Petone Feathers

Our back yard bird feeding station brings the usual sparrows, and blackbirds, thrushes and starlings are active on the lawn. Seagulls pass over, sometimes landing on the roof or dropping shellfish to smash open on the garage roof. As I walk each morning I pass a block of flats where one of the occupants sometimes throws bread on the driveway in the mornings. This morning there was no bread, but two hopeful ducks had decided to wait on.

They weren't alone, however. This kotuku was perched on the car roof surveying the scene in a suitably majestic manner. I wonder if he was interested in a baked breakfast or just there for the company. 

Thoughts While Supermarketing

Such wee darlings just have to be shared with the wider public.

I hope, that when I am old and grey, the world is run by the sweet two year old sitting in the trolley sweetly singing "This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine" and not the whining, petulant lump helping himself to the lollies in the bulk bins while his mother pretends not to notice. This is why one can only purchase from the very high bins that allow the bulk foods to fall into the bag untouched by any hand.

'Baked not fried' is a ridiculous point of difference if the key ingredients of what you are either frying or baking are total crap. It is also just as easy to infuse the baked item with the very processed oil other manufacturers fry in so that the baking effectively fries the product anyway. Basic rule - buy food. You'll know it's food if it looked that way 500 years ago. The clue here - if they put a lot of effort into the packaging and marketing, it's because the product itself cost little to produce and is of negligible use as a good food choice.

Front page news at the checkout.

I come from Scots and English stock. I sunburn easily. I take precautions, though I still embrace sunlight and all its health-giving properties. Sunburn is painful, very painful. I have experienced it on various parts of my anatomy. I definitely would not want sunburned nipples. Do they even tan? If my brother-in-law had, just weeks before, been snapped grasping his willy, I think this would be an added incentive not to strip in the company of others, no matter how private the setting, particularly outdoors. I like the royal family, but surely someone has told Kate about power of the telephoto lens - wouldn't it be covered in Being a Princess 101?

Flowers From My Mother's Garden

 

I felt exhausted all day yesterday, but it's amazing how much one perks up once the working week is over and a glass of wine is at hand. The glass of wine accompanied a very pleasant meal at Arthur's. Then a brisk walk  through the bright lights of the city to Downstage. I've actually seen the show a few years ago, I'd estimated 12-13,  not far off the 14 I read on the blurb last night. I recalled it as a marvellous show with a very poignant ending (I had my hanky at the ready) and it was every bit as wonderful a theatre experience as I had anticipated. Go and see it - we need to support performance in our area and you will be in for an evening of laughs and links to your own memories.

A Certain Demographic

I ponder the whole aging thing lately, as my life accelerates and the days fly by. Friday evening has left me dwelling even more on how quickly times passes, after I attended the 60th birthday of a friend. I met him, the husband of a colleague, in my first year of teaching and they have both remained good friends ever since. These 'signicant' birthdays just keep on coming. The 60th seems particularly cruel - a number that tips you into the 'elderly' category if some cub reporter is writing up your collision with a passing bus while crossing the road. And while you still feel vigorous and energetic, you are in the demographic group that only those selling retirement homes, funeral plans and incontinence or erectile dysfunction products are truly interested in. And yet you are still five years away from the anticipated Gold Card.

Passport to the good life.

One interesting aspect of this aging thing is how differently it has affected our hair. Back in the day I was a mousey blonde and my party hosts were both dark haired. Thirty years on he is grey, while the good Lord has made me into a redhead and my friend into a blonde. But apart from this miracle of aging, there is a darker side which does seem, as if to redress the hair balance, to plaque we females a little more.

And it's not the high-spirited fun Walt Disney would have had us think. Actions, intentions, objects and even words just get lost. Great portions of time are now devoted to trying to recall exactly why one went to a particular room or where one last saw a vital tool. Amusing anecdotes lose their punch when the vocabulary dissolves from one's mind. In the workplace this is not such a problem. My employers have provided me with a set of twenty munchkins who enjoy nothing better than the challenge of locating the missing pen/camera/roll/ruler/book that was in my hand only twenty seconds before. They know where trouble is most likely to strike and are ready to grab the permanent marker  that I have mistaken for a whiteboard pen from my hand, return the key I have left hanging in the lock or retrieve the coffee mug I put down while helping to tie a shoe.

Munchkins at your service - better than any PA.

But at home I'm left to my own devices and it can be months before a missing item turns up in the strangest of places. I am not alone in these problems, and like my fellow sufferers there is that nagging wonder whether these are the initial signs of a ghastly befuddled future. I was pleased then to read an article in the latest North and South. (I got the subscription through Flybuys, a decision greatly regretted and Home and Garden would have been a much better choice. This is in no way an endorsement of the magazine, save your money.) It was all about living with dementia, and its insidious intrusion into lives. It tried to highlight the positives, but it failed - there are no positives. What it did provide was a handy checklist of what are and are not tell-tale signs of things to come. You will be pleased to know I passed with flying colours. I may lose my bankcard, but I don't forget who I bank with. It may take me a moment or two to recall where I parked the car, but I do remember I own a car. But with less than a decade to go until the threshold, I must take great care crossing roads

Where Were You?

There have been a lot of significant anniversaries and reminders of momentous events lately. Tomorrow was the first day of World War 2. Obviously I don't have any memories linked with this event, it has always had a purely historical event in my life, though I was well into adulthood when it dawned on me that I was only born a short thirteen years after its end and as child of a returned serviceman I was part of the baby-boomer generation.

Neil Armstrong's death had people talking about the first moon landing (conspiracy theorists and complete nutters may exit the blog at this point, please) and I do have clear memories of that day. Well, much later that day because the grainy televised images weren't 'straight off the satellite' but viewed some time later after the reels were flown across the Tasman. New Zealanders probably were initially glued to their radios, but I have no memory of this at all. I do remember the viewing though because it was significant for two reasons. The first was that we were allowed to eat our dinner in the living room in front of the television - previously unheard of. The second significant point was what we were eating - curry and rice. This was a very recent addition to our family menus. My mother had always served up delicious (if we discount boiled cabbage) meals that were of the 'meat and three veg' variety. My father had definite views about any food that reminded him of the range of world cultures he had experienced during his war service in Europe so macaroni cheese was the closest we came to the exotic and garlic was banned. My mother, though, had recently come under the influence of Allison Holst and suddenly rice, seen only before in rice pudding (which I never ate) had suddenly transformed into a savoury dish - radical. The awe and wonder of the actual moon landing completely escapes me. 

It is 25 years since Lotto first came to our shores. I clearly remember the first draw - I had reason to be optomistic. Some say that statistically one's chances are poor, but I sat with my ticket, hopes high. And with good reason. All through my childhood I had watched the weekly ritual of my father and the Golden Kiwi ticket. It was usually named something snappy like 'Happy Days Synd' (the 'synd' being a vital element to outsmart the taxman when the big win came) and he would run it slowly down the long columns of winning numbers looking for the match. Between draws we would discuss all the wonderful things we would have when we won the big £12,000. That day never came, which is why by combining my own chances with my father's I feel my odds are vastly improved. Patience is a virtue - the 26th year could well be mine.

It is 15 years since the demise of Princess Diana - note I said PRINCESS Diana. I know exactly what I was doing when I heard of her death - I was having a huge panic attack of anguish and dis-belief. This was because approximately 60 seconds earlier my mother had rung to let me know that Diana had died. My mother's name was Diana and my niece is named after her. The shock was enormous - how could she die so young, what must my sister be going through? In a tunnel? In France? What was she doing there - it's a long way from Glenfield on a school night. Hearing it was Princess Diana came as huge relief on that Sunday afternoon and I went back to quietly enjoying The Antiques Roadshow.

Spring Has Sprung

The Bridge Club recreational walking group has been in winter recess, with only occasional gatherings for the consumption of food and alcohol. Today heralded the official start of our 2012/2013 season with a walk from Collins Street to Days Bay, a not inconsiderable distance and a good start as we are only five weeks away from our trans-tasman trip. The charming picture above is very like the scene today, but as I have mis-placed my camera this is a Google image. A more concerted search for the camera is clearly called for or a replacement will need to be purchased before we scale Sydney Harbour bridge and sample the delights of the city.

It has been a very mild and reasonably short winter and, until the ridiculously early start to daylight saving in a few weeks, I am currently enjoying a sunshine walk to school in the mornings and arriving home in daylight  each evening. Birdsong and blooms abound and Millie and I look forward to another summer at the beach.  

Yes, this image is stolen too. But it's very springy and I have been enjoying all the signs of spring on my morning walks and even had time to feed the ducks at the civic gardens on Friday. Life is good.

Perfect

What a stunner of a day from start to end. A clear, crisp morning for a sunlit walk to school. Early this evening I was driving around the harbour. The water was like a mirror and the view just magic in every way. The forecast is perfect for days ahead, and only three days until the official start to spring. Perfect.

The garage is loaded up with pinecones for the fire - the reason for the drive into Wellington. They have given the fire a quick, hot base and it's blazing away. Perfect. I think the summer walking ahead will involve pine forest locations.

The avocados at Countdown were 99c and at the ideal state of just-ripeness for immediate, creamy eating. Perfect.