Am I On The Grid?

A few months after moving into Dolphin Beach in 2006, I read a blog by Stanley Bing in Fortune Magazine. It was around the time that I’d got ants in my pants and was struggling with The Universe and the Meaning of Life, like Mont Python, except that there was no humour included --  just serious depressing but invigorating thought.

Having had no real father-figure contact on whom to bounce off ideas and from whom to get “answers”, I drifted a bit like an electron, I suppose, in something like a Hydrogen atom. That’s all a bit airy-fairy, but the image I had in my head was me the size of a flea on an ant’s ear crawling slowly over a landmass the size of Australia.

A few years earlier, I’d stood on a short exposed part of Hadrian’s Wall near Heddon. I looked at the large rocks and thought to myself at the time, “To think that Romans with slaves had brought these rocks from all over the show and then built this structure.”  Did Hadrian find the meaning of anything when they were building this, I wondered.

(Above): Part of Hadrian’s Wall where I strolled along in Northumberland near Heddon, while my fellow coach travellers were having a smoke-break. In the picture one can just see the B6528 route heading South.

I have toyed on and off with the idea of walking along the length of the wall, with overnight stays at appointed B&B’s. It can take anything between 7 and 14 days, depending on how intense you want your historical experience to be. I suspect it may take a bit of getting fit as well, if you really hope to “discover” any meaningful meanings…

Sometime later (still searching The Universe) I heard a radio travelogue by writer/ traveller Kate Turkington on her pilgrimage walk along the Compostela (Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Spain, or the “Way of Saint James”.) The idea of walking, say the last 100km bit me slightly, as the complete pilgrimage is rather daunting to the uninitiated 60-something-year-old.

Then you sit down and research these things a bit by reading what other say. “I am 89 and walking the complete Compostela was a right breeze. Easy peasy.”

Yeah, right. After a single 10km walk, I start feeling it… So, do we try the Compostela with the Spanish countryside, or the more costly Hadrian with English farmers and their sheepdogs? Its that physical thing of the uncertainty…

(Above):  Completely off the grid: A picture I took on a sunny August 2013 afternoon on an isolated part of the Cape west coast.

But, I’ve strayed off the point: I mentioned Stanley Bing: My apologies for the number of paragraphs, but this was written as I would have done…

“… I'm standing on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The surf is tremendous. In a field to my right, horses are grazing, munching on grass they pull up a clump at a time. A pleasant, ripping sound of roots being torn from the turf is audible under the crash of the waves as they leap up in curls of spume from the black rocks of the beach.

“… I am off the grid. This is a phrase I have heard only recently, possibly because it is new, possibly because I am no longer so new and hear things later than I used to. Off the grid. It has a nice feel to it. I get a picture in my mind: A huge, multi-layered matrix, populated by millions of teeming souls, working. They are dressed in way too much clothing. On their feet are shoes with many laces. Their belts are cinched tight. So are the things they wear about their necks. Each soul is bent to its labour. Each is linked to the others by digital lines of communication that hold the grid together.

“… I take in a lungful of air. There is no grid here on the edge of civilization, except ... to my right, at some distance, a fellow appears to be talking to himself. This is not so unusual, off the grid. I saw a guy yesterday on the street in conversation with an imaginary interlocutor, shirt torn, pants just about around his ankles. That far off the grid we may not want to be. But this man is different, I now see, for in his ear a bulbous Bluetooth pod feeds his auricular canal. "No," I hear him say. "I'll have to call you back on that later." He looks aggravated.

“… Even here, then, there is grid. It's not very easy to get off. Just this morning, as I awoke to the sounds of whippoorwills, I was pleased to see that my BlackBerry had 28 messages on it. I even replied to a few that called for a little something. Too much grid? Maybe. But I was able to have my coffee knowing that the grid was okay with me, that I had touched it just enough to feel safe letting it go for the next eight hours or so.

“… We want to be off the grid. I see and hear about that all the time, and not just out here where the trains have never run. The yearning expresses itself in strange ways sometimes. In an obsession with golf. In too many drinks after a day of grid. In the boat my friend Tom is building, which may never be finished but takes his mind someplace the grid can't follow.

“… In the collection of fountain pens my pal Jablonsky has been assembling for the past 20 years, a hoard so huge he had to build an extra room off his den to house it. In the vacation homes that call to us from the magazines we read. "My husband Larry and I were just floored by the beauty and charm of Hamahama h'oilani!" an ad reads. Concierge living! But how far is that from the grid, really?

“… And how much do we actually want to be off the grid, off the griddle? I see people like us here, trying to enjoy themselves in non-gridlike activities. Over dinner, couples stare at each other as if they're having trouble finding things to talk about, because being off the grid means avoiding grid-related discussion. What remains? Movies? Weather? Kids? Are they grid or non-grid? Last night I saw a woman checking her cellphone at the table while her husband went off to the restroom to have a peek at his BlackBerry. That's kind of ugly, people hanging on to the grid by one finger, afraid to fall into the emptiness beneath.

“… There's no question, though, that the space under the grid can be terrifying. For example, they distribute digests of the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal here. Is that necessary for anybody who sincerely wants to be off-grid?

“… And what of those who actually jump off? You see them selling coffee beans in little cafés that feature homemade banana bread, or shopping for organic bean paste at markets whose bulletin boards are swathed in flyers advertising shiatsu massage and personal empowerment. Those little feuilletons trouble me. Don't they construct an alternative but still potent grid of their own? Is the goal to hop from one grid, gray and metallic, to another, green and with perfect feng shui, but a grid nonetheless?

“… Tomorrow I will be back on the grid. I will pass through the terrifying portal that is the contemporary airport, and boom, I'll be there. For a while my head will be back here, wrapped in the cosmic void that dwarfs the puny little lattices we construct to fill our days and make sense of ourselves. Then there will be a meeting, or a crisis, or some situation that needs my active intercession and ...

“… Ah, who am I kidding? It will be great to be home. …”

* * * * * * * * *

Footnote: Acknowledgement to Stanley Bing and Fortune Magazine for copyrighted text approx 2007.

Buildlogue #32–Sept 19

This is probably one of the last Buildlogues reporting progress (or lack thereof) of the construction of our North Wing extension. It covers the so-called “finishing” stages leading up to the final signing-off by the KCDC inspector, scheduled for next Wednesday 24th.

His task consists of checking the complete structure and infrastructure against the standard New Zealand building specifications, more specifically the electrical installation and the plumbing and wastewater disposal systems, which have not been checked past the pressure-test phase.

The gas installation is complete, waiting for the Rockgas technicians to come to inspect the gas storage and heater hardware, scheduled for later to-day. The plumber is currently busy installing the rest of the sanitaryware, the mixer/taps and drains, and then he has a problematic issue of locating the sani-pump (a mixer-mincer-pump to pump the sewerage from the sump outside the bathroom  up through the roof of the garage and down to the septic tank connection in the front of the house.)

(Above): Inside – The lights are on and the bedroom and sitting-room are complete…

(Above): Outside – A shot of John and Marcel fitting the seat/railing to the existing deck in the brilliant September afternoon sunshine.

I have virtually completed the exterior painting, but have put the job on hold because of the intermittent showers which threaten to wash off the undried paintwork. Monday is set for the final gutter placements, built-in cupboard installation, fitting TV bracket, and door handles.

The decks have been completed, but do not form part of the planning inspection, so I can afford to delay the paintjob until the timber has dried out properly, perhaps midweek next week.

They say that September showers bring October flowers. Well, Ma Nature had better start doing the showers bit if there are to be blooms in October, because, until recently, the first part of September was virtually shower-less, last evening’s 39mm contribution being the lion’s share of 65mm for the month so far:

(Above) The Reikorangi Valley rainfall (mm) for September 2014, according to our rainfall gauge.

On the “flowers” side of the equation, the trees and shrubs have got off to a good start as the weather warms up day by day and our switchover to daylight saving looms next Sunday evening (28th).

Located at the start of the earth day, I can only presume that this is where the original “Big Bang” occurred quite a while ago, and then all Hell broke loose… Isn’t it amazing how small New Zealand looks when drawn on a world map? We know that this is purely a perspective thing because of the “corner” location, otherwise how could they fit 40 million sheep and 6 million cows in? (In 1982, the sheep population peaked at a tad over 70 million).

Who is counting these sheep? Can’t he sleep, or what? 

Someone’s Been Sleeping in My Bed

Crime is never a matter to be taken lightly. Any crime. There is no question that each and every crime, no matter how “small” or “minor” it might be, has the potential of developing like a cancer and growing into something more heinous and criminal, if the habit is not nipped in the bud at source.

However, I have read some crime reports on occasions, which conjure up all sorts of perhaps not-so-serious images. An email from a member of the local Reikorangi residents’ group received this morning, for instance, relates a worrying incident. Not knowing the exact location of the incident, it is difficult to picture the circumstances which lead up to the deed. Please note that I am, in no way whatsoever, trying to make light of the situation – I’m simply thinking a bit laterally within the apparent situation.

The email reads (names and numbers redacted for sensitivity reasons):

Hi all,
A drunk broke into our house on Tuesday after lunch, slept in my daughter’s bed and helped themselves to the kitchen. Just wondering if anyone saw someone suspicious? If so, could you please contact me, Ph 293 5555 or the local police ph 296 5555 reference 140 916 6630.

Thank you! Melissa.

I presume that there is more to the incident than a soiled Weet-Bix bowl and some ruffled blankets?

Re-Enter the Possums

Its been a number of months since we’ve had any encounters with Possums, since the third week in April, in fact. That was when our Labrador siblings Benny and Sophie cornered and captured one near the Walnut tree.

Now in Mid-September, with the juicy leaf and flower buds sprouting out all over the gardens and surrounding natural wooded areas, Clayton has detected the presence of a young possum in the trees at the bottom end of Goat Hill. Despite their cuteness when viewed close-up and dead, they are one of the most terrible pests in New Zealand, being responsible for more damage than any other creature. We have a vested interest in our fruit trees, which will be supplying the 2014/15 fruit crops, as well as being custodians over the natives growing on the property. A possum trap is what is needed.

The following three photos represent part of the area in lower Goat-Hill which may be where we will trap the possum. Not such an easy terrain to located and flush out the vermin!

Paint Me A Picture

It’s Monday 15 September 2014 and the sun is shining down on our building site, a veritable hive of activity, as the electricians, deck carpenters, gibber and painting contractor all go about their business at the start of this week.

We are due for the plumber/ gasman to do most of the water-heater and sewerage treatment engineering work later this week. The gas suppliers will also make the first delivery of two 45kg cylinders of Rockgas, do the connection certification and check the system for leaks, etc.

The door handles and other fiddly bits to doors and windows will also be completed.

It is gratifying to see the painters finally tidying up and rolling up their drop-sheets for the final time. Their job is complete. Like Michaelangelo told the Pope when he was taping up the Sistine Chapel before getting on with the undercoat, “This may take a bit longer than a week, mate…”

Our ceiling didn’t quite turn out like the ‘Creation of Adam’. Ours has a bit more white… actually completely white…  and with fewer characters playing finger-finger….

Photos of the finished painted areas will not be all that exciting to look at until the furniture and accessories have been positioned or fitted. Meanwhile, for the record:

(Above): Standing in the sitting room looking into the bedroom with the French doors on the left. The head of the bed goes against that far wall. The ceilings and trimwork are painted while, and the wall surfaces are finished in a light duck-egg pale green –blue colour.

(Above): Also standing in the sitting room and looking into the bedroom, with the bathroom door on the near right and the dressingroom / walk-in wardrobe door next to it.

(Above): Standing in the bedroom (roughly where the headboard will be standing) with the French doors to the deck on the right and a tiny bit of the bathroom door just visible in the left corner, looking towards the sitting-room, and the entry door, leading through to the family living room in the main house.

As a footnote, let me recount a lesson I have learned: For a number of days I have not been impressed by the painters at all. Their time-keeping was terrible, the amount of work they managed to finished each day seemed unnoticeable. I was most unimpressed, and I was sure that I would have done a far better job.

Now that the painting is over, I’ve changed my tune a bit. Actually, I’ve changed my mind completely by about… 98%  Yeah, totally… The finish these guys end up with is superb and the quality of the cutting-in is unbelievable. South African painters simply don’t deliver a job anywhere near these fellow. Well done to Brian and his men!

September

Did you know that September begins on the same day of the week as December every year, because there are 91 days separating September and December, which is a multiple of seven (the number of days in the week)? No other month ends on the same day of the week as September in any year. This month and May are the only two months to have this property.

Well, neither did I, but it’s an interesting bit of trivia, if you go for that sort of thing.

September Showers
by Marieta Maglas

Bronze bells' breeze of September showers,
Freezing fluttering fragile flowers,
Tearing the time's tide tactile sense
May leave long love's lighting lance in tense.
Crying colours of cold old castles,
Stroke their sticky sounds without hassles,
Slipping silken sun into the clouds
Hide misty murmuring meadow shrouds.
Dancing rain drops like bright blue bubbles,
Big black birds bringing flying troubles,
Wild winds waving their wet wings around
Ghostly green girds up for glassy ground.

What about the September showers in Reikorangi? I looked at my rainfall records, and found two lonely entries for the month:

(Above): September 2014 to date rainfall looks impressive, until you look a bit closer and you see that the entries are for 3mm and 2mm respectively. Not exactly what even a desert dweller might call precipitation…

Sick in 1954 or 55?

It was somewhere around 1954 or 1955, anyway it was quite a long time ago. I had only been at the Simondium School a short while, when I had a close encounter with a written sick note from a parent of one of my classmates. His name was Friedel Marais, and his parents owned a large wine farm in the district.

One morning, after a couple of days absence, Friedel pitched for class, and for a reason I cannot recall, he showed us his sick note supplied by his mother. I have never forgotten the brevity, nor (what I perceived as) the sheer arrogance of the script. May I hasten to add that I am sure that I must have stayed off sick from school in my junior pre-12 days, but I was never marked absent 1960 –1964.

What did Friedel’s mom write? On a page ripped from the back of Friedel’s exercise book, scrawled but clearly legible (translated from the Afrikaans “Friedel was verkoue”):

“Freddie had a cold… signed mrs Marais”

In my opinionated 1954/5 opinion: quite blunt, quite curt, quite to-the-point, probably quite accurate, probably quite true, quite…. quite French. 

Lotza Kids

Locally we are quite a few weeks into the 2014 lambing season, and it is gratifying and amazing to see the development and progress being made by all the tiny cuddly bouncing new sheep in every paddock as far as the eye can see. Real cute. Also, many mothers have more than one newcomer.

Having been “townies” all our lives, we’ve had precious little  close contact with sheep or their lambing season. In the Western Cape, I was accustomed to seeing sheep grazing in dusty brown fields in the distance, not anything like the lush green paddocks which are used on a rotation basis in this part of the world.

A few of New Zealand’s 40,000 sheep, with a Huntaway checking that his part of the flock doesn’t stray…

On a similar subject, an article dealing with a report from England caught my eye:

One mother, three calves, four different breeds:

Sometimes it can be hard to make up your mind. Do you want a sandwich or a salad for lunch today? Tough decision: both have their ups and downs. But one cow from Lincolnshire, in eastern England, has taken indecision to a new and impressive level by giving birth to triplets, each of which, says its farmer, is a different breed.

Multiple births are rare enough in cows as it is; it varies by breed of cow, but generally the likelihood of a cow having twins is between 1 and 7%, not much more than the likelihood in humans (around 3 to 4%). Triplets are much rarer, but not unheard of in breeds like the holstein-friesian (the classic black-and-white dairy cow). Where cows differ substantially from humans is that in artificially inseminating breeding cows, farmers often use sperm from multiple breeds. That allows for fraternal twins, in which two sperm cells meet two eggs, that are of totally different breeds.

Both different-breed twins and triplets are very rare, but familiar to high-turnaround cattle breeders. Different-breed triplets, though, is something we certainly have never seen before. The Lincolnshire cow, says its farmer, Peter Combridge, gave birth to three calves: one limousin, one simmental, and one charolais. All are healthy, even if they don’t look much like each other. All calves are reared on farm and sold at 13 months of age with a liveweight of 500kg.

Vote 2014

We are due for the next general parliamentary election shortly. In fact, in just over a week, Saturday 20 September.

But I shall not be going to vote on Saturday.

Why? Because they will chase me away: “You cannot vote a second time in the same election, buddy!” You see, I already cast my vote earlier this week. A limited number of polling stations have been open for two weeks, originally meant to accommodate those voters who cannot be present in person on voting day in their own constituency, the enlarged the scope, with the thinking,

Hey, let’s allow anyone to vote in the fortnight to the run-up, not just the few that can’t be in their hometown on election day. It will make everyone’s life easier…

Did it make my life easier?
9:15 --  I walked into the Public Library after dropping off some courier documents at the Post Office (virtually next door). I greet the lady and two gents sitting behind a trestle. There are no other potential voters there.

9:16 --  Having located my name in the alphabetical register, a neatly printed and bound official publication, I am informed, “You’re page 5 line 49” as she tears out my sheet, which becomes my ballot paper, “Please make two ticks, one for the Party of your choice and one for the Candidate of your choice in the booth behind me, and then pop the form into the middle box.”

9:18 – In the ballot “booth”, I see the form with all the parties and the candidates, as expected. Not difficult. I remember that the New Zealand authorities want ticks and not crosses on the official papers (see Bloke On The Bus: Make A Tick Not A Cross) . I make my two ticks and I pop the folded page into the centre box. Done and dusted.

9:19 – Back in the parking lot. Four minutes flat.

Today I received a voting pack from the electoral commission to remind us that 20 September is voting day, and each person’s vote is important. On the next page, the paragraphs drive home what a diverse combination of immigrants make up New Zealand. There is a paragraph in each of 25 languages, namely: Maori, Cook Island Maori, Samoan, Tongan, Korean, Chinese Traditional, Chinese Simplified, Tokelauan, Niuen, French, Spanish, Tagalog, Somali, Farsi, Arabic, Vietnamese, Thai, Hindi, Gujarati, Japanese, Khmer, Punjabi, Burmese, Tamil and Russian.

I recall thinking how cosmopolitan the City of Auckland seemed when we were there on holiday for a few days back in 2011.

We fall into the Otaki electoral division, in which 6 candidates are standing for election, namely Maddy Drew (Green), Nathan Guy (National), Anne Lovelock (Conservative), Rob McCann (Labour), Fred McDonald and Amanda Vickers (Independents).

The list of parties standing in this election is: (1) ACT New Zealand, (2) Aotearoa Legalise Cannabis Party, (3) Ban 1080, (4) Conservative, (5) Democrats for Social Credit, (6) Focus New Zealand, (7) Green Party, (8) Internet Mana Party, (9) Labour Party, (10) Maori Party, (11) National Party, (12) New Zealand First Party, (13) NZ Independent Coalition, (14) The Civilian Party, and (15) United Future.

What’s Up?

While I’ve been lying idle in bed with this bout of Bronchitis, what’s been happening on the building front? Actually many small things, some finicky stuff, and some waiting. Waiting seems to be an important aspect of house-building in New Zealand…

(Above): Monday before my symptoms developed fully, I back-primed and first-coated the fascias for the first floor roof at Tyler’s bedroom and TV room. Use Karaka Solagard.

(Above): Tuesday saw Vaughn and his brother arrive. They prepared the surfaces and laid all the flooring in one day. Here he is busy in the bedroom

(Above): Near the end of the day, as Vaughn prepares to clean up and go home. Neat job.

(Above): John busy with repairs to the deck outside the main bedroom of the existing house

(Above) Marcel puits the finishing touches to the rail/seat on our new deck. Almost done.

(Above) A view of the deck in the afternoon sunshine,

(Above): The painters are progressing very slowly, but are nevertheless making progress. It should be complete in a few more days. Hopefully…

Sick Note

Dear Reader,

Please be advised that your blog-writer has been inactive for a number of days, because his medical doctor Dr Ran diagnosed him with bronchitis, prescribed some antibiotic because of his chest history, and some Panadols. Please excuse him for not having handed in any assignments this week.

When you have an elevated temperature and you cough up strange small alien creatures to the point that you’re amazed that there can be any left, Dr Ran explains that the little critters are extremely active and prolific.

I am sure that I must have had Bronchitis before, but I guess I’ve always lumped the cold, lung infections, sore throats and influenza as “a cold” if it was reasonably bearable, and as “the flu” when it turned into something requiring a stay in bed. Perhaps it is time to find out what Professor Goggle comes up with….

Roxithromycin is an antibiotic that belongs to a group of medicines called macrolides.
These antibiotics work by killing or stopping the growth of the bacteria that are causing your infection. Roxithromycin, like other antibiotics, does not work against viral infections
such as the flu. Dr Ran summarised with the explanation that the mediation will stop the bugs from multiplying and doubling their numbers (as they do), and this gives the body’s immune system a chance to get rid of the evil critters.

So, dear Reader, please excuse the lack of posts to this blog. We hope not to have caused any inconvenience.

Honey, I’m Home!

Father’s Day is celebrated on Sunday 7 September 2014 in New Zealand. Tyler and Brynn have been buying father Clayton various items of inventory suitable for bee-keeping as a hobby. Father’s Day present was a pair of elbow-length bee-gloves and a specialised hive tool – used for opening and closing the hive and for scraping stuff and other things.

(Above): Dressed up in the coverall bee-keeper’s suit and head and face mask, here he poses with the mysterious honey tool in his right hand and a jar of Arataki Honey – like the Neil Armstrong of Reikorangi ?

Arataki Honey is the number one beekeeping business in the Southern Hemisphere, with 20,000 hives across New Zealand.

The business, established in 1944, is run in two parts. The Rotorua Division of Arataki Honey are specialists in Packed Honey, Bulk Honey, Comb Honey, Propolis products & Beeswax, Packaged Bees for export, Queen Bees and Orchard Pollination in the Bay of Plenty. The Hawkes Bay Division produces and packs honey for the local and export market, provides local pollination services and is the site of the Arataki Honey Visitors Centre.

Honey is healthy and delicious, and there’s no better place to get yours than Arataki. From hive to honey pot, every step of the way, quality and traceability are keys to making New Zealand’s finest honeys. People and Bees are at the heart of Arataki Honey. We are committed to good Bee health and work place enjoyment.

Crazy Sports

There are quite a few sports in which people compete, which are not commonly known by the general population. In the Kapiti News I read an article entitled “The Lure of Bog Snorkelling.”

How alluring can a bog be? Apparently quite alluring, judging by the 155 competitors who competed in the 30th World champs last week in Llanwyrtyd Wells (in Wales, naturally), said to be the smallest town in Great Britain with a population of 601. It was really an international affair, with entrants hailing from Australia, France, Germany, Northern Ireland, Sweden, New Zealand, Eire, Mali, USA and Zambia.

Competitors don a wetsuit, mask and flippers, attach a snorkel and swim along a 55 metre trench cut into a bog.They must do two laps, so they cover 110 metres. There is a catch, however. Conventional swimming strokes are not permitted and they can progress only by using their flippers. Participants can raise their heads above the surface only for orientation purposes.

In terms of spectator sports, bog snorkelling rivals underwater hockey as the most challenging. Those watching see very little of the action in the muddy water until the swimmers emerge at the end of the trench.

The current World Champion is 33 year old Kirsty Johnson from Surrey, in a time of 1 minute 22.56 seconds, which is a new World Record, beating the previous record time held by Dineka Maguire from Northern Ireland of 1 minute 23.13 seconds by just over half a second. The Junior World Champion and in overall second place is Emma Pitchforth in a time of 1 minute 26.81 seconds, whose parents are both former Bogsnorkelling winners. In fact her father, Haydyn, was the fastest male competitor and fifth overall with a time of 1 minute 33.15 seconds.

There is a long list of weird sports, and bog snorkelling has branched out to include more competitors with mountainbike- bogsnorkelling and triathlon bogsnorkelling. Ja…

A few days ago, I was confronted by a new scene at home. Readers will know that we have a billy step-goat on loan, Michael Jackson (affectionately known as ‘Jacko’). He lives at Goat-Hill behind a long wooden fence at the end of the main lawn. The fence serves as protection for the plants, which he would surely devour, and as protection for himself against (possibly) the dogs.

Picture this scene: Jacko standing at one end of the fence (goatward side, naturally) on his hind legs, forelegs up on the top rail of the fence. Benny and Sophie standing on the landward side of the fence, attentive to Jacko’s presence.

All of a sudden, Jacko dropped down to the grown and sped off towards the other end of the fence at break-neck speed. I have never seen him sprint at that pace. At the some time, the two Labradors followed suit on their side of the fence, until the separated trio reached the other end of the fence.

Jacko up on hind legs, Sophie and Benny standing to attention, tails wagging, in anticipation. Moments later, Jacko was speeding back to the first end once more, with Benny and Sophie not to be left standing. This ritual was repeated at least half a dozen times.

It looks as if, after being close neighbours for six months, the trio have finally teamed up into a playgroup. Dog-goat speed time trials. 

Passing Glance

September 2014. I am walking down a narrow-ish pavement, dimly lit by old style street lamps. It is a quiet street devoid of any motor traffic. It is pleasantly warm despite the time of day. In the distance I can see a figure dressed in dark clothes approaching. Judging by the stature and clothing, I conclude that the person is male, about my height and build. He moves quietly towards me.

As we pass each other, we are both bathed momentarily in the lamplight from above. I can clearly see all his features in detail as he briefly glances in my direction, smiles in a non-committal manner at me, and continues past.

The most notable feature is that the man’s face is lopsided, with one ear completely mis-located, compared to the eyes/nose grid. He has busy eyebrows and the lamp-light is strong enough for me to be able to classify them as ‘grey.’ As is the thinning hair with receding hairline, and overgrown sideburns. Quite obviously, a creature dating back quite a number of decades.

I have this nagging feeling. Where Have I seen this person before? He certainly didn’t resemble any of my workmates, no-one that I have met in New Zealand, yet I have this strange feeling that I have met him. Or was it in a previous life? All this uncertainty takes a few mere milli-seconds.

I decide: Call the guy back, and go and ask him who he is and where do I know him from? It’s now or never. He who hesitates is lost, I tell myself.

I turn around. The pavement is clear for at least 50 metres behind me. I can see clearly and there are no exits, yet the guy has disappeared into thin air, it would seem. He has gone!

                                                          * * * * *

Sometime in 1953: Picture a barber shop chair with a wooden plank across the arm-rests, with a skinny wee young lad sitting high in that timber saddle, covered in a white cloak. On the floor around the huge base of the chair, lies piles of furry blonde hair. The barber wearing a white coat  turns to the lad’s mother, who is standing guard next to him.

“Is that Ok? You see I have to cut this side a bit shorter than that one, so that his head doesn’t look too unbalanced.”

Both the barber and the mother appear to be oblivious that the lad can hear their conversation, and at six years of age going on seven, has no problem in understanding what is being said. The barber could just as well have cut off one of the kid’s ears with his razor, why not?

“I’ve never seen a kid with such a skew head. Did you squash him like that, or did he just… fall?”

                                                              * * * * *

I have it in good authority that the kid did not change his name to Harrison Ford, either.

Footnote:
This post is based on true events, and the guy under the lamp-post has still to be traced… if indeed he even exists… And, yes, Harrison Ford does wear a stud in his left ear-lobe, but, no, he definitely wasn’t the mystery pedestrian.

Plan ‘B’

Today is one of those quiet days. In Reikorangi every day is (thankfully) a quiet day, with hardly any traffic ever, and the occasional high-altitude north-south airline flight overhead (maybe one a day?) The imminence of these events is always heralded by high-volume barking from sibling Labradors Benny and Sophie. Oh yes, and don’t forget the occasional enthusiast cyclist going by. They make no noise except for some heavy breathing…

Today is quieter than most. Maybe the fact that its a Friday, maybe the cyclists are put off by the intermittent spit-showers? And our builders will only be back on Monday, leaving the gibber-painters free reign to get on with their important indoor work. So, I’m left sitting here, thinking of a blog post. But my thought processes are also very quiet this morning…

Just look at the skewness of the trellis outside the kitchen window… Hmmm.

(Above): View from the kitchen window, looking towards the Secret Garden, with the proposed fence line (marked in yellow) converging with the existing trellis fence. Perhaps the trellis can be recycled for use as a decorative climbing barrier in front of the woodshed? 

The girls have come up with the suggestion that we scrap the trellis idea in favour of a more solid and lower structure. I tend to support this, as I have always been a bit concerned about the (long-term) stability/integrity of the lath-crossover in a large area trellis in a high wind area. Not that I wasn’t up for it, just concerned that there may be a better option for us.

The more solid fence concept has evolved into something resembling picket fencing. Not ornate or curly, but perhaps chunkier and more angular. Tough stuff, strong and functional and dog-proof. The thinking has been reduced to 1.2 metres high with perhaps 100 or 125mm pales and 40 or 50mm openings… perhaps a bit more: probably the way to go will be to do a few mock-ups to see the effect first before committing and ordering the timber.

(Above): The Old Rectory 1850 at Kyneton, P.44, Australia Coast to Coast Countrystyle, Aug 2014

To negate the “skewness” of the fence outside the kitchen window, I will propose that we erect the new fence about 2.50 metres from the north wing and parallel to the wall. Take it just past the end of the extension to allow a hard stepping-stone type pathway, and then to extend it roughly to the 30 metre mark. As we would be dealing with a 1.2 metre height, making and hanging entry gate(s) will be a lot easier than the huge 2 metre monstrosities. Still not a piece of pie, but most certainly, a bit easier. We may then go for about three gates – one to access the Rec Area near the trees of the Secret Garden, one near the water tanks for delivery of soil, etc in bulk from the driveway area, and one at the top adjacent to the potting shed and greenhouse.

Most readers are now rolling their eyes and sighing huge audible sighs in abject boredom. Suggestion: look at the pictures instead. The purpose of this post is simply to prepare you for future posts when we are actually getting down to the nitty-gritty of the woodwork involved…

Some of the “zones” which I have in mind for inclusion in this garden-to-be include:

• Rec area and tea garden with the large metal garden table and eight chairs placed on a hard surface (most likely this will be brick-paving which we could reclaim from the present kitchen garden);
• Vegetable garden – probably occupying the majority of floor space;
• Potager jardin – or ‘kitchen garden’ as the French call it, for growing herbs and various kitchen requirement, maybe even a mini ‘hothouse’ for specialities;
• Cooking area for the Weber BBQ, and possibly, later on, a pizza oven as well;
• Greenhouse for growing selected items and for providing protection from frost to others when required;
• Potting shed – used for potting, transplanting and storing all the garden tools, fertilisers and such-like, insecticides and other chemicals as may be : As this area will be organic, the manmade compounds will be limited to a few essentials;
•  Bird feeder platform on a pole to encourage our feathered friends;
• Irrigation water tank near the greenhouse and potting shed;
• Some decorative stuff and possibly creepers with creepy-stuff.

(Above): The yard is in somewhat of an untidy chaos, fascias and bargeboard timber for the build, dug-up bricks and John’s gazebo frame all cluttering the site. The areas as marked on this photo, are purely suggestive at this stage. The canvas is blank… Much like my mind?

Slow Progress

A couple of days ago the monthly “Reikorangi Group” calendar arrived by email, possibly one of the more visually exciting months of the year as Mother Nature starts waking up after a Winter nap. The cover picture is always a photo taken in the Reikorangi area, this time a grove of apple blossoms:

I have been promised a feast for the eyes soon, and it may be very similar to this September picture. Our readers will be the first to know when this happens.

Calendar:
The calendar itself is not very spectacular or different to any other calendar, with first, full, last and new moon being on Tuesday 2, 9,16 and Wednesday 24 respectively. The Spring Equinox has been booked for Tuesday 23 and Sunday 28 marks the evening when we advance our clocks an hour to once again adopt Daylight Saving Time. Other entries are NZ Father’s Day on Sun 7 and Saturday 27 when the kids’ school holidays start.

Weather:
Last night we had our first rain since the morning of August 24, only 3mm but at least it’s a start for September.

Inside Building Stuff:
Progress with the build slowed down completely, as everyone is waiting for the plasterers / skimmers, but it transpires that the guy(s) allocated to our contract are off ill, or something. Being a very small job, we were re-scheduled for Thursday/Friday 4/5th for plastering and painting over the weekend. The painter Brian is confident that he should be done by Monday evening (excluding illness…). Vaughn the flooring guy, who laid the floors in the existing house a few months ago, has arranged for his brother to come from Hawke’s Bay to help him, and they expect the flooring job to be done and dusted on Tuesday.

Finishing:
Once the painting has been finished, it remains for John the builder to fit the bathroom vanity and walk-in robe cupboards, a TV wall bracket, the tumble-dryer exhaust vent, door handles and a couple of small things. Then the plumber and the electrician must fit and connect their various appliances and test these for final inspection. I’m not sure at this stage when the sewage water treatment unit gets done (probably when all the sanitaryware is in place), or when the gas water-heater and gas installation gets fitted.

Rainwater Collection:
Today, the gutter is being fitted on the eastern side of the roof and the plumber is attending to the underground pipe from the downpipe in the water collection tank.

(Above): The first length of rainwater gutter fixed in place with the downspout junction in place, to which the Plumber will connect his water-collection pipe.

(Above): The rainwater collection pipe laid between the downspout from the roof to the 20 kilo-litre drinking water storage tank (behind the ladder).

Deck:
As with the previous three workdays, the carpenters are still working on the construction of the deck outside the bedroom, and today should be getting on with the side-cladding around the bottom of the deck space, and possibly the fitting of the seat/barrier along the edge. The steps down to lawn level also still need to be done. I will only be painting the deck in a few weeks’ time, to give the timber a good chance to dry out and shrink.

(Above): View of the partially-laid deck on Wednesday, looking towards the bedroom French doors

(Above): Looking westwards to the sunset from the bedroom side of the partially-laid deck.

(Above): All hands on Deck. The deckers responsible for this part of the job, carpenter Marcel (left) and apprentice Seamus.

(Above): The deck almost completely laid. Now for the steps, the base cladding and the safety rail along the outer edge.

Gardening:
The growth of the lawn grass slowed down dramatically over the last three months, resulting in only one cut, if memory serves. Which is good, as having to mow long wet grass is a pain in the neck, and generally very messy.

As the weather has markedly started warming, and we have had a couple of days when the overnight dew has started drying out by two-ish in the afternoon, I grabbed the lull in building progress to tackle the front (formal) lawn.

“Lawn” is probably too grand a term for this part of the garden, rather “grass” which we mow. I am mowing it in bite-sized “blocks” and then attacking the myriad of ugly little weedy-things, which are growing all over and making the lawn look most “unlawnish”. As Chartwell is built on a the top of the cliff-edge of a riverine environment, the ground is full of river stones of varying sizes. However, the larger stones are not the lawnmower blade’s friends, out they must come in tandem with the “weeding” process.

The holes generated by the removal of weeds and rocks get filled with sifted pebble-free soil, from the excavation for the extension. The sifting is not such a pleasant operations and is slowing down the lawn top-dressing. Perhaps we will have some marvellous lawn photos nearer summer…

September Morn

Its late in the afternoon after work, we’re sitting in a traffic jam on the Cape Town foreshore pointed in the direction of the football stadium special constructed for the FIFA 2010 World Cup, now only an expensive memory. We’re inching forward occasionally, millimetre by millimetre. It’s hot and we’re impatient. Where on earth will we find parking?

I’ve never been one for going to ‘big events’ – the very thought of more than ten people in one space puts me off. I’ve been even less inclined to go to musical events—it’s so much easier to watch the ‘live’ recorded DVD performances on a big screen. Yet, here on Monday 11 April 2011, we’re on our way to the Neil Diamond concert – what is most probably a once-in-a-lifetime event for most Capetonians.

And did he perform it? No.

What? Naturally, one of Jeanette’s favourites, September Morn* 

Stay for just a while
Stay and let me look at you
It's been so long, I hardly knew you
Standing in the door

Stay with me a while
I only wanna sing for you
We've travelled halfway 'round the world
To find ourselves again

September morn
We danced until the night became a brand new day
Two lovers playing scenes from some romantic play
September morning still can make me feel that way

Today, more than three years later, I awake to ‘a brand new day’ :

1 September.

The grass is rather white with frost once more, but the good news is that the sky is once again beautifully clear, with the promise that Winter 2014 is fading fast into the rear-view mirror and Spring 2014 is surely parked along the verge just around the next bend in the road, waiting to take us for an exhilarating ride towards Summer 2014. Hee-Ha!

The builders have arrived to fit gutters, downpipes, the water collection feed pipes, and to work on the outside deck, each busy with his own thing, leaving me with the luxury of being able to stroll around to look for the signs of Spring.

And there are plenty of such signs, right here in our own garden.  Without any further words, I’d like to share a couple here:

 

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Footnote:  *September Morn, ©Neil Diamond.