Always In Your Face

This morning as I walking down towards the Goat-Hill to greet billy goat Jacko, and to enquire after his health following the night of serious frost, I happened to notice a number of small daisy patches scattered over outlying parts of the lawn.

As the word “goat” was relatively uppermost in my mind at the time, I thought back to Beebs (the Late Justin Bieber and goat-mate to Jacko), who had died almost two months ago and was buried in our ‘pet cemetery’ at the bottom of Goat-Hill. This in turn, led to the phrase ‘pushing up daisies’

My heart skipped a heart beat. Last night the temperature was similar to 4 July 2014, the fateful icy night when Beebs succumbed on account of… unknown factors, but the extreme cold may well have been a factor.  Now I don’t like being a Prophet of Doom, but I did start worrying a  bit about Jacko at that partiular moment. I tiptoed up to the fence and peered down the steep embankment to the cemetery area some fifty metres away.

A short distance from the dog-grave mound which marks the spot where Beebs was buried, stood the black and white Jacko, cropping on the short grass. He was visiting his mate, and having a bit of a wake. As all good goats do.

(Above); At that instant, Jacko swung his head around and upwards, looking me straight in the eye. I froze, not wanting to start up a conversation. He stood like a statue, staring back. This was going to be a game chicken. Chicken or Goat?

I stepped back gingerly, not showing any sort of reaction or motion, pretending to be stationary. He stood still. I took another step backwards, then another, and one more. A quick one, and I was no longer in his view from the bottom of the incline.

Then I heard the maaa-maaa as he started racing up the hill, hell-bent on starting one of his conversations. Out of the corner, I see a nasty-looking dark streak running down the side of his face, almost as if he’s damaged his eye area and has resulted in a haemorrhage. All I need is having to coax this character into the back of the Toyota to visit the vet, or even worse, a goat-ophthalmologist. Do you get such a person? 

The maa-maaa is still audible as I trot to the fodder store (actually the tractor garage, but it sounds more posh to refer to it as their fodder bunker). I’m sure, bung eye or not, Jacko will welcome a gutful of hay, hey?

(Above): When I returned with a generous armful helping of hay, you cannot imagine my relief at finding that his so-called “haemorrhage” is really simply the colouration of the growth of his hair along the left side of his face. (see the red line I’ve drawn on the photo).

As I hand the grateful goat his chow, I almost feel like giving a huge hug of relief, but (over my shoulder) one of the builder men may be watching me. We stand face to face, Jacko with a mouthful of hay and me with a throat full of relief. Let’s face it, this character has a face to remember. 

 

Buildlogue #31– Barking Mad

Construction Day 50 is “celebrated” on Thursday 28 August, with the fits thick layer of frost on the new roof (I think I’ve mentioned that the 2014 Winter has been a relatively minor one in the Reikorangi Valley?)

(Above): Anyway, the hard white stuff encrusted the roof pretty well overnight and the welcome early morning sun had already melted half of it (see yellow arrow) clear where there was no protection from the shadows of the tree.

You can see the cream-coloured filler patches where nails etc  on the green Karaka fascias were plugged. I will have to wait until the melting frost drips stop dripping before I can down and final-coat paint the boards as planned. After that the builders can put up the gutters to finish off the job.

The Gibbers have arrived today. Two sturdy guys who will skim all the internal walls and ceiling. They are quite evidently “new” to the site, and the one guy was wearing a most unfashionable bright yellow beanie. To make their presence understood, Benny and Sophie gave them a really good barking-to while totally ignoring the “usual” faces. Because the barking exceeded even what a farmer would expect from his working dogs, I gave them a good talking-to, but they continued to give the gibbers a good barking-to. I was left with no other option but to pull out the big stick :

(Above): Showing Benny and Sophie the “big stick” , which is a single sheet of foolscap paper, folder into 3 (a DL envelope size). I understand that the pen is mightier than the sword and psychologically a piece of paper may be more intimidating than a stick. I can confirm that it works like a charm. It instils respect into barking dogs.  

(Above): Sophie (left) and Benny (right, naturally) continue to eyeball the gibbers, just without all the warning theatrics, after being shown the foolscap paper. Much like the Yellow Card in football, I expect.

Where There’s Smoke…

How do you become and stay good neighbours with your neighbours? In Reikorangi it is much the same as anywhere else, except that here folk practice those things a lot more than they preach them.

• Do unto others as you would like them to treat you. Look out for anything amiss if you are aware that your neighbours are away.
• Smile and wave at other motorists and pedestrians in a friendly fashion as you pass by; you feel part of the community and you feel better.
• While walking along the roads, smile and wave at passing motorists – there are not so many, you feel part of the community and you feel better.
• Always keep your dog(s) under control and on a leash on all roads and public places.
• Never complain about herding (sheep) dogs barking – they’re simply doing their job, just like the lumberjacks must operate their chainsaws; if you can’t stand the barking of dogs, get out of the countryside.
• Keep your nose clean: Sort out issues sensibly before they can develop in to serious arguments.
• Drive carefully and responsibly down all country lanes; if you want to at like a viamaniac*, go look for a motorway somewhere and get locked up for acting like a viamaniac*.

We try to do the same. (BTW – these are unwritten “rules” – I’ve simply compiled them from my observations, and what I’ve heard others say)

A message in my Inbox this morning from a member of the Reikorangi Gang Group:
Hi Folks, Just a heads up that if the weather plays ball tomorrow (Friday 29th), I'll be burning a load of scrap timber next to the house at 115 Reikorangi Road (opposite the swimming hole), so if you see smoke in the area its nothing to be alarmed about.  Cheers, Monty

Looking back, I see I received this email on 3 August from Bob and Barbara:
We were given a wee orphan goat this afternoon but don't have the set-up to properly look after a goat. She is part angora, part wild goat. If anyone wants her please call on 2937777.         Thanks, Bob and Barb

Footnotes:

(1) * Viamaniac (n. root suspicuously Latin) pronounced  “Viyah- may-knee-Ak”, abbreviation VM as in “Driving like a VM in a BM”. From the Latin combo via (road) + maniac (mad person) – Source of information: MyMickeyPedia.

(2) Names and telephone numbers have been changed to protect identities.

(3) Under normal operating conditions, I would simply have made a mental note of Monty’s mail (as will everyone else) and not have blogged it to the whole (!) world, but I honestly had a most vivid dream about such a fire last night.

Buildlogue #30 The Writing On The Wall

For those readers who may have been getting a bit bored with the construction details of the build, here are the latest pictures of progress to date. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so here are 4,000 words for this post…

(Above): The carpenter’s calculator: batteries not included. Quite obviously he needed to do a little subtraction calculation.

(Above): A view of the sitting room from the bedroom.

(Above): The view of the bedroom as seen from the sitting room. On the right is the bathroom door (closest), with the dressing-room / walk-in cupboard at the ladder.

(Above): Once all the taping of joints in the Gib partition board has been completed, followed by the skimming and sanding down, the painting can start. Two colours, namely Cutty Sark^TM and Ashanti^TM are under consideration. On an interesting technical point, in the fine-print section of the Resene colour chart, I read, “Unauthorised use of Resene colours and colour names breaches Resene’s copyright and trademark rights.” I acknowledge that the above is merely a copy for my readers’ information.

Buildlogue #29 Let’s Go Gibbing!

Tuesday August 26 and Wednesday 27, Construction Days 48 and 49. Reasonably early in the morning the KCDC inspector arrives with his cattle prod, checking to see the moisture content of our framing timber. Observant readers will remember that we stood at 22.5% last week, with maximum permissible set at 20%.

There was a discernable silence, as The Man walked slowly from room to room, jabbing here and there as he went. Much like a prison warder checking through an inmate’s cell for hidden contraband. Not that I know anything about prison … the movies, you see…

 The Man said nothing as he returned and opened the building file and started writing…

Under his breath, one of the carpenters confided, “It’s probably OK, ‘cos he’s signing. If it was not Ok, he would simply scratch a line through that bit.” 

Minutes later The Man on his way again, Builder John smiled, “Yes, 13%, Let’s go gibbing!”

(Above): Builder John muscles up, and starts fitting the first of the heavy ceiling boards

(Above): With the bedroom ceiling complete, the guys are busy with the sitting room.

(Above): The first wall of the bedroom is up, and the guys carry in all the other sheets, out of the possible wet weather.

(Above): The first door (to the dressing room/ cupboard) is hung. I’ve tried it, and it opens and closes!

Outside a couple of the other guys are busy painting the soffit/weatherboard cover strips to finish off the top weather board all round. Other work includes shaving down door and window surround frames so that the Gib will fit flush.

(Above): The rebuild of the modified overhang over the kitchen door has moved along fine, and I think that the result has worked out precisely as imagined, substituting all the odd corners and angles with one clean facade to match the existing overhang outside the opposite door. Nicely done.

(Above): The deck outside the bedroom stands silent while the pillars and support beams wait in a braced position for the concrete to set. Another day or two should do it. Here Sophie checks whether the board has been fitted properly… or perhaps whether she can scavenge any leftover pie! 

Buildlogue #28–Deck Dig

Monday 25 August 2014 – Construction Day 47 arrives with some bright sunshine, although the temperature is still a bit on the low teens side. Not really conducive to painting, as was the case yesterday, when Clayton and I tackled the re-paint of the existing wall above the kitchen window, to match the new weatherboards. Therefore I tried to occupy myself with non-construction issues.

Builder John arrives for a weekly meeting and we iron out a number of points which will be addressed in the next few days. So far, we seem to be on track, except for the time delays caused by the poor weather conditions – no surprises there….

John and a couple of his men then start measuring up for the footing supports of the outdoor timber deck. Because the deck is not high enough off the ground to need building consent compliance, we have no formally drawn plans, simply a mental directive for a deck in line with the deck of the main house, with a bench “seat” along the edge, and a large triangular step on the northern side. It is interesting to watch an experienced group as they figure out quite quickly where, what and how.

(Above): Measuring out to determine where the main support pillars ( four by fours) must be placed. The decking must, by law, run parallel to the main entry doorway. (This, apparently, minimises the risk of slipping and falling in the wet.)

(Above): A worker starts with the not-such-fun part of the deck, having to dig some of the twelve holes for the footing foundations to house the four by fours as support pillars, while others start drilling holes into the concrete of the building  for the support beams.

(Above): After some hours of digging through the hard rock-strewn ground, the 500mm deep holes are eventually finished and ready for precise positioning and firmly anchoring in position. A bag of ready-to-mix concrete is brought for each hole to fix the support poles, which are further braced with timber stays, whilst the concrete is curing..

(Above): All the concrete mix has been filled into the holes.

(Above): The completed set-out in the slanting rays of the setting sun.

What’s Youse Eating?

It is no secret that, besides having to provide for growth, immunity from infection, maintenance of muscle tissue, workers who do manual labour certainly need to eat additional foodstuffs for energy to do the bodily movements required of them.

This post will not uncover any surprising secret, such as, say, eating five watermelons a day will enable me to pick up and carry four bags of cement at a time, or half a dozen lengths of four by four. Instead, it is simply a short report on a personal observation around the habits of workers on a building site. Rather, the different eating habits which I have encountered.

I have chosen three different situations, one in South Africa where I used to live for many years, one in Madeira where I was fortunate enough to have holidayed, and now my new home in New Zealand. There seems to be a fairly universal roster where workers tend to start their daily tasks earlier than their white-collar counterparts, then break mid morning-ish for a “breakfast”, followed by lunch in the middle of the day.

In South Africa, basic unskilled construction industry labourers are accustomed to carrying heavy objects, digging unending ditches, and pushing heavily-laden wheel-barrows. Their meals seemed to be most monotonous, consisting of half-loaves of bread with a variety of fillers, such as canned fish or beans, washed down by large bottles of cheap sweetened bottled ginger beer.

The worker having polished off his dose, would then lie outstretched on wherever he can find a path of dry grass, face down for a snooze in the sun. On some sites, the drum-type brazier could provide a means of heating water for coffee or heating certain type of food. On reflection, this menu was not the most appetising  - though evidently cheap and easy-to-obtain at a nearby corner shop.

In Madeira where I witnessed a number of huge hotels being built for multinational groups, I observed workers acting in a much more sophisticated way.

Perhaps my experience was exceptional, but these men appeared to have brought cooked food from home with them, complete meals, mostly in purpose-made “lunch-boxes” (what I knew as “Tupperware”). A fair amount of time was spent on eating the meal, complemented by verbose conversation. Regrettably, my command of the Portuguese language was somewhat less than deficient, but I imagined that conversation would have included important matters, such as football (soccer). After meals, some men would relax in the shade somewhere nearby. I did not see anyone dashing off to a shop for fast food takeaways, although I guess this would have happened among some of the younger men.

In New Zealand, things seem almost family-like, lunchtime almost like a picnic stop on a day-long hike, clad with all sorts of paraphernalia.

I have witnessed a large variety of meals, ranging from prepared meals brought from home, and warmed in an on-site microwave oven, fairly hearty breakfasts, instant soups, takeaway pies and energy drinks, hot tea, and to-day, what especially sparked this post, a large platter of a full range of green salads – definitely not the food of a single young man!     

Hay? They’ve Been Robbed!

An email received from a subscriber in our Reikorangi Google Group over the weekend reads: “…Could you please send this around Reikorangi group,late yesterday a green or blue small SUV (like a Rav) was seen going into the shed on the corner Mangaone South Rd and Ngatiawa Rd.The guy was in his 30 to 45yrs with short dark hair,2 horse blankets and 6-7 bales of hay have gone missing If any one knows of this car please ring John or Mary Smith Ph ‘04555 7777’…”

To the day, a period of eight months has elapsed since Christmas Day 2013 when our flight arrived in Wellington from Johannesburg. A lifetime of eight months during which I have effectively “unlearned” that nasty South African habit of suspecting that someone will pinch an unguarded item, rob you if you do not lock something, will have an evil intent, simply because there is no-one else around. Whilst I cannot confirm that I have never had a single thought of uneasiness at all, it is fair to say that I am practically in that idyllic state of ease – something which should occur naturally, anywhere in the world… excluding being confronted by a hungry wild carnivore who may have developed a taste for human flesh…

Having had my car stolen in 2008 in Milnerton, I was always irrationally uneasy when having to park my car in any public space after that robbery. Once bitten…?  Yeah, I guess. Now, in Reikorangi, I have parked my car out in the roadside for many days and nights, especially while the builders have been busy. Once or twice I have even forgotten to lock the car: I generally lock while in a public place, just in case something happens, I suspect that the insurance company may have some excuse…

Back to the email: I have nom de plumed the characters and the telephone number. I suppose, for our more learned readers, that I have nombre de plumed the phone number.  Whilst many readers in other countries may scoff and query why it was so remarkable that someone had entered an unlocked property and then had proceeded to lift some unguarded items from that private property, the rest of us find it difficult to get our heads around the character of such a person. The irony of the situation is that if a particular horse owner were to be desperate to acquire some hay and protection for his horses and did not have the money or means to buy some, I am positive that any number of folk would have offered to assist him – all too frequently, it is simply a case of “ask and you shall be given”, a natural state of mind that comes with the turf when a fair proportion of people shrug off the coil of chasing after the acquisition of wealth simply for the sake of wealth itself. 

Previously, I would never have imagined that the victim could be so upset, not the fact that a loss had occurred, but the irreconcilable fact that someone had the insolence and shamelessness to take items without asking permission. Now in 2014 I can.

Housekeeping

When it comes to neatness in a home or office environment, I’m all for a clean, neat and tidy situation. That’s how I was brought up – whether its right or wrong, I can’t say : I understand some folks will think its a bit of a pain in the butt to insist on neatness. Anyway, I’m one of those who stands on the half-way line, more or less – tidy without spick and span.

Housekeeping is not so exciting, but I guess the results are frequently rewarding, so all of us help sometimes (when we can’t get out of it). This post relates to one which I elected to do because I wanted to. Housekeeping in the extension, mostly because the persistent rain-showers outside, has been chosen instead of painting deck strips.

The last time we were involved in construction house-keeping was at Hamerkop Road in 1992 when Achmat Magiet and his extended family did all the building work. Correction: “Construction” work includes building renovations, so it was really about 2006 when Wayne did our renovations of DG01 Dolphin Beach – he brought in extra help on the last afternoon and oversaw the final scrubbing of floors and arrangement of furniture.

However, I recall the sound of the distant waves crashing on the Melkbos beach at Hamerkop Road whilst I sat alone on a paint drum in the untidy garage, having a smoke or two on a warm evening mid-year, going through a check-list of what I needed to buy the next day and who should be contacted. The smell of dry cement dust crept into every pore and nostril. To breathe a bit better, you pull out a handkerchief and blow your nose, producing a light grey material.

(Above): Looking into the bedroom from the sitting-room, floor neatly swept, literally in the pink of things, pink treated framing timber padded with pink glassfibre Batts. The dehumidifier on the left hums quietly to itself, trying to suck up the moisture in the air.

Today, I stand here in the bedroom-to-be, and I smell a similar cement odour, although, in the absence of a cement mortar render, the emphasis is more on dust than the pure Portland flavour. Hamerkop Road and 1992 now seem like only yesterday, but quite some water has already passed under my bridge, 22 years worth. My, how the time has flown…

I awake from my daydream, and start picking up a few stray little bits of offcut pink Batts and wood drillings left by the messy plumber and electrician… Housework almost done.

Smash

This morning, I was driving along Ngatiawa Road towards Waikanae on some errands, when a car approaching from the other side sped past me not only at an alarming pace, but also making full use of the limited width of the road. Although my eyesight isn’t quite what it used to be, I think that ,my judgement of distances and road widths is still fairly reliable. I don’t panic under such circumstances, but I certainly, albeit sub-consciously, slow down ever so slightly.

On 21 May 2013, the Dominion Post carried the following report:

“  Road Reopens After Crash:   Police have reopened Akatarawa Rd after a crash that saw a car roll down a bank at the southern end of the road linking Kapiti and Upper Hutt. In Kapiti the road was closed this afternoon at the intersection of Akatarawa Rd and Ngatiawa Rd about five minutes from Waikanae. Police say there were no injuries in the crash, and emergency services have now recovered the vehicle.” 

A while after moving to Reikorangi, whilst on a walk along Ngatiawa Road, we encountered a rusty old wreck of what used to be a creamy-white car on a steep embankment wedged against some large pine trees. It should serve as a warning notice to irresponsible motorists, but no doubt not may will have seen the remains, as it is only visible to those on foot, and even then, only to someone who happens to peer down in the correct spot.

Back to my errand trip to Waikanae this morning: A I approach the end of Ngatiawa, where it joins Reikorangi Road (just around the corner from St Andrew’s Church), a flat-bed pick-up truck was parked half across the road with warning flashers on. A tree was apparently being loaded onto the truck. Strange, they usually cut up trees before transporting away. Three of four men stood around in attendance or observing.

I stopped awaiting the instruction to proceed. That’s when I saw the grey car, similar to our Toyota. It was parked against the tree trunk down in the ditch two or three metres below road level. Parked unintentionally. He had crashed… The truck was not collecting a slain tree, it was collecting a slain car!

(Above): Ok, so I’m a poor journalist for travelling without a camera… Google Earth helps here to show the sleep downhill (my red line) from the junction at the top, around which many drivers descend at far too high a speed. The road was not wet.

I drove the remaining 5 km to Waikanae a lot slower. Just imagine: you’re driving a perfectly good car in perfectly good condition. Through irresponsibility or sheer bad luck, moments later, you’re not driving anymore, and your car is no longer in pristine condition. And your bank balance will shortly be depleted…

(Above): The view of the blind rise down to the left from the other side, coming from Waikanae. In the distance up Akatarawa Road, the red-roofed St Andrew’s can be seen. 

You might have had passengers with you, and you may have been standing on the roadside with someone’s untimely accidental death on your conscience for the rest of your life. Careful driving is not difficult.

When I returned from my errands, the only signs of a crash was the damaged tree trunk…

All Hands On Deck

Besides the installation and skimming of the internal walls of the extension, the only major construction job still remaining is the building of a raised wooden deck outside the bedroom. As I elected to the paintwork on all the external surfaces, the priming and painting of the decking is in my job-jar. We have provisionally decided on using the same Timbercryl product as we have been using on the weatherboard siding.

(Above): The extent of the suspended deck (marked in pink) with one corner (marked in green) a step lower, to step off the deck onto the lawn.

(Above) Dulux Timbacryl Pure Acrylic self-priming paint These boards are 24mm thick, have been appropriately treated and do not require back-priming. Here I have primed both edges and have started priming the top (ribbed) side with the first coat. 

(Above): Because of the coldish air temperature and high moisture content (the sunshine in this picture is deceptive), drying of a water-borne paint is retarded and it takes a lot longer to dry properly and cure, much longer than my patience allows… So, I’ve set up a bit of a conveyor belt system… just without the conveyor belt. Come to think of it, it is also without a system… On the right are unpainted boards and on the left, partially primed ones.

(Above): I’ve set up separate trestles on which to store the completed boards, for further curing. Finally, before dark, both sets of boards are wrapped in plastic to minimise the effect of the overnight dew, or any errant rain-showers…

Buildlogue #27–Inspection

This morning we wake up to a light and intermittent drizzle, none of that gusty persistent wintry showery stuff of previous weeks, in fact I can feel its somewhat “warmer” if I use my imagination. Wednesday 20 August and we’re starting Construction Day 44

I am not expecting the usual carpenter team. At the close of work last night, they collected all the construction tools which will no longer be needed on the job, and what a load it was. I tidied a bit and they swept out the site in preparation of the next inspection.

Later in the day, Builder John is scheduled to arrive to seal the window and door frames with foam sealant. The plumber should also show up, as the inspection will also include pressure testing the pipework which he installed last week.

The inspector will be checking the framing timber, especially those members which are close to and in contact with the cement flooring slab, for moisture content. If it is below the acceptable level, he will approve the next phase of construction, being the installation of the Gib plaster boards internally. This is the equivalent of plastering the internal wall surfaces.

Gib is a New Zealand proprietary brand Trademark of plasterboard (drywall compressed gypsum between two layers of paper), known by various other names around the world. When I arrived in New Zealand at first, I imagined that the word “Jib” (as I heard) was a variant pronunciation of “Jip” (abbreviation for “Gypsum”). On checking, I found that it is indeed “Jib” (abbreviation of “Gibraltar”) and that the origin of the name dates to the 1930s when the then-fledgling wallboard company NZ Wallboards (Winstones) decided that a strong brand name was needed to identify their new product. A competition was held for staff to suggest a suitable name, with £10 offered as the prize. The winning suggestion was Gibraltar Board, selected because it stood for strength and permanence - as in the Rock of Gibraltar.

(Above): The bedroom, as seen from the sitting room with wall and ceiling insulation complete. The product is known as pink Batts in New Zealand.

(Above): Looking from the bedroom into the bathroom.

Result of the inspector’s visit today?

(Above): The inspector was satisfied with the plumbing installation and the pressure test was passed. 

As far as the moisture content of the environment was concerned, the inspector was not happy with the 22.5%, as the specification is for moisture between 18 and 20%. It looks as if we will have to wait a couple more days with dehumidifiers running, and order a re-test, probably around Monday.

Yum

Having a number of different tradesmen on site during the construction leads to a number of different mealtimes and meal styles. Some bring home-made meals and warm them in their microwave (which still works despite rough handling and being exposed to rain-showers on a regular basis. Others bring fast food-type stuff and cold drinks.

This variety of fare presents itself as an excellent opportunity for the two Labradors Sophie and Benny to pursue their duties in their self-appointed official capacities as chief food policemen, food inspectors, nutritional tasting officers, failing which they are also prepared to act as food beggars, scavengers or even robbers. Luckily most of the tradesmen are most co-operative and share, despite our repeated warnings.

Today, I rescued an empty packet from Benny’s salivating jaws – the packet was empty and clear of any sauce or gravy. Nevertheless, Benny was salivating. I suspect this was caused by the misleading wording printed on the packet.

 

I seem to recall seeing a Wild Bean Cafe sign at a BP service station, but cannot say I know the franchise. Be that as it may, their range seems pretty good, to be seen at www.wildbeancafe.co.nz

They advertise a Cafestyle breakfast for just $5.00  . Just choose any one item from the Gold Menu and any one item from the Silver Menu. The Gold Menu consists of Breakfast Pie;  Wild Berry Yoghurt and Muesli;  Natural Bagel, Cream Cheese and Jam;  Ham and Cheese Croissant ; Kumara Breakfast Bap ; Bacon and Relish Breakfast Bap;  Fruit Salad; Beef and Bacon Croquette; Classic Bacon and Egg Pie,

While the Silver Menu consists of  Classic Sausage, Apple Danish, Pain Au Chocolat, Vegetable Curry Turnover, Creamed Rice, Carrot Cake Muffin, Peach, Apple and Blueberry Muffin, Raspberry and White Chocolate Muffin, Tangy Lemon Muffin, Chocolate Hazelnut Muffin, Kumara and Sundried Tomato Brunch Cake, Potato and Bacon Brunch Cake, Banana Bread, Apricot Citrus Breakfast Bar , Oat and Fruit Yoghurt, Bircher Muesli.

Anyone for breakfast?

Ambition

I have completed some of my chores for today and am sitting in the conservatory, with a cup of tea, looking across the wide lawn, wondering how one could engineer a lawn-mower to be operated safely and effectively by remote control. As I take another sip from the steaming cup, something black and white just over the wooden fence not 50 metres away, catches my eye. But then it disappears from view.

My curiosity dictated that I keep staring at the place in question. Then, a repeat performance. Black and white up momentarily, then seconds, nay, rather more like milli-seconds later, it was down and gone. Jako the Goat, you cunning old soul, standing up on your hind legs, and then showing off that cute bunny-hop! He was reaching up higher than he’d ever achieved before. He was trying (and succeeding) to get leaves from higher up in one of trees on Goat-Hill. I watched him do a repeat performance, half a dozen times, or so. Hmmm…

(Above): The leaves on this tree are being stripped systematically from the bottom.

If people have had a lot to say about a particular word, then one such word must surely be ambition. For, where would civilisation, nay the world itself, be if people had not had ambitions? Before someone shouts me down with “It would have been a peaceful better place”, let me explain.

I am not a philosopher, and I’m looking at it simplistically, because simplistically is how I see and do things. I write this blog most unprofessionally, without a plan or a layout, without an introduction, a body or a conclusion. Sometimes words are accidentally omitted and frequently the letter “c” because my keyboard is c-deficient, rather c-impaired. That’s me an idea, maybe good maybe not, jot down the words and leave the rest to spell-checker. No revision, no editing, simply simple.

Back to the quotes. Some I find interesting include.

“I used to think as I looked out on the Hollywood night — there must be thousands of girls sitting alone like me, dreaming of becoming a movie star. But I'm not going to worry about them. I'm dreaming the hardest.”  [Marilyn Monroe]

“Ambition is a dream with a V8 engine. Ain't nowhere else in the world where you can go from driving a truck to Cadillac overnight” [Elvis Presley]

“You will never know how high you can climb until you reach the top.” [K.L. Toth?]

“Everyday that I procrastinate, everyday that I sit stagnant in fear, everyday that I fail to better myself, someone else out there with the same goals and dreams as me is doing the exact opposite.” [Noel DeJesus]

“As a teenager I was so insecure. I was the type of guy that never fitted in because he never dared to choose. I was convinced I had absolutely no talent at all. For nothing. And that thought took away all my ambition too.” [Johnny Depp]

“It's never too late to be what you might have been.” [George Eliot]

“I've got a great ambition to die of exhaustion rather than boredom.” [Angus Grossart]

Hmmm.

And, do you know what? I’ve been to look at those branches which Jacko has been trying to reach, and he clearly has been munching and munching to his heart’s content. He has achieved this by believing that he can reach the upper leaves, even though they are a bit above his station. By standing a bit higher up the slope and hopping forward, he has been able to grab a mouthful with each bound. Who would have believed that a goat could be ambitious?

(Above): Jacko in his familiar“ambitious” pose, looking outward and upward for juicy rewards. Achievements spurred on by ambition. And we thought goats were only good for walking over bridges “trip, trap, trip, trap…”

Mary

Paraparaumu is a town a few kilometres south of Waikanae, probably just over 10 minutes’ drive. Pronunciation of the name is, like so many Maori words, a bit of a tongue-twister, so many people referring to it simply as ‘Param’ or even ‘Pram’, whilst the more purists may say ‘Parra-parra-oomoo’, I understand that it should be ‘Parra-puh-row-moo’. To those who are interested, Pram means ‘earth-oven’.

Whatever the pronunciation, Jeannette and I arrived there just after 3:00 yesterday, a really brilliant sunny winter’s day, to revisit a place which we’d visited with Bianca on 10 February 2011 (that’s the beauty of digital photography – your old photos are all date-stamped!)

It is located near the Param railway station, and a stone’s throw from the main road and shopping centres. As we passed the level crossing, I noted a police car and a policeman on the pavement nearby. The officer was in conversation with a female lady. She was either a potential suspect or an acquaintance. I would imagine the former, and the suspicion being related to the demon Bacchus. That is by the by, and not relevant to this story, except to illustrate that there was very little activity in the neighbourhood, very little traffic or pedestrians. I saw one bloke on a push-bike, and another in the distance walking what appeared to be some sort of Maltese Poodle. Very quiet.

We park at the entrance to the access lane to reach our destination, the Mary statue (Our Lady of Lourdes). This time I am prepared for the steep winding path to the top.

(Above and below): As we reach the start of the winding zig-zag pathway, we are greeted with a most pleasant surprise. In 2011 the path was rough, worn and uneven, with loose gravel and pebbles (as below), making the hand-rails essential. Today in 2014, there is a smooth tarmac surface underfoot, making progress simple and pleasant. Nice.

Clearly, the contractor had quite a job carting the tarmac premix up this steep slope and operating his compacting machinery at this awkward angle. Considering that there are tourists constantly visiting the site, it was certainly worth the effort, so full marks to the KCDC.

(Above): All along the path are crosses like this one, where Jeanette stops to catch her breath. With Roman numerals, this one reads ‘X  Jesus clothes are taken away’. The others read: ‘I – Jesus is condemned to death.‘; II – Jesus carries his cross‘, ‘III – Jesus falls for the first time‘, ‘IV – Jesus meets his mother‘, ‘V – Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus to carry his cross‘, ‘VI – Veronica wipes the face of Jesus‘, ‘VII – Jesus falls for the second time‘, ‘VIII – Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem‘, ‘IX – Jesus falls for the third time‘ , ‘X-Jesus clothes are taken away’, ‘XI – Jesus is nailed on the cross’, ‘XII – Jesus dies on the cross’

(Above): For example, the mosaic on cross #2 – Jesus carries his cross. 

(Above): Jeanette places a small posy at the base of the Mary statue.

(Above): The Mary statue which is brilliantly lit at night.

(Above): The view of part of the town from between the trees and shrubbery: Zoom view of Kapiti Road traffic intersection with SH1 Main Road, looking towards the Rimu Street police station on the corner, the one and only police station I have seen in the area.

A thought occurs to me. Did I lock the car? A sinking feeling – my driver’s licence, all my credit cards, the works – they are all in the cubby-hole glove compartment! What about that shady-looking character? No, this is New Zealand, not Africa…

Isn’t it strange how old beliefs take a while to die? I am in two minds… My way of thinking has already shifted remarkably over the past seven and a half months, but it will probably take some time for my sixty-odd-year mindset to change completely. Time for a few more photos as I stroll around the grounds atop the hill, before setting off down the steep pathway.

(Above): Another view from the top overlooking the Coastlands shopping centre, with the well-known ‘Countdown’ and ‘Pak N Save’ stores as anchor tenants. On the horizons a few kilometres away, one can see the Tasman Sea off Param Beach.

A short while later we reach the car parked in the street below. The car had been locked all the time.

Doggone Stubborn Dog

How exasperating and infuriating isn’t it when your dog simply refuses to walk down the path you want him to go. You feel as if you could do him some sort of serious injury, this supposed best friend of yours, if he doesn’t capitulate and agree to do as instructed.

We have just been through such a “situation” with the affable loveable family pet Labrador Sophie. Sophie will do everything you want her to do, she is soooooo obliging and usually co-operates above and beyond the call of duty.

She is what I’d call a good dog.

First I must explain that Sophie was “fixed” even before she was collected from the welfare organisation, as a tiny little bundle of joy. But we were careful to take note that a puppy isn’t only for Christmas… or July, when she arrived.

Whilst dogs may not have much in common with birds, both however do build nests. Traditional nesting behaviour is common in dogs who need a safe warm place for delivering and raising their pups. Whether domestic or creatures in the wild, they follow the same trends. Sophie, having been “fixed” – what a strange euphemism, as if something had been wrong with her in the first place, has no need for a nest.

 But, does Sophie know that she doesn’t need one?

(Above): Sophie nearest the camera, shares the new bed with bigger brother Benny, who, as usual, is hogging the warmth of the fire.

Apparently nesting is not uncommon in spayed bitches. The fact that the bits that produce the puppy-eggs and look after the unborn pups have been permanently disconnected does not affect the bits in the brain which control behaviour.

So, Sophie’s “cycle”, if I may humanise her a bit, is set up to think like a bitch, a girl-dog, a mother of pups and one of the aspects of that cycle is not PMS, perhaps it does contain a few mood changes (difficult to tell, as Sophie is always such a pleasant natured dog). One such aspect, I suspect, may be the whole ritual of nesting (on a superficial scale) – in dog years, she is in her prime late teen years – the time for settling down with a kennel and a picket fence and little ones nibbling at her nipples.

On a number of occasions, she has performed this round-and-round twirling and digging and ruffling up the bed-covering, trying to get the co-operation of the foam inside to form a cup-shaped nest in which to cuddle.

And this is where we get to the crux. She shares a bed with brother Benny. She always has shared everything with him, and they prefer to snuggle together instead of lying apart. He is part of her, and she pined in a heart-broken manner when he spent a night away at the vet’s with his damaged foot. 

So, Benny considers the bed to be his property, but what will happen, Sophie silently asks herself, when the puppies arrive (aside: we know that there will never be any, but Sophie’s medulla oblongata doesn’t!)

So Sophie performs the next step in the nesting instinct:

She pees on the bed. Not simply a little wet spot – a huge deluge, so that the bed will be imprinted with… dum, dum, dum…. The Sophie Factor. The parfum de maternale!

The parfum, whilst not as offensive as cat’s wee, most certainly still requires human intervention  in an indoor environment. Wee-soaked foam mattress cannot be effectively, economically or permanently cleaned back to what we as humans consider, a hygienic state.

After the third dose of parfum de maternale, a decision was taken to buy a new canvas bed, one which can be maintained in a “nice” smelling state, raised a couple of inches off the floor, based on the design of a trampoline.

And the old bed? It was relegated to the extermination furnaces. Both Benny and Sophie stood looking on sadly as it was time to say farewell to their favourite soft smelly bed. (apologies once again for humanising!)

This is where the fun begins.

The new rectangular bed is slightly bigger than the old one, allowing for the hang-over of head and limbs and the slip-and-slide-fall-off factor because of the extra height of the sleeping surface (may I refer to the trampoline-like fabric surface as the “mattress”?) above the floor. Benny, like any self-respecting bachelor, needs no second invitation, steps on and curls up for an afternoon snooze. Sophie, like an undecided female shopper in Beds-R-Us, stands around looking at this ugly structure in completely the wrong colour. It’s too high off the floor, too narrow and the wrong colour green. She walks around it a couple of times and then goes to curl up on the doormat instead.

The first night of the new bed. And then the fun continues, with vocals!

No sooner has the TV been switched off, the dogs have been out for last ablutions and the lights have been switched off, than the Sophie-alarm starts up. It is much like an air-raid siren which is reserved for when she unfortunately finds herself on the wrong side of the door, which is reserved for the tattle-tale habit of “come look what Benny’s up to!”, which she uses to call humans. I call it a “belp” , which is a short sharp high-pitch hybrid of a bark and a yelp.

A belp an be delivered at variable volume, generally starting off at a placid 1.0 rating, which is used as an introduction at 5:30 in the mornings to remind Clayton that he should get out of bed, to serve the dog breakfast. If there is no response to a B1.0 , then it automatically upgraded to a B2.0 (this is much like the Richter scale, being ten times more powerful than the B1.0). The next belp which will follow after waiting a respectful minute or two, is yes, upgraded to 100 times the initial B1.0

The system works pretty well, as other dog-owners will be able to confirm.

This first night the belp came in sharply at B2.0 – serious stuff afoot. Sophie was having none of this trampoline nonsense – it was to be a soft foam parfum-laden bean-bag-type boudoir furnishing…. or.. belping! Clearly this would be a battle of the wits. 

Next morning the light sleepers among the humans arose bleary-eyed. Sophie slept all day in the sunshine outside.

The next night, resolute humans resolved not to give in. Sophie is only a dog, for heaven’s sake! The Belping was starting to take on the proportions of a Tchaikovsky overture, not unlike his 1812, with the regular canon-fire commemorating the Battle of Borodino.

So the 2014 Battle of Sophio continues. Belping on deaf ears.

After much coaxing and many threats, Sophie sometimes gets up onto the trampoline monstrosity, but has not, as yet, capitulated. It remains Napoleon versus the Russians. It remains to be seen which one of us is the Napoleon in this battle!

Footnote: I do not claim to be knowledgeable when it comes to animals. After all, this is a work of fiction. I would love to hear more from readers about Sophie’s behaviour and the simplest way in which to get her accustomed to her new bed!