Now Look Here…

“What we do in our family,” confides Eric as he combs my thinning strands of hair over his two-sided comb with that typical modern with-it flicking motion, “is to get my mother to take our eye-test scripts with her to Thailand when she goes back there on holiday.”

He steadies my head and tilts it to the vertical, as he examines his handiwork, then continues snipping, “It’s like a quarter of the price we are expected to pay here in Wellington, you know. Them and dentists, that’s the sort of profession you want to be in, not something like hair-dressing.”

I glance up in the mirror and am comforted by the sign which reads “cut – $29 ; over 65 – $24”. My superannuation card in my wallet ensures that I will benefit from their rates…

Mind you, I also got a 15% reduction in price for my eye tests, but that simply reduced a shocking amount due and payable, down to an equally shocking $879.30  In SA Rands that’s approximately R7,300 for two pairs of spectacles; one for short distance vision (such as in shops, a cinema or TV) and another for reading and using the computer.

The lenses are apparently cut in Sydney, Aus and then they fly them to Auckland to be fitted into my existing frames. After the anticipated 10-day wait, I find that the short distance ones are ready and waiting for collection. Somebody, ahem somebody has mushed the reading lenses, and Sydney gets a request to re-do them.

Another anticipated ten days’ wait. I really hope that the new ones will improve my vision. Perhaps a better quality of blog as well?

Yum Cha

Last Mother’s Day, I heard the term Yum Chow for the first time and presumed it to refer to Good Chinese Food in a modern way. We took Bianca and Jeanette to the Chinese Restaurant in Wellington for lunch that Sunday. We shared a large round table with a couple of Bianca’s clients, who, in terms of what I could understand, explained that Yum Chow was their equivalent of a weekly meal out, including Chinese tea.

That was really the last I heard of Yum Chow.

Of course, I will never hear of Yum Chow again, either. That’s because it is, in actual fact, Yum Cha.

Driving towards Param from Waikanae the other morning, I passed a large signboard in a property adjoining SH1 at the Lindale turnoff. The board announces Tea Room  - Yum Cha. How’s that for coincidence?

Kapi-Tea:

Yum cha in Cantonese Chinese literally means "drink tea", while ban ming is a more poetic term meaning "tasting of tea". In the US and UK, the phrase dim sum is often used in place of yum cha; in Cantonese, dim sum refers to the wide range of small dishes, whereas yum cha, or "drinking tea", refers to the entire meal.

The Cantonese Chinese term yam cha or yum cha primarily refers to the tradition of morning tea in Cantonese cuisine exemplified by the traditional tea houses of Guangzhou (Canton). Due to the prevalence of Cantonese cuisine outside China, the Cantonese yum cha tradition can be found in many parts of the world. By analogy, yum cha is also used to refer to morning or afternoon teas in other Chinese cultural traditions, even though such meals have different native names.

Just in case you wanted to know. Yum.

Wipe It…

“So, who appointed me as the official Thesaurus cop?”

“The what?”

“The Word Police, man. The know-it-all of fancy words. Or stupid words.”

One afternoon last week, while I was pretending to be busy painting planks in the garage (probably to avoid some or other un-favourite chore), Brynn dug out her dog-house project and started putting some finishing touches to the ply structure for her toy dogs, all of which she had built herself, with the exception of the actual sawing of the ply boards (dad refused to let her operate the electric circular saw.)

She was allowed to do the paintwork, on condition that she worked on the grass somewhere outside or in the garage, where the risk of spillage or other catastrophes would be minimised. Needless to say, the over-enthusiasm to get the structure looking “just-so” resulted in some of the brightly-coloured liquid landing on the floor and some other surfaces.

“Gran-pa, I’ve had a slight accident, and I need to wipe it up before Mom comes. Can I borrow your handkerchief?” she asked, pointing to the paint-rag hanging from my back pocket.

I guess kids mostly use tissue paper for their snotty noses nowadays instead of the old germ-rags we always carried in my day. What revolting and frequently slimy articles they were, although we seemed to think of them as quite normal!

But, here I had discovered a new word for my Thesaurus:

Paintkerchief - noun. A white scrap rag used by a painter decorator for wiping paint spots and spillages. Frequently stored half-hanging out (for easy retrieval) of the back pocket of the overalls. If the painter has a severe cold, it is not uncommon for the painter to become inventive and to use it as a nose-wipe as well…

Moving On

Trrrrrrrrr-ing trrrrrring.

That’s my (rather ineffective) translation of the school bell which sounded at fifty-minute intervals throughout the day during my long-forgotten high schooldays, marking the end of each lesson with a five-minute interval to allow kids to move to their next classroom as appropriate. The precise mechanics and logistics of the chaos and mayhem that followed has been lost in the mists of time, but I recall that the manoeuvres became a tad more orderly as we approached the final year.

Trrrrrrr-ing trrrrrr-ing.

“Thank you, girls and boys. Let’s stop there, and tomorrow you can hand in your answers to questions 41 to 50,” the petite Miss Jackson sang, as she dusted off the masses of algebraic gobbledygook chalk inscriptions from the green blackboard, marking the end of the day’s lesson.

Now for the next lesson.

I recently watched an episode of Dr Who, in which a particular character dies and lands up in the “Nethersphere” which is the Great Beyond, the next step of existence after Earth.

While the script-writers toyed with the possible implications of such a situation, my mind wandered over some instances I’ve noted recently of other people being faced with “the bell” and I reflected on how many bells actually ring every day for many people all over the world.

Personally, I have had a few (relatively minor) bells in my life recently. The number of hairs on my head have begun to disappear on a regular basis at an increased rate; my ears hear less and less as the month flash by and the degree to which my eyes see double images is so much more than a year ago, when I had an eye-test at the AA for my New Zealand driver’s licence.

Am I therefore now if the Baldosphere or Deafoshere or something?

Nosey Parker

As readers may recall, we are still busy with Phase 2 (or is it Phase 3 – I can’t remember all this formal sequencing stuff) of the veggie garden-to-be fence construction project in the back yard. And (besides some lawn mowing on an unseasonally hot Spring day), I have been quite busy in the garage (inside, because of the unpredictability of the rain-showers when you least expect them) painting away at the first 150 of the 1.2 metre fence palings, of which there are 450.

The job is not all that technical and one can listen to the portable radio like a real tradey*, even down to the bit of galvanised wire for a makeshift aerial. The batteries are starting to run low, mind.

But besides having to keep a check whether the paint has dried sufficiently enough to allow it to be turned over on the trestles so that one can paint the reverse side (and two thin sides and top and bottom edges), there is also the question of an extremely inquisitive Labrador.

Benny can confirm that the paint on the underside of the plank is still quite wet, bloody Nosey Parker!

* Tradey. Kiwi term for a tradesman, as chippie (builder, carpenter), sparkey (electrician).

Flashback

This morning at 8:54 after running an errand in Waikanae town, I was idling at the traffic lights on SH1 to return home (waiting at the level crossing lights), when the oncoming train siren alerted me of something different. The hooter was not the regular suburban train sound, so I peered ahead between the waiting cars.

Not the expected posh grey electric unit – a bright yellow KiwiRail. Memories from three and a half years in February 2011 floated back…

(Above): Sitting on Wellington station early morning waiting for the Overlander to leave. There is only one trip each day.

(Above): A picture of a trans-country “Overlander” entering a tunnel on the day-long trip which we enjoyed the day before St Valentine’s Day 2011 from Wellington to Auckland

(Above): One of our fellow-travellers who pretended to have a little-boy train-driver aspirations at one of the stops en route to Auckland.

Wait.

There’s someone behind me with his hand on the hooter. Goodness gracious – While I’ve been daydreaming and reminiscing about 2011, the traffic in front of me has started moving off and Mr Hooter behind me is impatient…

Here I Am…

Here I am, this is me
There's nowhere else on Earth I'd rather be
Here I am, it's just me and you
Tonight we make our dreams come true

It's a new world, it's a new start
It's alive with the beating of young hearts
It's a new day, it's a new plan
I've been waiting for you

Here I am
Here I am

Here we are, we've just begun
And after all this time, our time has come
Yeah, here we are, still goin' strong
Right here in the place where we belong…

These are the words being sung by Bryan Adams every time I start the car, the tune from the CD player. I guess I may be excused for not knowing much about Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron … But, if you have a granddaughter who is about as crazy about things equine as Brynn, then this tune will surely be imprinted into your very being.

With December looming ahead, we have almost completed one year of residence in New Zealand, and I thought the lyrics to be very fitting to our situation in New Zealand.

Sitting On The Fence

No, I’m not undecided. Come to think of it, neither am I physically sitting on the fence, in the strictly literal sense. But we are sort-of hanging around in the garden-to-be fence area of the yard.

Now that all the posts have been planted (with the exception of the four 3.0 metre-long entrance pergola posts), we are approaching the culmination of the project, although the amount of work to be done has probably progressed a bit this side or that of 50%.

 
(Above): This picture shows two 4.8 metre lengths of top rail fitted between post #1 and #5. The yellow stretch line is used as an indicator of levelness.

This phase of the project consists of (1) measuring, cutting to length and drilling fixing holes into the upper and lower fence 100x50 rails. The holes are countersunk to 22mm diameter and then bored through rail and post with a long 10mm bit. The rails and fitted to the true horizontal (where possible). The progress of this step includes painting all sides and edges (complete); cutting, drilling and fitting – about 30%; and (2) priming, painting and fitting the 150x25mm palings at 50mm intervals to the rails at a height about 50mm above natural ground level. This sub-task is at about 0.01% completion. 

(Above): We are using 160mm galvanised M10 bolts to fix the rails to the posts.

(Above): A view of some of the 20-odd rail poles,the short ones being 4.8 metres whilst the longer ones are 6.00 metres long. The are all painted in the green colour Karaka.

Don’t Go Stealing My Part…

There is an old adage, I think, that states that our perceptions and beliefs around human behaviour are largely based on the outcome of local events and their influence on the behaviour of others. For example, residents in a particular region may be very wary of being alone outdoors at night if neighbours or other residents have had unpleasant or dangerous experiences, as might have been the case when Jack The Ripper was active in the impoverished areas around the Whitechapel district of London.

Early this morning some time before any of the regular businesses had opened,  I happened to stop outside one of the local motor repair centres (a ‘garage’) in Waikanae. Nothing abnormal about that. Outside the office door on the street frontage in full view of any passer-by stood a large cardboard carton, obviously the result of a courier delivery during the night or very early morning, quite likely containing an order of motor parts from a wholesaler of spare parts.

In a number of places I can think of, there would be something a bit abnormal about that – there is no night watchman, no security cameras, no fences, simply a large carton full of valuables waiting for the garage owner/operator to take inside and use when he arrives for work a bit later in the morning.

Here in Waikanae, the town isn’t overrun with policemen. In fact, there isn’t a police station, merely a community ‘office’ in one of the little shopping centres where one might enquire about police things, I expect. In the last eleven months, I can honestly report that I have never seen a policeman in Waikanae, with the exception of one, driving around in his highly visible police-car.

Whilst it is oversimplification and generalisation to believe that there is no crime in the area at all, the level of thievery in the commercial area is most likely very low, hopefully non-existent, to the extent that people are willing to leave goods of high value unattended. This is one of the things that makes one feel at ease and safe in Waikanae. It is based on a preconception, I know, probably a completely false preconception at that, but, having come from a Third World environment where everything must be locked down with double-locks to prevent a certain loss, it is a refreshing consolation that there are places in this nasty world where people can still trust each other, and that others will not steal possessions which do not belong to them.

Dear reader, can you say the same about the neighbourhood you live in? Love thy neighbour.

Ms Agatha Miller

During the Great War, the Town Hall in Torquay was converted into a military hospital for soldiers grievously wounded in the trenches of France or Belgium. Agatha Miller worked in the dispensary, and picked up a knowledge of medicines, and poisons, that she would later put to good use. When she married Lieutenant Archibald Christie, they honey-mooned at the Grand Hotel—just before her young husband was shipped off to the stagnant and deadly battle front.

Agatha Christie went on, of course, to become the best-selling author in the world. And she still is, more than 30 years after her death in 1976. Her home, Greenway in Devon, is open to the public.

And what on earth do I have to do with Agatha Christie, besides having read a number of her detective novels in yesteryear?

One word: Rhododendrons.

Not ever having been, nor at present am I any sort of aficionado when it comes to flowers, garden plants and the like, Rhododendrons are simply a grand-sounding name to me, and Ms Christie certainly described the appearance of these in many a novel. Now I can see the shrubs and their flowers in a country setting, similar to what was written about…

The photographs above were taken on the grass verge on public property a little way from our gate. The more I get to look around, the more I see of these flowers. Nice.

In-Between

The latest fencing report: we have completed Phase I, so to speak, by planting the final 100x100 fence posts. The first in-between phase consists of cleaning up, removing the stays and recovering the hardware for re-use, clearing the ground strip along the fence line, and painting of the posts all round. We’re using Timbacryl paint in a darkl green colour called Karaka. 

(Above): Freshly-painted posts along the pathway in the Secret Garden, looking towards Hydrangea Run.

(Above): The final stretch north of the greenhouse. The concrete on these was only poured three days ago.

(Above): A couple of garden chairs in the cool shaded Rec Area, looking out towards the eastern fence and the lemon trees.

Deck Almost Done

Almost two months ago, Builder John and his men completed the construction of our wooden slatted garden deck. It was still a pretty wet time of the year, enjoying the early Spring showers, so I took the advice of experts and did not apply any paint to the soaked timbers.

Last weekend, during a break in fence construction, I grabbed an afternoon of warm sunshine to scrub the mud and grime off the front third of the deck and to apply the first coat of deck paint.

 
(Above): This enlargement of the decking clearly shows the ribbed (fluted) profile. While this is excellent as a non-slip finish and can look quite attractive compared to a smooth planed surface, it has the drawback of attracting mud and grime. The removal (with difficulty) of these demons added considerably to my workload and hampered progress…

Aside – Builder John advised that decking was originally made for use with the fluted side downwards and the smooth side facing up. Most people, though, apparently prefer putting them upside-down with the “pretty” ribbed side up. It is really a matter of personal preference. Thinking about it, I reckon this “pretty” way certainly retains more dirt than the smooth alternative, but in winter, rainwater and possible slimy moss in shady parts on smooth decking could conceivably present a more probable slip hazard. Enough said, we chose the ribbed side up for the tread surfaces and the smooth side for the verticals and for the “picture frame” edging, as proposed by Builder John. 

(Above): The front part of the deck clothed in the first coat of deck paint. I will leave the steps and facing until the end, at which time I can put up a dog-barrier for the whole day.

Observant readers will argue that the colour of the deck paint does not match that of the weatherboard, being a lot more blue (‘'”purple”?) than the walls. And those observant readers would be correct…  However, it is not as a result of my dimming eyesight or inability to pass judgement on colour-matching, rather it is A Tale of Two Tins… It is the standard Redwood Timberproof supplied by paint manufacturer Taubmans. The final coat which will match the colour of the walls is Dulux Timbacryl Redwood 554.

I was thinking… If I had many helpers, I could play boatswain and sound the bell and call out “All Hands on Deck!”

Buttercups

This afternoon, after cutting some of the lawn in the area earmarked for the veggie garden-to-be, I barrowed the lawn cuttings waste down to the field where we are processing garden waste for compost.

I hadn’t been down there for a few days, what with preparing the fencing of the veggie garden-to-be and all that. Imagine my surprise when I was pleasantly faced with a sea of verdant green and bright yellow….

In the back of my mind I could hear The Foundations on Springbok Radio way back when...

Why do you build me up (build me up) Buttercup, baby
Just to let me down (let me down) and mess me around
And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby
When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still
I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin'
You know that I have from the start
So build me up (build me up) Buttercup, don't break my heart…

I have yet to encounter someone named Buttercup… I can’t make up my mind as to whether the name is cute or crude…

(Above and below): Billions of tiny yellow flowers, which I suspect may be Ranunculus Alpine. Ok, so there isn’t a billion, but its close enough. Plenty.

(Above): Mug-shot close-up.

Coached by World Champ

November 6 and Jeanette and I, and a few fellow-members from the Waikanae Croquet Club travel down to Plimmerton, a part of Porirua just north of Wellington on State Highway 1, to attend a morning coaching course at the Plimmerton Croquet Club lawns and clubhouse.

On an icy morning, we were greeted by well-known international Greg Bryant as coach for the course. Greg has represented New Zealand as a member of the MacRobertson Shield Test team in 1993, 2003 and 2006 and in the Trans-Tasman Team in 2004 and 2006. Greg has played in 4 World Croquet Championships and also represented New Zealand at Sonoma-Cutrer on three occasions. Greg holds two NZ Open Doubles titles, 1 NZ President's top 10 Invitation title, three English Silver Medals and two NZCC Silver Mallets.

We were given a lengthy lecture-address on the various elements and techniques of Golf Croquet by Greg Bryant. This was followed by a stint outside on the greens to put into practice what we had just learned. Icy cold wind and a gentle drizzle ripped through Plimmerton while we were outside. Then back inside for the smoke-o in the warm of the clubhouse, followed by another two hours of training techniques.

We came away from Plimmerton the richer in knowledge from the brain and mouth of a world-class champion. I think we learned sufficient to be able to start playing with resolve. Naturally, we cannot expect to walk out and beat everyone we meet, but I shall certainly make an effort to do my best possible on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

(Above): I understand that the grounds are maintained by one single member. He must have the energy and dedication of a superhuman --  the place is so immaculate.

(Above): A general view of the six Plimmerton lawns.

(Above): Greg stands at the head of the class, ready with whiteboard chalk at hand.

(Above): An overhead projection of the course showing a photo of Greg lining up a shot.

(Above): A few other club members from Waikanae Club chat over a cuppa at the 10:30 smoke-o.

Exams Not So Easy

In my previous post ‘Fencing Report’ I was asked who the character ‘Osric’ was. Clearly it was an extract from a scene in Hamlet Prince of Denmark.

(Above): Part of a large engraving, the scene of a play enacted before the Royal court, in which Claudius (right, seated) can be seen looking down and holding his head, confirming that he was responsible for Hamlet’s dad’s death.

“..the play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king…”

When I looked up the scene to refresh my memory after so many years, I was amazed at the detailed analysis that has been published about the work, and I reflected how much easier our schoolwork would have been in those days if we had at our disposal what the Internet now has on offer. Much of it becomes a lot clearer and so easy to understand (not that it was such a difficult play, in any case).

From what I gather, though, the youngsters of today face an entirely different set of criteria when it comes to this type of situation. The sort of questions which are posed in exams require a lot more thought and insight, so perhaps I should shut up about them having it so easy…

[    Aside – I find things like the engraving (above) so interesting… The faces of Hamlet, Claudius and Gertrude and their expressions are so perfectly portrayed.. the picture says it all. (A detail of the engraving of Daniel Maclise’s 1842 painting The Play-scene in Hamlet, portraying the moment when the guilt of Claudius is revealed.) ]

Fencing Report

Hamlet: Come on, sir.
Laertes: Come, my lord. (They play).
Hamlet: One.
Laertes: No!
Hamlet: Judgement?
Osric: A hit, a very palpable hit.
Hamlet (Act V, scene ii, 170)

In Shakespeare’s day, a fencing duel may well have been a method of resolving inter-personal disputes, but fencing (in my book today) involves banging planks together with a saw and hammer, as is the case with the structure around the veggie garden-to-be.

After about three weekends, the end (of planting the support posts) is near, with the exception of the entrance pergola, which includes some higher overhead work. The complete post installation may be completed next weekend, only time will tell.

(Above): That dang Murphy has been at it again. When I awoke this morning the areas where posts have been planted are once again under water. Whilst slower curing may well be good for concrete, I sometimes worry a bit about flooding. The rainfall reading for this weekend? 29mm…

There are 7 “lines” of posts, namely (1) the garage line, (2) the extension line, (3) the secret garden line, (4) the hydrangea run line, (5) the shed line, (6) the potting shed line and (7) the greenhouse line which is the only line still to be concreted. Within the extension line we have four posts of 3.0 metres which are still to be installed as part of the entrance with a gate.

(Above): The secret garden line.

(Above): Part of the extension line, with the entrance installation planned on the right (where the rose bushes are).

(Above): The hydrangea line, which joins the secret garden line at the bottom end, giving a total of 10 posts.

(Above): The potting shed line , sort of parallel with the Kents Road boundary consists of 7 posts. The frame on the left is the position of one of the two gardening access gates on this side.

Why Are We? Who Am I?

Some people sit around pondering on the real meaning and purpose of life. Some of those who think about it come up with theories. Some theories are complete trash, some are quite weird, some fairly sensible but illogical, some with nothing. Those are the ones that suffer from depression for the rest of their lives.

Many people past and present have written down their theoretical findings, some have published them. Others have bought the books and some have read them and tried to understand what the author is trying to say. Those who succeed, think they know it all. Those who cannot fathom what it is being said gets depressed as in the previous round, and they’re even more depressed that they’ve spend hard-earned cash on a book that has merely increased their depression index.

I, on the other hand, can’t care less. Who am I to imagine that I can hit the nail on the head and come up with the explanation of life in my greying wintry years when all the great philosophers of the past haven’t been able to help us?

Having expressed my total indifference, I wonder how people will remember me when I have died /expired/ moved on/ transcended (strike out the words you don’t like). If a few remember me at all. For a while, anyway. Is there any specific or peculiar mannerism by which I may be remembered?

I certainly remember some people by specific words or expressions. Especially entertainers, like Dell-boy’s “purr-fick”

On the planning whiteboard in the pantry is one of Brynn’s typical theme drawings, the image of which will always be with me:

(Above): Brynn’s work on the whiteboard: Coco the (late) cat sitting at the window (presumably in Tyler’s upstairs bedroom) on the window cill, tailed curled up with outside trees visible through the panes.