It's the school break between terms, so we took a trip down the wild west coast. It is sparsely populated, as everyone says, and sprinkled with wondrous sites like the pancake rocks outside of Punakaiki.






The rocks themselves are due to some sort of limestone formation - I don't know the geology of it, I just spent the time watching the waves come in. Check it out.

























Here's one coming in now:
















This formation is called the blowhole. A big wave rips right up the fissure in the rock and blasts into the air. Awesome.

Veggie garden is ON. Here are 2 pics of our recent planting. We built the box from cypress planks, which we hope will hold up reasonably well. Inside went grass clippings; 3 trays of contents from the worm farm, worms included; a bag of sheep manure; more grass clippings; some topsoil and a spare bag of potting soil - that's where the little white rocks come from. A bit of a mix, but one we imagine being reasonably tasty for plants and bugs and worms alike, or at least getting that way over time.

This is a tiny brocolli, which is supposed to hold up well in cooler weather.










Here's a sense of the whole thing. Brocollis are in the foreground. Rocket and silver beet on the right side. A bunch of salad greens on the left. We went ahead and stuck some seeds in the center to see what happens: beetroot and carrots. I think we were supposed to wait on these but what the heck we like carrots and this is how you learn.





Then, in honor of the brocolli planting, we ate some brocolli.














And practiced our table manners.

I just watched the video clip Magda sent out. It’s where the professor from Carnegie Mellon gives his final lecture again on Oprah. He has pancreatic cancer and has exhausted all treatments; he has but months to live. His is a reflection on life, on values, on our choice to be happy…..or morose. He urges the audience to aspire to excellence and to relentlessly pursue dreams even through failure. I am reminded that we are but visitors here - to relish and revel in this uncertain journey.

I was orphaned at 34. My beloved mother died months after I married; Dad 4 ½ years later. In between that time, I watched as my sister grieved the loss of her only child Nicholas. He was seven years old. There is nothing more painful and heart wrenching than the loss of a child. Nothing.

It was a difficult, life altering time for me. Up until that point, I’d suffered no losses. I was cognizant of death, I just hadn’t internalized it much. All of a sudden, though, I had become very aware of my mortality. It was a time to fashion my reason to be or at least make a little sense of it all. I never did master the reason to be; but, I did manage a way to celebrate this life. My world view was shaped by one of the greatest gifts I have ever received - my father’s unfinished autobiography.

I remember when he told me he was writing his story. In that thirty-something-year-old way, I dismissed him. I couldn’t imagine he had anything that interesting to share, I stand corrected.

My parents were German immigrants. Both grew up in Hamburg during WWII. Six years older than Mom, Dad came of age at this time. His unfinished story begins with an eleven-year-old boy caught up in the excitement of war and Germany’s “greatness.” Dad would go with his buddies collecting shrapnel and harassing SS soldiers. It was a glorious golden time, Germans felt righteous and invincible. All that quickly tarnished.

As the war progresses, things get more difficult and dangerous in Hamburg - to the point where Dad is sent to the country. He doesn’t stay long, however; the family misses each other too much. Once back, he is enlisted in Hitler Youth. He marches, salutes, performs and becomes more wary of the whole war machinery. Opa (my accordion playing, former communist grandfather) says little, for he is quite disenchanted with Hitler, but he knows it is best to keep mum.

At one point, the Brits begin their fire bombing campaigns. I can’t tell you how many times I naively asked my parents if they’d been bombed during the war. Mom said a neighboring house was hit, Dad always said nothing. I wonder what he had been thinking.

I won’t go into great detail. I can’t do his story justice. But, one night the alarms sounded and the families went down to their shelters. As the onslaught raged, the basement became intolerably hot. Despite being halted by an SS soldier, Opa forced his family out into the street. From there my father ran in the roaring wind and fire storm. He saw people sucked in by the force of wind, igniting as they become stuck in the melting asphalt. It is horrific. My father loses consciousness under a train.

A day later my father is reunited with his family. His entire family – mother, father, brother and sister have survived the Hamburg Fire Bombing. It is one of the ten worst bombings in history – overnight 45,000 people are killed. Everyone in my father’s apartment has died. Dad’s childhood friends are mummified in the basement.

One other person who died that night was Aunt Rosie. She was the Jewish piano teacher my grandparents had been hiding in their apartment. She had stayed upstairs as everyone hid in the shelter. When I learned of this, I was floored. All my life, even as an American, I had felt that collective guilt of the Germans. I had many Jewish friends and always wanted to apologize. And, here I learned that my grandparents had put their lives on the line for that which was good and right. I was proud.

Anyway, I’ve gone on, but from this story I gained my world view. I’ve probably read it six times and each time I read it I cry. I cry for a boy who loses all his friends and his childhood at 14; for my grandparents who are so brave and ultimately broken. I cry for the unfathomable loss and suffering of so many people. I cry for Aunt Rosie.

I cry because I AM ALIVE.

You might ask how can such a tragic story leave one with a sense of optimism. And, on one level, it can't possibly. It's too sad. Yet, I am left with this profound sense of the miracle of life. I have absolutely no reason to walk this earth. My father along with his family should have died. But, they didn’t. And, in this I revel.

I was left with the sense that we all have our miracle stories that have allowed us to experience this good and beautiful earth. Along the way I have learned the price of admission is huge. We will all suffer loss and feel pain; be it early in life or late. Some are dealt more than a fair share, others are relatively spared. Nonetheless, life is a gift. My art, my attitude, my life celebrate the simple joys of being here. It's a great trip and I am thankful.

Yesterday we had our first out-of-town guest! Flat Stanley arrived all the way from Essex, Vt. First, we showed him around the house. (He couldn't resist Kathleen's carvings from when she lived in Papua New Guinea). Then it was off to Andrew's school - Nayland Primary.

Andrew's teacher Pam Shaw had heard all about Flat Stanley and obliged us with a photo. Flat Stanley loved their goldfish. Outside we played a little netball. Netball's a lot like basketball, but you pass rather than dribble the ball. It's also a big sport for women.

Next, it was off to soccer practice. Together Flat Stanley and Andrew climbed the jungle gym. (Oh yeah, and there's Coach Duane at it again with the Nelson Suburbs Cobras). It was a busy afternoon and everyone had fun.

After a dinner of fish and chips, Flat Stanley was flat out. He needed to rest up for his next journey.......he's off to Prague to visit Joel and Andrea. Safe travels!

This weekend I am taking a pottery workshop. Apparently there was a day when the potter was literally king in Nelson. So much so that the local art museum had a recent exhibition chronicling the potters hay day which was from the early 70s until the late 80s. Our instructor was part of that movement. He said that there was a time where he sold every piece of clay he threw – he brought it by the car load and galleries just paid cash for his inventory. No commissions, no consignments. Can you imagine?

I utterly failed at my last attempt to throw clay many years ago. So, I took the class to meet some artsy types and try my hand at clay one more time. Not to any major degree, I’ve managed both. I successfully centered and threw a pot, YEH!! And, I was surrounded by diverse and unique people. One woman was from Sweden. Her husband is an anthropologist and in the early 90s they came to the Nelson area to study the still existing hippie culture, particularly in Golden Bay. Clay was integral to that counter culture scene.

I liked the local pottery guild. For $60 a year I can join and come and work as I please. Every Thursday they get together. There is informal mentoring, but if you just want to play, it’s okay. You supply your own materials and they’ll fire all your work for a minimal fee. I just may join

……..once I get the Cherry Creek Art Festival behind me. Right now ALL my creative energy is being taxed on that end. You may laugh, but it’s not always easy being an artist!

I have the fondest memories of swimming with my mother. Be it swimming at Long Beach Park or Lake Matilda with the Hansa Club, we always swam out the furthest and stayed in the longest. I remember proudly swimming across Lake Matilda with mom. I’m sure it was just a puddle, but it felt like an ocean to me. Our birthdays were just six days apart and I always imagine that it was the Pisces in us that instilled this love of water. Whatever it was, to this day I find it hard to resist a fresh water lake …..or the beach.

Here in NZ, autumn is in the air and the days are getting “fresher” (I love the words they use to describe the weather). At this point, any day could be the last good day. But, yesterday was “fine” (about 22C) and the siren song lured me away from my work. I hopped on my bike and ten minutes later Tahunanui Beach lay before.

It was pretty empty, a few stragglers and my new friend John from the Beach Bum Club.
Yes, as it stands, these are my only steady social contacts. The BBC (hey, Erin another BBC!) is hodge podge of retirees (and me) who are obsessed with swimming in the bay. They are from all OVER. Malta, Germany, Hawaii, England…… and they’ve been very kind. I totally admire their lack of vanity - they are there to swim and are not worried about their wrinkles or their sags. May I have their spirit 30 years from now.

Anyway, enough of that!!! Let’s just say the water was fabulous. It was probably still about 20C. I swam for about 45 minutes milking every last drop. Who knows if it was the last good day of the summer. It’s always a wise idea to treat it that way. Cheers.

We are becoming quite the chefs! A couple of days ago my dad, my brother, and I got some mussels at the market. To cook them we first had to make sure they were alive by tapping thier shells to see if they would close, because dead ones don't work. We would then scrub them and pull off their beard which is some plant connected to the mussel. We boiled them until they opened and then I pulled off the upper part of the shell. We put them in a pan and sprinkled some cheese and salt and spices on them, and then we put them in the oven to cook. In the end I didn't really like them, but it was cool that we made them.

Wow, look at that big waterwall! How big do you think that is? At least 30 meters. Large.











We went on this hike to a waterfall. It really was scary when we were crossing the board to get to the other side to get a good view of the waterfall. At first I thought the board was going to be slippery. Me and Dean had flip-flops so we had to take them off. I thought I was going to fall in. It would be really scary if I was falling in because I saw lots of little falls as we were walking up to this one. It was worth the hike. Andrew

More on Easter break. I have been enjoying all the trees. First of all, there are a lot of different kinds of trees that I am not used to seeing. The eucalyptus is common and a quite beautiful tree.


One of my favorites, perhaps because of the name, is the monkey puzzle tree. In Christchurch we saw a tree that looked similar to the monkey puzzle and I now have learned that it is the "false" monkey puzzle.

Both in Nelson and again in Hagley park in central Christchurch we have come across some of the most beautiful specimens, planted in the 1850-1900 time frame. I enjoy seeing a California redwood so far from home. There are also Giant sequoia which are in the same family but quite different up close. Huge Monterrey cypress round out my favorites, along with the totara, and the deodar, which is a cedar. Here are a few pics:

Have we mentioned that New Zealand is absolutely gorgeous? You can't take a road, turn a corner without being awestruck.

We had a five day Easter break, so we hit the road. Day 1 we drove along the Pacific Coast to Kaikoura. It's a windy, heart stopping drive where I clutch the door handle and pray.

As the road becomes enshrouded in mist, you can stop at any point and see tons of seals. At Kaikoura we walked along a cliff trail. Below we saw more seal, boats and divers harvesting crayfish (that's lobsters to you). It's a great little hike and I recommend it to anyone.

At the end of the day we stopped at an open barbeque where we ate mussels, scallops and who-could-resist-them lobbies!

Last night I dreamed Dean was weeding the yard at our old house. Danny Foelber rode by on his bike without even stopping. When I ran him down to ask why, he told me he was heading over to his new friend’s house. Well, it doesn’t take a psychologist to read much into that dream…….out with the old, in with the new. And so it goes.

For the last ten years, we’ve been the comfortable insiders. Through Poe-co Dean befriended the best group of kids anyone could hope for….and Duane and I an unforgettable group of parents. Erin never let me forget when I said, “I bet everyone at this park wishes they were with us” as we laughed and talked with the remarkable group of women and children that made up our playgroup. Forgive my smugness, but I meant it; I felt blessed to be a part of so many lives.

I can’t say I took these friendships for granted, what I can say is that I had little empathy for the outsider. Our lives were full, I didn’t open it up for more – I didn’t want to give up the space. Sure I was friendly to a new person, but I never said, “Hey come on over for dinner.” I had no idea how difficult it might be to infiltrate a circle of friends. How something as little as making a phone call could make one feel so vulnerable. But, now I am the outsider and I have gained much empathy.

Really, I am okay with my solitude; I was ready for the quiet. As a mother, I worry a bit about Dean. I wouldn’t say he is unhappy and as I said before, school is fantastic. Within that context, he is doing great. He plays soccer everyday, chats with mates. It's all good.

We just haven’t mastered that next hurdle, the having friends over - playdates and such. In Houston, all those systems were readily in place, and much of it was handled by me. So I ask myself, should I make the call and invite someone over? What are the “rules” in NZ? And, as I contemplate inviting a new friend over, I labor over the when, the how. Finally, what if this person doesn’t have room for new lives…..WHAT IF WE’RE REJECTED! Yikes!!!

Isn’t that a lot of what it comes down into life? In happiness? We humans seek validation and friendship. We want to love and, perhaps even more so, we want to be loved. And, we are scared to death of rejection. Here in our new world I find myself outside the comfort zone. Everyday I am beckoned to leave my safety net. I seek what we had in spades before and I am primed for failure. It scares me.

Oh, what the heck, I’ll just make the call

Barbara. Volunteer crossing Guard.


Picture one will serve to illustrate the flow of traffic.

The primary school is right next to the junior high, so when the bell rings, the flow of children is like hot lava. It is Barbara's job - on Fridays - to get the kids across the street safely.

She scans the traffic with steely eyes. Picks her spot. Then she blows the whistle loud and clear. Two youngsters swivel their stop barriers and cast themselves out into the flow of traffic.



"Check!" They call.


"All Clear!"


Let the party begin. You will notice that Barbara stays free and clear on the shoulder the whole time. There's even time to chat with a passing parent...

Now, given that Barbara could still find herself wondering, is it look right or look left? A bystander could be excused for some skepticism, no?


Not to mention that the crossing guard herself has been known to require a crisp glass of white after discharging her duties. "The pressure," she reports.

But this young crossing guard has stepped up her game, and we've had another day of flawless execution.

Anyone with Joan Armatrading in their collection is alright by me. When Duane and I first met and I learned that not only did he know of Joan, but he LIKED her music, I was smitten. In fact, one of our earliest dates took us to her concert at the old Tower Theater on Westheimer. Magical. When she sang “Willow” and we flicked our lighters and swayed to the song, the theater overflowed with love. And, I swear it wasn’t one of those self-conscious clap your hands with the band scenarios. It was pure and true.

So, here I sit in our new digs in Nelson, NZ listening to Joan Armatrading and once again I’m feeling the love.

Whenever I visit a new friend’s house, I like to snoop. No, it’s not the drawers or the diaries, it’s the books and the music and the walls. What are they reading? listening to? hanging up? From this inventory I see how we relate. Is it all Tom Clancy and pictures of bluebonnets? If so, we may not go far. Do I spy Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible? maybe a little Catpower playing in the background? Have wild flowers been plucked into a little glass vase…..ah, in that case, I see a blossoming friendship.

And, so it is with our new home. This house, this space enchants us. I feel a connection with Kathleen. Her shelves are lined with books I’ve cherished. And, who can deny the wisdom of Dylan, Van, REM……..and Joan? The garden is beautiful…. not too manicured, brimming with alyssum, impatiens, agapanthus, lobelia, and, well, too many to name. We even have strawberries, figs, lemons and tomatoes – can we be self-sustaining? Not quite.

I guess you might say we’re happy with our space for the year. Honestly, it’s all we could have hoped for from an internet search and some jpegs. There’s plenty of space for the kids to explore, a sweet kitty named Smudge and lots of nooks for Duane and I to sip a glass of wine and look across the bay to the mountains. We hope you come join us.

This is not the best recording, but here's some Joan http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kl3i1GMuyeU

Lemonade.

We have been blessed with two highly fertile lemon trees, and right now is the season. So, the drill goes like this: Send Andrew out to collect (and go help once he's gotten the low ones). Return to kitchen and wash lemons. Don't they look luscious?

Juice of 4 lemons. Andrew is adding that to the pitcher. Melt 1/2 c. honey or 1/2 cup raw sugar in hot water. That's the darkish liquid in the measuring cup. Add to juice. Add 3 c. cold water, ice, and stir.

Yum yum yum.

Our kids like Mondays – even Dean who would scheme to miss school any chance he could. Now, it is his only social outlet, but truth is, school’s fun. I affectionately liken it to summer camp. Dean says it’s “brilliant.”

Days are short – about 6 hours. Dean’s in intermediate school - Years 7 and 8. Ages range from 11 – 14. Dean’s in a mixed 7/8 class though some are exclusively one year. His schedule includes a twenty minute “tea time” in the morning and 70 minutes for lunch and recess….lots of time for soccer, leaving 4 ½ hours class time.

Most of the day is spent with Mr. Wood who does an incredible variety of activity. Beyond the academic, he regularly takes the kids out for a mile run. Or, he may devote an entire day to bike maintenance, or teaching the kids cricket. Next Wednesday the Fifeshire Team (think Harry Potter) will bike to Tahuna Beach for a team building day. And, Friday’s are always sport day. They have Maori in the morning and then do sport the rest of the day with a closing assembly.

This is not to say it is ALL fun and games. They have MATHS Monday – Thursday and have been divided into separate classes according to ability. The expectations are high, with a bit of competitive element in the class. Mr. Wood demands excellence and integrity from his students whether they are building origami mobiles or writing personal essays. They also do woodshop. Way fun.

Duane and I are relieved that school has been so positive. The forthcoming field trips are awesome – caving, tramping above the tree line to develop cold weather skills, biking to the beach…. That it is not academically rigorous is just fine with us. If “Maths” and writing skills are honed, that’s enough. I applaud our assistant principal who said kids only get thirty minutes of homework a night, because they need to “have a life.” Amen

There’s probably a lot more I could tell you. And, I know we are still in the honeymoon stage. Six months from now we may have a laundry list of gripes. For now, it’s all good

Yesterday I and my family went to this hotel.

And, the hotel rooms looked like boots.....they kind of were boots - ginormous boots. (Before that we went to the wild food festival.)

Here we are feeding eels. The tiny eels stole ours sticks. Our food was raw hamburger meat. Some of the eels were gigantic, but not so aggressive. The little eels were so aggressive. It was really awesome.