Romantic snapshot

Earlier today as I drove us to Mt Wellington, Husband picked up my hand and kissed it.

“Do you think you’ll still be kissing my hand in twenty years time?” I asked dreamily.

Yes indeed, I do subject the poor man to conversation like this.

“I don’t know,” said Andrew. “I might lose my lips in a freak train accident.”

“You think that’s likely?”

“I’d have to get electronic lips.”

“And why wouldn’t you be kissing my hand with your electronic lips?”

“You mightn’t have a hand.”

“Freak train accident?”

“Don’t look so skeptical - it’s entirely probable you’d be on the train too.”

My Precious

I lost my wedding ring on Sunday.

 

Six years ago, when Husband presented me with my engagement ring, he said:-

 

“Will you marry me? Oh, good. You’re going to lose this, aren’t you?”

 

I was sure I wouldn’t, because it was so pretty my very life force depended on the ongoing presence of this thing in my life. I can be impressed for minutes at a time by sunrises or ladybirds or a storm at sea or Andrew’s cheeks when he’s eating lamb chops, but I can stare at a 0.55 carat H colour VSII Princess cut conflict diamond for HOURS.

 

Shortly after we married, I nearly lost my wedding rings at Ex-Employer’s office in Dubai Internet City. I went to the bathroom and removed both rings to wash my hands. Back in the office, I resumed compiling a nail bitingly tedious document on change request procedure, then paused to reread a paragraph. As I clasped my hands together to better aid concentration, I became aware at a subliminal level there was something very wrong in the world in addition to evil dictators and global poverty. Then I realized:- “AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaagh!”

 

Much to the bemusement of my three colleagues, I catapulted out of my chair, hurdled the desk, and ripped out the door screaming all the way to the bathroom where my rings glittered reprovingly in the soap dish. I’m not sure whether anyone had been there in the twenty minute interim – in Dubai, many people are too lazy to go to the toilet – but still.

 

After that, I resolved never to remove my wedding rings; I even wore them swimming in the sea.

 

My engagement ring is currently out of action, having split after a period of intense digit expansion, but I always wear my wedding band. On Sunday morning, I was pottering around the kitchen cleaning up before the guys woke. Brett had stayed over the evening before, so there were beer bottle tops all over the place. I have ranted about bottle tops before, so I will spare you- ok, no, I won’t. THERE’S A RUBBISH BIN! RIGHT THERE! WHAT IS SO COMPLEX ABOUT FLIPPING BOTTLE TOPS INTO IT, HMM?

 

Sorry. So, my wedding ring was irritating me for some reason – although not as much as the mess DO YOU NEED TO BE A WORLD CLASS ARCHER OR TIDDLYWINKS CHAMPION TO GET A BOTTLE TOP INTO A BIN?! IT’S LIKE HITTING A HIPPO WITH A SHOE! – so I transferred it to the little finger of my right hand. Even as I did, I thought, ‘Hmm. That’s not going to stay there,’ and then ignored myself.

 

It was after Brett left that I noticed my wedding ring - gone. My ring finger looked plainly wrong without it. There is a pale groove worn around the base of the finger where the skin is puckered and defenceless looking.

 

I alerted Andrew as to the situation.

 

“Will you look for it?”

 

Andrew nearly choked on a gigantic sigh, but he performed a sweep of the living and kitchen sectors while I repeatedly checked that I hadn’t misplaced the ring on my finger. There was no sign of it – on my finger or anywhere else.

 

“I’m sure it will turn up,” said Andrew and shuffled off to not obsess about where the ring might be.

 

Throughout the day, I looked in all the obvious places: the kitchen bench, the key hanger, under the sofa, in the microwave. I kept visualising the ring in different places, with the result that I checked the cutlery drawer and kitchen windowsill several times (maybe THIS TIME it will be there). In the evening, I turned the rubbish out onto the garage floor and picked through it with a fork.

 

On Monday morning, I put Andrew at Defcon 3, increasing to Defcon 2 as the day wore on. We tore the house apart. I moved everything out of the pantry; we checked the drains; Andrew squeezed the fingers on my rubber gloves; we crawled around the floor with torches.

 

I had a vague recollection of leaving the wedding ring on the hallway banister. Late last night, Andrew revealed that he had vacuumed the stairs on Sunday morning. There had been debris on the treads after Andrew knocked a couple of holes in the wall. No idea why. Because he could? Maybe? But really, you’d have to ask him.

 

He offered to go through the vacuum bag this morning in daylight. I knew that’s what had happened to my ring; in fact, I was so sure I actually slept last night.

 

It wasn’t in the vacuum bag.

 

Then Andrew went through the week-old rubbish. We’ve been together over 10 years now and Husband drives me up the wall on a frequent to full time basis. However, there are rare, brilliant moments when I understand exactly why I am with Andrew. Watching him sift coffee grounds, turn over greasy chop bones and wipe rotten spinach off mouldy lemons without complaint, I had one of those epiphanies.

 

On the other hand, I’m not sure I was his favourite wife at that point.

 

It wasn’t in the rubbish either.

 

Back upstairs, I got a bit teary:-

 

“Tell me you love me and the wedding ring is just a symbol in no way indicative of the future of our marriage and it’s not as if you even wear yours and the fact that I’ve lost something that’s blessed won’t curse us for the rest of time forever and ever amen.”

 

“Er, yes. All that,” said Andrew. “Look, we’ll get another ring and get your father to bless it.”

 

“Yeah, but he’ll give me a lecture on how he can’t go around blessing every time I lose my wedding ring,” I muttered darkly, “and how I should be more careful-”

 

“Well-”

 

“Are you sure you want to go there?”

 

“Absolutely not. No.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then I found the ring in the plastic bag drawer

Qualified author

I have just been offered a publishing contract! Yippee! Apologies in advance for the number of exclamation points in this post – I’m not proud of it! Little Black Dress Books www.littleblackdressbooks.com have offered me a one, two or three book publishing deal!

 

This afternoon, Husband and I went into Borders at Sylvia Park to check out Little Black Dress publications in the romance section. Andrew demonstrated an uncanny ability for opening books at the paragraphs detailing hot shafts and throbbing rods. He did a rather unheroically unmanly amount of giggling.

 

When I thought about Smart/Casual fighting for space on these shelves I got quite squeaky and overexcited. With any luck the cover won’t feature martini glasses, fluffy mules, poodles in raincoats or female apparel.

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Freshly painted house

A very brief window of tidiness opened up today, and I seized the opportunity to take a few pics of our freshly painted house featuring Husband’s recently installed lights.

The kitchen from the balcony

 

Dining area at the end of the living room

 

The living room. Our furniture looks much bigger here than it did in Dubai

 

My office off the bedroom

Perhaps we should mow the lawn

Here are the results of a toxic buildup of creative juices:-

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BN4EJmI_PVA

Me in my stylie boots at the bottom of the garden

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNtBAHXVWhw

A New Zealand bush trail

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8UvqypUVYSQ

Andrew’s garden shed

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaH_mELMpx4

The guesthouse

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Usy6uZXTEao

Hobbit alert

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-KQf-tndWbU

How to squirm under a tree

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=emlk-vXmp9I

Our house in the middle of the bush

Responsibility

There have been a couple of times recently when we’ve left the house and forgotten to close the garage door behind us.

“Oh crap,” I said, driving home from our walk this afternoon. “Did we close the garage door?”

“I did,” said Andrew.

“Oh, good.”

“If both of us are going out,” said my husband, “I think the passenger should close the garage door.”

“Fair enough-”

“Except when I’m the passenger. Then it should be you.”

“Hey! Hang on a minute; basically, you’re saying it should be my responsibility.”

“Well, let’s face it: you are the most responsible party in this relationship.”

“Yes, but-”

“Don’t even try and talk your way out of it.”

“So, are you saying you’re irresponsible?”

“No. Just that you’re MORE responsible.”

Husband fully equipped for hiking (yes, that’s an umbrella in his right hand). Photos of Andrew’s face are pretty rare; he doesn’t stay still long enough and he is also pretty mean about the photo ops

 

Niamh and the tree

 

Down by the river

 

Vaseline shot: me undaunted by Andrew waving a camera in my face after a cryogenic swim

Storms

The view from our balcony this afternoon after a thunderstorm that lasted all day yesterday and today

He’d like to add the crystal parrot to his collection

Andrew: You can list that crystal dolphin on Trademe.

 

Me: Where did it come from anyway?

 

Andrew: Someone gave it to me as a present.

 

Me: What – that?

 

Andrew: Yes.

 

Me: A 7cm high figurine of a crystal dolphin springing joyously out of a crystal wave?

 

Andrew: Yes!

 

Me: To you?

 

Andrew: Yes, they GAVE IT TO ME.

 

Me: Hee hee hee hee hee-

 

Andrew: WHAT?

 

Me: I just- seriously- I can’t imagine a gift more outrageously, spectacularly unsuited to Crusher Shaw.

Finely honed athlete

I am a former Irish Orienteering Champion. At the age of 8 in Ballyhourigan Wood, I crushed the field of opposition with grit, determination and a finely honed athlete’s instinct.

 

There wasn’t much to crush, since there was only one other girl in my class and she didn’t finish the course – but hey, a victory is a victory. It’s the winning that counts. Nobody remembers who came second.

 

Now, I haven’t fondled a Silva Expedition since the late ‘80s. There wasn’t much opportunity for orienteering in Dubai, since the only features on the landscape outside the city are sand dunes and camels, both of which are prone to roam. Since this is in stark contrast to most of the city’s inhabitants, it’s little wonder that orienteering never took off in the Middle East.

 

I was looking forward to taking up the sport again in New Zealand. Orienteering, I felt, would be hugely popular in a country full of people who never walk where they can run, and never run where they can scale cliffs with one arm and jump off the top.

 

Last night I found a website that lists all orienteering events in the country. By chance, there was an event on today up the road in Hobbit Woods.

 

Sunday is a working day for Andrew and, since the clocks went back last week, he now starts work at 3:30pm in conjunction with the Dubai Office. Additionally, he has been in rancid humour the last few days. So I wasn’t too hopeful about getting out to Hobbit Woods to check the quality of exploding mud.

 

However, at 11:00, Andrew materialized in the kitchen at the smell of hot cross buns, and asked if I’d like to go for a drive. It transpired that Andrew’s offer was not wholly altruistic; he wanted to check out the dirt bike track in Woodhill Forest, which is right beside Hobbit Woods.

 

Still, I recognize an opportunity when it licks my ear. I suggested taking the Surf, since I figured we would be driving gravel and forest roads.

 

“I’m taking the MR2,” said Andrew in the same sort of tone he would use to say: “That’s my motorbike you’ve just trashed, Punk.”

 

[Aside: I’ve just remembered a discussion Emma and I had once, where we were talking about the nature of love.

 

“Yeah, Andrew doesn’t believe in it,” I said. “He thinks love is a myth perpetrated by the movies for the purpose of keeping the masses subservient. Like The Matrix. Or something. He doesn’t think it exists.”

 

“Hmm,” said the lovely Emma. “Tell him: ‘You know that feeling you get when you look at your motorbike? THAT’S love.’”]

 

ANYWAY, off we set. At Woodhill Forest, we had to drive along about 10km of forest roads. Andrew basically surfed through the forest on a wave of gravel. I was MORTIFIED when we reached the registration area in the MR2, Andrew revving excessively to scare off any wildlife or rabid orienteers: the forest road was thronged with 4×4s and Volvos and station wagons with ROOF RACKS.

 

Despite my method of transportation, I was looking relatively rugged in a jerkin and hiking boots, so I went to hunt down the organizer. While Peter Swanson and I chatted about orienteering and upcoming events and the AOC and my glorious career as Irish Orienteering Champion, Andrew stood some distance away kicking a tree.

 

Although I was itching to get out there and run a course, we went home in a dénouement that – you can trust me – was more an anticlimax for me than for you

Mr Wingo

Waitakere Dam

These are some piccies from our walk earlier to Waitakere Reservoir and Dam, followed by the circuit along Fence Line Track and Robinson Ridge Track.

Waitakere Reservoir

 

The Dam

 

Freaky Kiwi tree

 

Andrew expresses himself via the medium of dance

Great drying weather

Earlier today, while hanging out the clothes:-

“God, it’s great drying weather,” I said.

This isn’t the first time something I’ve said, totally divorced from my brain, has afforded me a moment of terrible clarity even before the words have stumbled out of my mouth to roam at will about the world wreaking havoc.

Not only did I realise I sounded just like my mother,

“Andrew,” I whispered, “I’ve just achieved a new stage of middle age.”

I am comforted by the fact that ten years in Dubai didn’t bring it on sooner.

 

Kiwi man uses hedgehog as a weapon

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/7334233.stm

You have to be taking the mickey to write:-

It was unclear whether the hedgehog was still alive when it was thrown, though it was dead when collected as evidence.

My life is awesome

‘Breakthrough to Success’ involved a number of exercises to practice the faith, reinforce The Message and obscure the fact that we spent three days covering material that would comfortably fit into half an hour.

 

One exercise involved identifying ‘limiting beliefs’ in your life. Afterwards, Guru Howard asked for volunteers to share their revelatory, life-altering breakthroughs. The microphone was passed to Bruce.

 

“Kia Ora, BRUCE!” roared 1000 people.

 

“What’s your limiting belief, Bruce?” enquired Guru Howard.

 

“I hate myself, I hate my life, I hate my family,” said Bruce, “and I wish I had been born a woman.”

 

I laughed so hard I fell off my seat – until I realized I was the only one: the guy was serious.

 

“I see,” said Guru Howard. “Eeeeeer. And how does this affect your life, Bruce?”

 

“Quite a lot,” said Bruce. “Like, I’ll do something I’m proud of. Like painting the spare room. And then I’ll go and ruin it all by saying something stupid to my wife or beating my kids. They hate me and I hate them. Not just them - I hate everything.”

 

“Umm,” said Guru Howard. “So, what’s your limiting belief, Bruce?”

 

“I think my limiting belief is that I’m unlovable,” said Bruce.

 

I could see where he was coming from.

 

“Give him a big hand, folks! Yeah! Bruce!”

 

At the time, I was sitting beside an enormous man in a vest, who was so overcome with emotion he had to resort to deodorant.

 

“I’m a but whuffy, time for the smullies,” he informed me, before spritzing strawberry scented body spray all over the two of us. I had coped with his fetid underarm stench, but when it combined with the jagged strawberry smell, I seriously considered throwing up.

 

“You will not puke, you will not puke,” I internally positively self-affirmed. “Wait! No! I feel entirely healthy! My stomach is in top form! There is no stomach acid whatsoever – argh!”

 

Two minutes later, we were required to hug the person sitting next to us.

 

Now, THAT was a life-changing experience.

 

Later, we were split into pairs to discuss where we were MOST STUCK in our lives and WHY. Rebecca went first:-

 

“I’m- I’ve- my relationships are awful. My relationship with my family is- well, if things don’t change, that’s it; it’s over between my husband and me. This is kind of the end of the line. I- we can’t find anything nice to say to each other any more. And I’m taking it out on the kids and I know it’s so unfair, I feel dreadful. So I think- I think I need to change my approach and be more loving and change how I think about my family and show them I cherish them.”

 

I actually gave this stranger a spontaneous, totally unprompted hug before it was my turn.

 

“Um, ok, well, I’m a writer. And I’m having trouble writing. Ah, that’s kind of it, really.”

 

At least there is one thing I have learned from ‘Breakthrough to Success’:

 

My life is awesome

I love this stuff! WOO!

All that is valuable in human society depends upon the opportunity for development accorded the individual

- Albert Einstein

 

Much of The Message preached by Breakthrough to Success was that, if you have enough self-belief, enough faith, if you WANT IT ENOUGH, all that you desire will be yours. Forget education and intellect, personality or circumstance.

 

Guru Howard had a number of illustrative examples:-

 

“I remember this guy, Dave was his name – probably still is his name - Dave came to one of our seminars, ‘Performance Revolution’ – there are forms outside if you want to sign up for that – this guy had Alzheimer’s, real bad - see the back of the auditorium there? It would take Dave 15 minutes to make his way from that exit door to the stage right here - it was that bad. But over the course of the seminar, his Alzheimer’s – it disappeared! Gone! Once Dave released those limiting beliefs, his body HEALED ITSELF.”

 

I think skepticism set in when, after two days, my arse had got no smaller.

 

“There was this woman, Mindy, came to ‘Breakthrough to Success’. She was living in a trailer park. Fallen on hard times – she didn’t always live in a trailer park – but her partner had died - Mindy was not in a happy space – what was she not in? A happy space. Again, at level 10: a HAPPY SPACE – that’s right - Mindy came to ‘Breakthrough to Success’, and her whole life changed. She came up to me after and said, ‘Chris, Chris! You changed my life’. Mindy wanted to go on ‘Fast Track to Success’, but she had no money. Maybe two weeks later, Mindy got the exact amount deposited in her bank account by an anonymous donor! Awesome, huh! And Mindy went on to do our ‘Billionaires Bootcamp’ course in Hawaii, and she’d always- her lifelong dream was to own a house, to do good stuff, you know, charitable works – and this guy on the course, he BOUGHT HER A HOUSE! How awesome is that?”

 

It is arguable whether Guru Howard is a better trainer or salesman – probably depends on one’s individual perception of reality. Many of the participants were attending the seminar free, and Guru Howard has to make his millions of dollars somehow.

 

“Now, ‘Performance Revolution’ – can I tell you about ‘Performance Revolution’? Thank you! Turn to person next to you and give ‘em a high-five and say: ‘I love this stuff!’ Yeah! ‘Performance Revolution’ is if you want to have leadership skills for influence and persuasion. Now, it’s normally $6500, but we have a special offer for you, folks – if you bring a friend, we’ll let the two of you attend for $6500! Is that good or good? It’s FANTASTIC! All right!”

 

Here’s MY perception of Guru Howard’s reality:

 

“You can make millions – if you pay me lots of money.”

 

“Now, special offer, ‘Passion for Profits’ – first book I ever wrote – it’s $47 – and you might think that’s a lot for a book, but I’ve gotta question for you: if it makes you $20,000, would you say that’s worth it? Of course you would! ‘Passion for Profits’ – it’s on sale outside – we’ve only got a limited number, folks – and I’m sorry about that - and I guarantee the books are going to sell out in minutes – so I won’t be offended if you want to leave now to get your copy-”

 

There was a stampede towards the door, people punching each other in the face, crushed bodies littering the aisle. I was only grateful the chairs were bolted to the floor.

 

If you’re interested, ‘Passion for Profits’ sells on www.amazon.com for NZ$25. The thirty customer reviews say it is ‘awesome’.

 

Now, it would be remiss of me to let you think Guru Howard is primarily concerned with achieving his own potential. Part of living a fulfilled life is philanthropically giving back to the world and helping those in need. To demonstrate, he showed a slo-mo clip of himself playing with street children in Peru. This was after the photo of himself draped over Richard Branson, who looked vaguely bemused.

 

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former

- Albert Einstein

High five! Yeah!

A while ago, I was given a free pass to a 3-day Christopher Howard ‘Breakthrough to Success’ seminar, possibly because I do a lot of moaning. It is a ‘journey to self-discovery, empowerment and finding your life’s purpose’, using the ‘cutting edge sciences of Results Technologies’ including Neuro Linguistic Programming, cognitive re-imprinting and er, other stuff.

 

Originally Rosina agreed to accompany me, but with Brian in hospital, she had to pull out. Since I have no friends here, I went alone. Andrew? I would have had to lash the man to a seat - assuming I was able to dope him sufficiently to drag him in the doors of the conference centre in the first place.

 

However, he did accompany me to register at the Bruce Mason Conference Centre. Outside the front door was a large poster of Christopher Howard, arms akimbo, looking as if he’d just punched out his two imaginary friends.

 

“This guy will commit suicide,” predicted Andrew.

 

“Go ahead and mock,” I said, “but when I’m successful and empowered and profoundly positively changed through acknowledging my inner magnificence and stuff, and you’re, like, a part-time welder, you’ll be sorry.”

 

Before entering the auditorium, the participants were required to agree to Terms and Conditions, which included:-

 

I understand that this event includes loud music at times; if that should cause me any distress I will leave the room immediately.

 

I presume this clause was included because before every session, Chris Howard was introduced by his adoring assistant with thumping music and strobe lights. We were informed that Chris loves ‘noise and energy’. Personally, noise and energy don’t even make it into my top 100 - but perhaps this is why Chris Howard is (allegedly) a multi-millionaire who makes up to $3m a day and I recycle glad wrap. Anyhoo, we had to entice him on stage with lots of roaring and clapping and jumping up and down and then he had an obsessive compulsive thing going where, to get himself motivated enough to address us, we all had to go 1-2-3-YES! and punch the air.

 

The entire thing is probably best described as a cross between a rock concert and evangelical gathering. I was always vaguely disappointed Chris didn’t ride up through the floor on a thunderbolt with an inflammable billowing cape – and that there wasn’t more knicker-throwing.

 

Here’s the man himself. He is not blue, but does generally show that amount of teeth: 

 

 

 

There was a lot of blither about how we were part of an elite group of people committed to success and achievement and how even turning up at this seminar was the first step.

 

“These three days will be one of the most exciting experiences you will ever have,” promised Howard. “It can change your life! You better believe it! Turn to the person next to you and give ‘em a high-five and say: ‘I’m in the right place!’ Yeah! All RIGHT! The only thing I ask is that you play at a hunner percent.”

 

I never really figured out what a hunner percent was, but it seemed to involve lots of high-fiving and group massage.

 

“It’s about how you show up, folks.” Chris’s dress code included three day’s worth of stubble and the top three buttons of his shirt undone, so I feel quite confident about how I show up. He also had the beginnings of a paunch, but the guy radiates the CONVICTION of sex appeal, which is almost as good as the real thing.

 

Some of the material presented was interesting - for example: you can’t think about what you don’t want to think about without thinking about it. That is, suppose someone says: ‘DON’T think about a blue tree,’ what’s the first thing that pops into your head? - a BLUE TREE. High five! - because the subconscious doesn’t process negatives. So someone who thinks, ‘I must not fail’ is focused on failure; it’s a completely different message from an expectation of success.

 

This goes a long way to explaining why there is so much killing and committing of adultery and bearing of false witness and coveting of neighbours’ houses.

 

As another example, you might think: ‘I WILL succeed’ is a positive, affirming message to stick to your bathroom mirror and repeat to yourself 50 times before breakfast – but no! It implies to your subconscious that you are not currently successful. High five!

 

Then there were a lot of sensible and even catchy things that you can probably get on a fridge magnet:-

 

Most problems are problems of imagination, most solutions are solutions of imagination

 

It’s not the events that shape our lives, it’s our response to those events

 

By looking at the world a certain way, we create the world

 

It’s not a question of resources, it’s a question of resourcefulness

Takapuna Beach, early morning

The transplant

Last week Father In Law had his stem cell transplant. He was admitted to hospital on Wednesday, battered with chemo on Thursday, and had the transplant Friday.

 

One of the things we have struggled with is the contradictory information issuing from a range of specialists. Coming up to the SCT, we could not get an accurate impression of what was involved. The first estimate had Brian in hospital for a couple of weeks; then we were told it would be four to six. There were dire pronouncements of Brian’s response to the transplant: according to his oncologist, he would be unconscious for a week and allowed two visitors a day under strictly controlled conditions.

 

As soon as we arrived back from South Island, we called into the Bone Marrow Unit at Auckland Hospital. Brian had a pic line installed pre-transplant and was in positive form. In the BMU pantry we met a patient two days out of his SCT. Although he looked grey, he was up wheeling his IV around and fixing himself a milkshake, which was rather comforting.

 

We saw Brian just before and after his transplant – the procedure itself all went to plan. The preparatory blast of chemo strips the lining of the mouth, so we were warned he could get pretty miserable. On Friday he had a sore throat and that was the start of it.

 

The next few days were terrible. We called in to see him on the Saturday and he was in severe discomfort, exhausted and nauseous.

 

“D’you think you’ll survive?” I said and Brian was good enough to manage a weak chuckle – or he might have been gagging.

 

“Don’t you think that was a bit tactless?” asked Andrew later.

 

“I’m not the one who went on about the fish and chips we had for dinner last night.”

 

We had been told to expect this, but it was still a tense and anxious time for everyone. When we visited the BMU on the fourth day after the transplant, we knew Brian was fighting his way up when he talked about the features of his I-Phone for ten minutes.

 

I have never been so thrilled to listen to geek speak

A hard day’s work

I’ve considered setting up a blog for some time, especially after my monthly email list hit the 30 mark. Although the idea is appealing, the reality is that I’m an irregular writer who spends more time trying to locate her wasted muse than writing. It will be interesting and/or depressing to see whether I can muster the discipline to post daily.

Ok, let’s not be too ambitious: weekly. 

One problem is that, now that Andrew and I have settled into Opanuku Road, we rarely leave the house. My working day looks roughly like this:-

08:00 Get up

08:01 Shower

08:15 Chew on Andrew’s ear a while

08:20 Turn on coffee machine

08:27 Open garage door and walk down the driveway to check post

09:00 Go to office to Write

09:01  Check email, write responses to incoming

09:40  Pick fingernails

10:20  Look up waffle irons on Trademe

11:09  Read new threads on discussion board www.bookshed.eu

11:55  Research (MacGyver on Wikipedia)

12:04  Secondary research (methods for defusing nuclear warheads, the melting point of iron, Clayton County, entomophagy, online radio stations, balloon fetishes, symptoms of anaemia, the Piri Reis map, pictures of facial boils, Gothic cemetery art, squirrel hazing)

12:30  Is it lunchtime already?

13:10  Digesting

15:00  Go to office to Write

15:01  Return to kitchen to make coffee

15:15  Go to office to Write

15:16  Think up excuse for not Writing

15:20  Return to living room to rearrange sofa cushions

15:30  Go to office to Write

15:31  Check out the time in Adelaide, Ireland, Albania, London, Spain, Dubai, Jordan and Auckland

15:39  Definitions of the word ‘harrow’ on www.m-w.com

15:50  Look up exchange rates: US$ to NZ$, AED to NZ$, Euro to NZ$, Euro to US$

16:30  Go to kitchen, look in fridge

16:47  Return to office, look up recipes including ingredients: red cabbage, dark chocolate, blue cheese, crackers, sherry

17:00  And we’ll call that a Hard Day’s Work