, Byzantine. pterodactyl, gaseous, injudicious, triglyceride, colloquial, and patriarchy,

lastly, my previous description of driving in NZ omitted the fact that it is really fun to drive in Waikikamukau. the ups and downs of steep hills, the twisty,narrow streets give it a very sporty feel. (well, the downtown is flat and even has a one-way system…) but if you are tooling around at 50 or 60—forgetting that these are k (kilometers) per hr. (50 divided by 8 and multiplied by 5 makes a whisker over 30 mph) you feel like juan fangio, jim stewart etc. jolly good-o, what? oops, watch out, here comes a round-about…

round-about and round-about and round-about i go…

(A.A. Milne of course. by coincidence AA (in NZ) stands for an entity that parallels the AAA) one of the features that merits quite a few pages in the AA guide to NZ road rules is how to survive unscathed through a round-about. first of course, you arrive at one with caution. i practice caution as much as my character permits, usually waiting to emerge from a driveway or our little cul-de-sac until after another car has driven past. that makes it more likely that i will end up driving on the correct side of the road. st. jude (patron of hopeless causes) preserve me if another american ever happens to drive past on the wrong side because i will certainly emulate the lowly lemming and follow blindly…

i am a well-practiced round-abouter at this point. there are two opportunities for r-a experience on the way to the piano of my in-laws. this means two trips to play the piano equals four r-a ops. technique for the r-a: slow as you approach the r-a. any person on your right has the right of away and anyone already in the r-a takes precedence also. you must stop unless the r-a is totally clear. (if the person ‘instructing’ you grabs her seat, screams and wildly kicks the floor with her left foot, be certain to add a gratuitous suddenness to the last 6% of your cessation. this causes a bit of head snap--not an exactly friendly gesture but at least YOU were expecting it.) if you arrive slightly later than the car directly opposite and it enters the r-a first, it has the right of way. when it's finally your turn to enter, ease cooly into the arena...focus on your right as you enter the r-a, and keep your other eye on anyone on your left—or on anyone who suddenly appears on you left at the next r-a entrance…what if they don’t obey the rules?

the r-a expert distinguishes him/her-self by the use of the directional signal. if this expert is going to the outlet opposite their entrance, they indicate that they are going to turn right, a courtesy to let the person on their left know that they will be going past them. once past that person, our superior driver now indicates a left turn to let those ahead know that they may now safely enter the r-a as he/she will be exiting. i am mastering these advanced techniques at the moment. i indicate the first signal—that i plan to continue a bit, then as i shift into second gear with my left hand, i almost simultaneously hit the stalk to indicate that i will be exiting the r-a at the next opportunity—a virtuoso performance. too bad that this is not always the correct stalk as it would have been in the past life of Toyota and Subaru. i am becoming an adept at the little wiper wave, it's practically a patented move. i’m hopeful that this communicates my endearing humanity for the world to see…

more on weather and true grit…yesterday, when i finished a rehearsal and a bit of practicing at the U, i came out to find a strong wind and light rain. the temperature was around 40 degrees, probably in the vicinity of 32 with wind chill. i was about to turn and go back inside to phone for a rescue ride when a jogger went by. it was a female U student (female…certainly, U…probably—they call them girls here, it’s a not PC issue as far as i know). she wore (smallish) shorts and a t-shirt. the muscles in her calves were very well-defined…obviously a serious athlete. i thought, if she can do that, i should be able to make it for three blocks through the worst of the elements when i would then be out of the wind. The 150 steps-plus up the side of the hill would get the ol’ bod generating some heat…what am i, chopped liver?

the day that is/the week that was

frustrated by the lack of buckwheat flour, chef boy-r-me branched out for sunday pancakes by adding fruit to the white flour/crunched-up weet-bix batter for today’s culinary delight. Wim said a little less banana and a bit more kiwi fruit (traditional variety) would be the way to go next time. we take that as a positive comment…

Lily is in the shower washing her golden strawberry locks for the trip through the woods to grandma’s house. actually her birthday party is at a laser-battle adventure establishment. mother and daughter will be out soon shopping for the present.

my day will be practicing (i’m the one going to grandma’s house) and then a rehearsal at 1:00 of a master’s student cello sonata. the cellist is also a student. this will be our third rehearsal (the performance is Oct. 13th). it is a challenging part for the pianist—who is happier in the kitchen cooking pancakes than playing this awkward composition. (what would have been the path to “if you don’t like the heat, get out of the kitchen”?) (would the composer have to say “if you don’t like the heat, go back to the kitchen”?)

Tessa has visions of our shipping container, our new bed and the piano all arriving in front of our house at the same moment. this is a possible scenario. the piano looks good for delivery in the coming week. it will fly Air New Zealand (the best). apparently only one cargo plane flys each week. we do not know if the booking was made in time for the piano to board this wednesday...stay tuned

local food, customs & mores…

you may not know that the kiwi has been improved. no, not the people (although that might be…you know, the hole in the ozone, all the work on genetics, etc…) i was speaking of the fruit. a stateside (that’s you guys) correspondent asked if i knew about the genetically altered kiwi (fruit) that had an edible skin. i have eaten one of these phenomena and sir, they are no John Kennedy, ah, not the real McCoy, urrgh…kiwi--they are a bit bland. they do not really contain or convey that sharp, acidic green, verging on slimy tingy-tangy zing to the old taste buds that one has grown to expect with such fondness to the entire palette from the traditional variety. (apparently they are pretty much guaranteed not to upset the plumbing…the traditional kiwi challenges some people in this department…)

more digression: as i lay trying to decide if i was actually dreaming or awake and daydreaming early this morning, i had container thoughts. (although we have had no word from ‘our’ shipper, we have succeeded in finding out via the internet (we think) that after Spain and Sydney, our container might have landed in Lyttelton (NZ) today—therefore the inspiration) all of this, as you might remember, is based on the probable added digit. our paper work was one number short of meaning anything. the guy/bloke on the phone in Sydney said (2 weeks ago): oh, it’s probably this container _________-8. so i lay imagining what gary larson could do with a container and a missing (or found) digit. would he draw something useful--like a thumb attached to the container (so that the container could pick something up or pick itself up?), would we see an index finger either pointing accusingly or beckoning—come hither and check my numbers/digit ? or maybe another bleep sort of something—well use your own imagination…

the cold inside and out, the accompanying chill (due to moisture content?) is the subject for another day. the story is that we are proud possessors of central heating. a small, efficient furnace in the basement burns coal and/or wood—old news to the faithful reader. when our plumber mate was here connecting the washing machine on Wednesday (we now have a refrigerator and a washing machine—no more trips to the village stream) we discovered the reason there was no heat, despite purging air out of the system, reaching the big room—our guest room and Tessa’s teaching studio. well, duh on us, there is a small, un-noticed, efficient pump designed to circulate the hot water through the house. it’s great that we did not spend a year or two here before THAT switch was discovered…

…the different temperatures one can be subjected to in one twenty-four hour period is extraordinary. you can be outside in the morning sun in shorts at a nice balmy 70 degrees or so. in the afternoon it can cool off, a wind from the south (pole(!) which is all of ¼ of an inch south of NZ)) can spring up and bingo, it’s in the low 50’s. then in the middle of the night, when everything has cooled down, including the inside of the house, it is even less. ye olde nightcap (not a quaff) that the geezer wears on the night before Christmas when he springs to see what is the matter, is not a cute item of antiquity but a necessity! (who will be the first reader to find a nice t-shirt weight jersey nightcap for yours truly?). a couple of days ago at the local bodega (a 'Tip-Top' dairy) two toddlers walked in with their caregiver; there i was with my two undershirts, warm shirt, heavy sweater (‘jumper’) and thick wool vest--there they were: red cheeks, t-shirts and shorts--the rugby players of tomorrow. clearly if you are NZ born and bred you do not learn to feel pain. rugby for these tykes will be a lark in the park…the all-blacks of tomorrow...(if you don't know about the national team, google it)

what they have: carrots that are sweet and chewable—no cardboard, baby yams that have a glowing pink color (hello Chernobyl) before cooking—taste great, kumera you were already introduced to...ketchup/catsup is called simply tomato sauce—the taste is indescribable…so incredibly superior to Hunt’s, Heinz’s, all the ‘H’s’ and the other letters. the number two shopper (moi) purchased lemon stuffed ‘biscuits’ (cookies) the other day. the chewy, crackery part was not sweet but almost savory. this set up an interesting contrast with the tasty, sweet filling…go figure

good-bye rodent, hello marsupial…good news: we are attracting beautiful birds to our feeder (finches and/or or wax-eyes). bad news: apparent possum droppings were espied next to the feeder too…a new battle, this time with marsupials lies in the offing…

Wim got his second friday fish yesterday. he spelled the ‘indigo’, duodecimal list of words perfectly for the third week in a row and is now promoted to the ‘violet’ level in spelling. of course, if he were ever in a spelling contest he would never get to the ‘arteriosclerosis’ level because he would not be able to spell ‘labour’ ‘kerb’ (curb) and tyre (tire) etc. he also had his first play date today (this is a new milestone). Lily counters with her first invitation to a birthday party tomorrow.

and this just in: the liquor store at the bottom of the hill (c. two blocks away) happens to also brew their own beer. you can have your plastic litre (liter) bottle filled for slightly less than the cost of a six-pack. the beer has no sugars except for natural ones, is not pasteurized (duh) and has no preservatives. is this paradise or what?

enough…good night all…

there are the things we know we don’t know…

...for instance: a hole has a bottom. i distinctly remember being questioned as i was digging away in the sandbox at 262 ten eyck st. whether the hole i was working away at so furiously was going to go through to China. the question should have been “is the TUNNEL you are digging…” a hole has a bottom you see, an aperture (or tunnel) does not…is this science or linguistics? (i know i don’t know the answer to that)

a certain brilliant scientist who is related genetically to both the ice-man who was discovered frozen in the Italian (?) alps and to my wim & lily, was explaining about small holes and apertures. if you are digging an aperture, a tunnel from New Zealand to the antipodes, you might end up in Espana (he said). by coincidence a port in that very country was visited by the ship bearing our earthly belongings that is purportedly on its way here—what a small world!

speaking of small, i was being instructed on the concept of the extremely minute. correct me if i err, those of you who know you know, but i think that a nanometer is where we start—what we can make use of to establish a scale on human porportions we can relate to. an average hair, for instance, is about 5 to 7 nanometers in diameter. a nano, expressed as a fraction, is a 1 with (under the line) a 1 to the power of minus 9 (or a minus 1 followed by 9 zeros. (blessed are those who have not seen and yet, believe) [now in a parallel paradox, the container, probably visible from those handy satellites, is every bit as invisible as a nano…shipping news update: using the web, we have predicted, on our own (hypothesizing that the last digit of ‘our’ container posited by a bloke in Sydney is correct) that our stuff may land in Littleton (NZ) on friday. i know we will 'know' by next tues. or weds. whether or not there is good news on the household front…

and, oh yes, during the blog hiatus, 'our' mouse has retired from the fray. he gave his all and is no more...in the end the small creature’s ignominious demise was un-witnessed and un-remarked. the superior analytic power of the human brain triumphed (by observing that a couple of strips of cardboard would contribute a hair trigger aspect to the trap) . (we won’t being catching bird-flu from that rapscallion…) (or whatever) (i give up on finding a parallel construction bird-flew…mouse-scurry?) (adieu…it’s way too late in NZ…any later and i will be tempted to start dialing early risers in bush country—i know you know who you are) (expunged material...we had meant to work in Yogi Berra's trenchant 'you can see a lot by observing')

the underdog is a mouse

T did the peanut butter shopping, smooth for Lily and crunchy pour moi. The labeling placed the product somewhere between Jiffy or Skippy and Eddie’s (my preference) in the non-upscale everyday range. My reaction was: well I suppose those Aussies are doing their best, or maybe it is a NZ produced brand under license from somewhere else, UK related. Imagine my shock when I saw ‘Made in China'! What will they manufacture next--Bordeaux or Champagne ? (...well MG's in Kansas are pretty unbelievable...) Indonesia does make great peanut sauces (and Thailand?) but peanut butter from China rubs me the wrong way. (Who but those of my vintage can remember when ‘Made in Japan’ was pejorative?)

The topic is vermin. When we shopped for rodent traps, there was a life-size rubber mouse hanging limply from “The BETTER Mousetrap” by Intruder Inc. TM. Tessa said, “Oh it was bigger than that!” so we opted for the larger rat (?) model. The peanut butter was a big success. (The traps are made in RICE Lake, Wisconsin so maybe it all makes sense.) The mouse cleaned every last morsel from the trap—which remained ‘unsprung’ as it were. Back to the Yellow Warehouse, a Wal-Marty affair staffed by people who actually know where things are and are happy to assist you in finding them (‘may I help’ is the mantra). The mouse was also happy with peanut butter in the mousetrap, unfazed by the mouse friendly (?) scale! (The hair-trigger response to the human touch puts one in fear of losing a finger.) The third night we tried a caramel-like toffee coated with peanut butter. Bingo, another successful repast judging by the clean trap/platter. This menu will be repeated tonight—he/she must make a mistake sooner or later, chewing or tearing at the candy instead of licking it for an hour… Poison, a last resort, is all that’s left to try after tonight even though this will remove the sport from the hunt…(NB ‘rat’, ‘rodent’ and ‘vermin' are all used to demonize our 'enemy' and enlist your sympathies on our side…)

[Left for you to turn over in your mind, oh gentle reader, is the unexplored cognitive dissonance engendered by contemplating the bird feeder in the backyard (the birds check everyday to see if we have visited the bird supermarket yet to replenish their needs) the house mouse and the fact that the previous owners had a cat for a pet…go figure…you could be thinking--better that the cat caught no mice and no birds than some of each, for instance]

conversion

you may have forgotten—i certainly had—about multiplying by 5/9th’s, then adding 32…or is it multiplying by 9/5th’s and then adding 32 (?) to convert Centigrade to Fahrenheit. As you know, one can find it difficult to know at times whether one feels cold or warm without knowing what the temperature actually is. My brother-in-law Geoff, who has lived in NZ and Australia and now NZ again (since the 70’s) but is still ‘American’ furnished a far simpler conversion that is as close to accurate as necessary: add 15 and then multiply by 2. This means when the outside temperature reading on the dashboard says 18, you add 15, multiply by 2 then presto—yes it feels warm because it is 66 degrees F.

Much more challenging was to take this information—the Suzuki ‘Liana’ goes 100 kilometers on 9.7 liters of petrol and convert that consumption to figures my little brain can digest. The only easy part is kilometers to miles…divide 100 by 8 and multiply by 5--100 k is 62.5 miles. Now we have 9.7 liters for 62.5 miles (urban), 6.0 liters for 62.5 (ex-urban) and 7.4 liters combined. (I know you know urban=city, ex-urban=country or open road [erase interstate from your lexicon].) Now if you are aware that 4.546 liters equals 1 Imperial gallon and that 1 Imperial gallon equals 3.70 American gallons, the rest is easy. Without the guidance of a major scientific mind next to me though, I would not be able to tell you that our new little auto gets 24.23 mpg (city), 47.354 mpg (country) and 38.395 mpg combined. Incidentally, the price of petrol came down this week but last week, it was calculated that the price of petrol here was the equivalent of $4.22 a gallon (in US dollars and US gallons). Don’t ask me to help you calculate that!

Today’s amusing vignette from the life of John: It was the last degree of dusk when I walked past Lily’s room today on the 2nd floor. A new posting was affixed to her door. I really wanted to check it out…and reached for the light switch. It felt a little odd. Imagine my surprise when I realized that my fingers were fiddling with one of the myriad, omnipresent picture hangers that dot the walls. [the new sign reads: “Go away! (not including Mum and Dad) (and friend and cousens)”]

the final chapter of 'the mouse' remains to be written, but look for the first chapters in this saga soon...

...then Peter Sellers

we returned from the pot-luck supper pretty early last night, it being a school night in Waikikamukau. After we got in the door I remembered the car should be garaged. Having just driven home, one might think that the memory of where I had sat steering moments earlier would be fresh in the frontal lobe. But no, I walked out of the house and opened the passenger-side door! Again! Ready to start muttering under my breath ‘where is it’ with slight asperity (and pretending to be looking for something in the door pocket) I noticed that the two men talking to each other on the opposite side of the street had not really noticed anything peculiar, so I silently shook my head and went back inside, having obviously not found whatever I had misplaced (my mind). Once inside, allowing a couple of beats to go past—time for a self-head slap and duh...you know time for the ‘new’ thought: put car away—I went back out. The anonymous conversation burbled on…both men oblivious to my human comedy.

miscellaneous observation of local customs: dessert is pudding/pudding is dessert. Dessert at the pot-luck was the archetypal, quin-partite NZ dessert. Take a large dish, add a serving of ice-cream (preferably at least two flavors: marble swirl or hokey-pokey), apple/boysenberry crunch with vanilla custard sauce or milk and Pavlova that includes a topping of whipped cream. Now you have pudding. Did you save enough room? (Is this five or six or seven flavors?)

we met a new neighbor today, Austen. a very nice bloke who was having a gas range delivered. he grew up in Christchurch and seemed to know a lot about the houses in the neighborhood--he is possibly an architect. Austen lives with his brother...you may not know that there is no such thing as a municipal gas supply in Waikikamukau. If one wishes to cook with gas or have a gas furnace, one must puchase a storage tank and have periodic deliveries. We hope to convert our wood/coal stove in the basement eventually...

Channeling Mr. Bean

Today’s morning sky is a cloudless blue canvas, a visual parallel to the early burnished, melodious and clear song of the bellbird. That avian star sings out its solos daily at around 5 AM and relegates all later risers to the role of a chirping chorus, an important chorus of course but paling by comparison. It’s Sept. 3rd, Father’s Day in NZ., and all’s well.

The Kiwikirk’s have now resided in Waikikamukau for three weeks and two days, in their art-deco palazzo for four. Yesterday we ‘did’ acclimatization...watching ‘The World’s Fastest Indian’ for a family movie. This is an inspirational tale--in case you've been out of touch--and warms the very cockles of the heart. Everyone should see it. The Kiwikirk's give it eight thumbs up. (One member of our band observed that Burt’s Kiwi accent was stronger in the beginning of the movie than later on…) Today we will go to the museum and see a display about speed that features the actual bike!

Each day sees a new ‘first’, garaging our new mini-auto overnight for the first time; reading the local paper in our new home for the first time (my favorite saga: Agassi’s swan song); seeing our first mouse in the kitchen (T thought it looked a bit bigger than a mouse) etc. Tomorrow it’s the first garbage collection—the chore of placing our humble offerings curbside to be accomplished before the children are taken off to school we were warned. Today’s first was a pancake breakfast—the most recent prior one being the big family celebratory repast in Henderson! To offset the absence of buckwheat flour ordinarily used in combination with white, the chef substituted ground-up Weet-a-bix to create the healthy grain aspect. Sketchy cooking ware, no measuring paraphernalia, local UK/NZ type ‘bacon’ (good but not traditional), great eggs—but alas, no blueberries—made a distinct flavor bouquet. The touchstone, guarantee of gustatory success, was the Commonwealth Land Title Insurance Company State of Vermont Pure Grade A Medium Amber Maple Syrup! (Thanks S.!!!!)

It is now late in the afternoon…soon we will leave the house and go to Anna’s nearby house for a pot-luck dinner. T is contributing rice made in the much appreciated loan of a rice cooker (or maybe we bought it?) and curried kumeras (a root vegetable that could be likened to what a sweet potato would taste like if it were not so cloyingly sweet and mushy). A Pavlova has been promised for dessert! Time is flying—were you wondering about the topic sentence of today’s blog?

Wednesday seems so far in the past already…the absurd and comedic details of each day are quickly effaced--smoothed away with remarkable efficiency. When we called the lawyer that day (I remembered perfectly well that he had said he would call us when everything was signed and we could be given the key) we were told that his office had tried to call with the news that the key was now ours but that the only contact number they had was in the ‘states’. (We had definitely given them the number where we staying only a few days earlier…argh!)

Anyway, in the first hour of our possession, we looked into rooms, out of windows, explored the yard, etc. It was a sunny warm day and we were also figuring out which windows opened and whither the breezes blew. Light was streaming in the back of the house when I spotted a window in the 2nd floor bathroom. It seemed like a great idea to open that window and hail the explorers audible in the backyard, Lil and T. Checking out the strength and support the toilet boil would provide, I decided everything was good to go for my brainstorm of good cheer. One step up, a gentle reach to steady myself with the small, wall-mounted storage tank and splish…there were a minor couple of splashes as I caught the tank in my two hands and wondered… what now? It turned out that the tank could be returned to its safe harbor if I pushed the two screws back into the very meager wall (masonite?) With not a towel in the house, one of my two undershirts an adequate sponge for mopping up. Whew, disaster averted! Everything looked fine except that the water in the bowel was now a little dirty. One flush to fix it all and…wait, the entire contents of the storage tank spewed onto the floor! When the tank was dislodged, the pipe to the toilet bowel had came out of its little sleeve—apparently not in any way joined to the bowel with adhesive! With a half-inch of water now, another layer of clothing was required for sponging up the wet. Yours truly, stripped like a sailor swabbing the decks was now mopping up to beat the band. Things looked pretty much under control after about twelve minutes when a shriek came from downstairs “What have you done? There’s water coming down the wall of the kitchen!” The kitchen become the new theater of operations. Tess stood on a stool dapping with lav paper (one roll plus) for about an hour to stanch the flow after we dried a small puddle on the floor of the kitchen. Finally leaving the house (to feed the kids and put them to bed at the G'parents) we came back one last time to swab the few remaining drips…it became clear that the new paint was not going to show streaks, that the wall was plaster, not plasterboard and so would not swell and bubble, that the ceiling was not going to go peculiar. It was almost funny…well...it probably will be hilarious, eventually...someday…Rowan Atkinson would have you rolling in on the floor…