The smokers’ place at work is an outside space, the cart dock actually, where incoming goods are trundled to various destinations. Amazing conversations take place among this diverse group all gathered with the one purpose of sucking in that foul air.
It is THE place to be if you really want to know what is actually happening within the management of any of the companies that inhabit an international airport. We hear it first form the grassroots, the workers. It always amazes me that the management doesn’t take up this immense knowledge base. I mean we have it all sussed. We know exactly what needs to be done to make things work – better that is. We know how to make staff feel appreciated, what is wrong with the systems, bloody hell, we are the ones that have to implement every stupid, unworkable idea. So we know. We could fix it all in the blink of an eye, all that’s needed is a management committee of SMOKERS.
It is truly incredible. It is a very human place to be. It is an opportunity to forge friendships that would not have happened without the common thread of addiction. There are those who have worked in the same environment for years and can tell you who did what, when and what happened next!!! Confidentiality rules so I can’t disclose any information that might get me or anyone else the sack!! We live in a work environment where you are guilty as charged until you prove otherwise. A vast difference to the recognized legal system but hey, that is the reality of being an employee in the current workforce.
Smokers share stories, about their kids, their parents, their pets.Their loves, their loses their lives. Nothing is exempt. There are people who have the most amazing knowledge base on topics you wouldn’t dream they might be interested in. Natural history, dog breeding, fishing, politics you name it we will have a spokesperson with a life long hobby in it. It is also a huge multi-cultural melting pot. Indian, Polynesian, Serbian, Russian, Korean, Japanese, Maori, Pakeha, South African and Dutch. It is a free indepth travel guide and a true insight into life around the globe. It is a privilege to be part of this.
And we laugh. Sometimes outrageously, sometimes inappropriately but always frequently and often side-splittingly with accompanying tears running down our faces We often need to compose ourselves and put on our professional faces before heading back to our posts.
I love it.
Funny dog training story. True story. One of the women had gone to puppy training classes with her two daughters, (no she wasn’t training them!!) and one of the girl’s puppy. Her description of the other participants was a delightful cameo and that was before she told us her story.
The puppy had to be made to lie down on the floor without any verbal instruction. This involved pushing down on the pup’s shoulders until it succumbed and lay down. Well, this in turn involved our group speaker who had taken the lead role, sitting with pup between her feet and one daughter beside her and one behind her, doing the pushing down. Unfortunately, when she did this she let rip with a symphony of loud farts. This in turn caused her embarrassment and uncontrollable giggles from one daughter and exposed her to the wrath and acute embarrassment of the other daughter. This only made the matter worse and said leader had an uncontrollable fit of the giggles with one daughter in also collapsed in hysterics and the other kept saying “Oh Mum!!.”
The lead actress made a wonderful job of relaying this story and by the end of it, our smokers group also had tears streaming down our faces, and we were bent over double laughing. Apparently the conversation carried on all the way home in the car with the mother and daughters and said puppy. It then got relayed to the family at home and they too got good mileage and belly laughs from the story. A man, who apparently resembled a TV type wrestler and had been at the puppy class with his chiwawa was apparently unmoved by my colleagues misfortune and avoided eye contact and any reaction. The instructor was none too pleased with this irreverent mob. I didn’t find out if the puppy will lie down on instruction but suspect it may only do so on fart command. There are still three more training classes to go.
Long rule the smokers I say.
Off to work now.
ARohanui
KG
22 Feb 2008
An ordinary day
Today is an ordinary day. I am going to work shortly, the last day of my block of six days. I have the next three days off, and then it starts all over again. I like shift work mainly because of the days off!! There are three early starts and three afternoon starts. The earlies are very early ranging from 0400 to 0630. I hate the actual getting up early but I love having the afternoons at home, so that is the pay off.
It is also an extraordinary day as is each day of my life. I have just finished looking at the proposals for a permanent memorial for those murdered in the 7/7 London bombings.
The site will be one of three options in Hyde Park.
Two and a half years after my darling Shelley was murdered in London, there are still “official” decisions to be made. I know when I receive a foolscap white envelope in the mail, with a franked postage paid from London, that it will be one of those types of letters. Sometimes I think about not opening them, but I an always compelled to open them. Maybe only delaying long enough to get a drink and a cigarette to accompany the reading of the contents. There is always a gut reaction, a sinking feeling, a wanting to know what is in it and a not wanting to know at the same time. It might be information about the inquest, the trial or the memorial. Something that I read, consider and respond too. Something, that I have to think about. Something, that draws me into the reality of Shelley’s death.
They appear, unexpected, not uninvited because I have indicated I want to know everything there is to know, but the unexpectedness sometimes takes my breath away.
On my birthday in June, I received two pieces of mail. One was a birthday card. One was from the Coroner stating that they were going to issue final Death Certificates before the inquest, which has been deferred indefinitely, until the end of the upcoming trial. An Interim Death Certificate was issued at the time of Shelley’s death so that we could bring her home to NZ.
It is a strange place to be in on your birthday, sitting with two so very different pieces of information in your hand, in your heart. Seeing in your mind’s eye, fragments of the multiple journeys made to and from London, snippets of my child’s life from any time in her life, when she was born, so tiny and fragile, her graduation, her homecoming. Two parallel realities playing at the same time. It would be strange on any day but birthdays are the day in our family, more important than Christmas or any other officially noted date. Apart from death dates that is.
There is a rationale that runs through my head as I start to open the envelope. Nothing can be worse than what I already know. I have read the Coroner’s report which came in a sealed envelope, within an envelope in case I didn’t want to read it - yet. Nothing can be worse than the daily knowledge that Shelley is dead. I am therefore able to open the envelope and deal with what it contains.
The memorial will be something beautiful to honour all our loved ones. I am pleased about this. I wish there was no need for a memorial.
Arohanui
KG
It is also an extraordinary day as is each day of my life. I have just finished looking at the proposals for a permanent memorial for those murdered in the 7/7 London bombings.
The site will be one of three options in Hyde Park.
Two and a half years after my darling Shelley was murdered in London, there are still “official” decisions to be made. I know when I receive a foolscap white envelope in the mail, with a franked postage paid from London, that it will be one of those types of letters. Sometimes I think about not opening them, but I an always compelled to open them. Maybe only delaying long enough to get a drink and a cigarette to accompany the reading of the contents. There is always a gut reaction, a sinking feeling, a wanting to know what is in it and a not wanting to know at the same time. It might be information about the inquest, the trial or the memorial. Something that I read, consider and respond too. Something, that I have to think about. Something, that draws me into the reality of Shelley’s death.
They appear, unexpected, not uninvited because I have indicated I want to know everything there is to know, but the unexpectedness sometimes takes my breath away.
On my birthday in June, I received two pieces of mail. One was a birthday card. One was from the Coroner stating that they were going to issue final Death Certificates before the inquest, which has been deferred indefinitely, until the end of the upcoming trial. An Interim Death Certificate was issued at the time of Shelley’s death so that we could bring her home to NZ.
It is a strange place to be in on your birthday, sitting with two so very different pieces of information in your hand, in your heart. Seeing in your mind’s eye, fragments of the multiple journeys made to and from London, snippets of my child’s life from any time in her life, when she was born, so tiny and fragile, her graduation, her homecoming. Two parallel realities playing at the same time. It would be strange on any day but birthdays are the day in our family, more important than Christmas or any other officially noted date. Apart from death dates that is.
There is a rationale that runs through my head as I start to open the envelope. Nothing can be worse than what I already know. I have read the Coroner’s report which came in a sealed envelope, within an envelope in case I didn’t want to read it - yet. Nothing can be worse than the daily knowledge that Shelley is dead. I am therefore able to open the envelope and deal with what it contains.
The memorial will be something beautiful to honour all our loved ones. I am pleased about this. I wish there was no need for a memorial.
Arohanui
KG
19 Feb 2008
More than just a headline
I am alive and well, emerging like a somewhat battered bear after a period of hibernation. Three months have gone by now since our move into our new home, two months since I last blogged. It has been a period of settling in, putting our mark on the new home and making it our own. This has involved much physical labour, cleaning spoutings, trimming trees, planting and refreshing the gardens etc. The next big job is staining the ceadar boards. All good stuff and HB & I absolutely love living here. It is the perfect place for us to hold our lives and loves.
SBS & his SH spent the first eight weeks living with us which was fantastic. They are now proud flat dwellers on the North Shore, (a foreign land to us Westies – but I have ventured across the harbour bridge to visit , once so far – daring I know!!) SBS has two jobs and his SH is full time studying at a film school and part time working. They have SH’s little dog with them so they are a busy little family. The good news is that they will need to stay put for the year. Yay!!
FBS has also moved residence and is now flatting above his place of work. How smart and convenient apart from the fact that the boss can make home visits I guess.
Anyway all are well and happy and excited about the unraveling year.
Their dad is doing extremely well in his recuperation which is also great news.
I am busy writing some new poetry and find this totally absorbing to the point that it is hard to sit down and write for the blogsite. The process is completely different. I choose each word with care and it must be the right word. I think I have transferred some of that to the blog and of course, can’t get all those words to be the RIGHT ones hence I put up nothing!! I have been prompted to deal with that and will publish and hopefully not be damned!!
I have had a few thoughts as I have glanced over the papers this year. The way things are handled by the press and how we (the general public respond). We all do it. Scan the paper. Read the horrific stories of violence, murders, and the running tally of road deaths. And then it starts. The letters to the editor, the calls to talkback radio, reflect the divisive nature of these events.
Some a couple of weeks back, showed understanding for a 50 year old male who allegedly took the life, by stabbing, of a 15 yr old tagger. This is a week after our country has hosted yet another tourist murder. A 26 yr old female, Karen Aim, who had been here working and enjoying our country. A week also where a young man working at his family’s dairy was murdered by a robber. 10 homicides in the month of January. It all appears to have gone horribly wrong. People are anxious, frightened and demanding “solutions”. Harsher penalties, cut benefits, electronic tagging of potential offenders, curfews etc etc. The baying public, demand that the government does something.
Community leaders, Mayors, Youth Workers are interview for their views. Some of it is good and useful input a lot of it however, is knee jerk reaction to a particular event.
Each event takes precedence over the previous horror story. Last week’s murder is just that, last week’s. New is current and has a very short life span. As soon as another murder or violent act occurs, that then become the news of the day. You would be hard pushed to find much in-depth ongoing discussion in the daily papers. It is as if the nation screams, bays for action and then forgets.
Politicians, particularly in an election year want to be heard. They sometimes troop along to the funeral of the poor deceased person. Then they state our party will do this, our party will do that. They blame this and they blame that. This from our Minister of Police. Again mostly knee jerk reactions, stuff people want to hear at times when we are all hurting from the tarnished image of our country that these violent acts portray.
We don’t want o be perceived as a country that murders tourists, but we are. We don’t want to be seen as a country with youth, gang or drug problems, but we are. We don’t want to be seen as a country with a growing gap between the rich and the poor, but we are.
After the crisis is over, we all settle back down to our little lives. Maybe adding a few more security bolts to our windows and doors, another sensor light up on the outside of the house. We get on with our small lives, shaking our heads at the state of things and spouting if only we had tougher penalties, bring in boot camps, cut out the social welfare payments – that will teach them. That will sort them out.
All that is enough to make me shake my head and wonder what sort of nation we are building for our families, for our children and our children’s children. Where in any of this is personal responsibility. Where is the tenant of looking out for our children, whether they are kids or adults? Where is the tenet of looking out for our aged parents our neighbours?
We create the society in which we live either by our actions or by default and inaction. There is no one to blame but ourselves when it goes wrong. It is incumbent on all of us by the fact that we are part of this society, to try to find reasonable solutions. We have politicians whose policies impact on all of these crucial matters, employment, housing, education, health, youth issues etc. None of them seem too bothered until headlines are made. As the people who elect our politicians, again either actively or passively, we need to be demanding indepth responses. Not the rabble feeding frenzy we have seen as a result of our terrible murder toll. Yes, it is a changed world but what values to we want out communities to reflect and are we as individuals prepared to do our bit?
I do know that behind the headlines, no matter the circumstances, no matter the cause, murder is a life sentence for the families of the victims. It is irrelevant who, what, why - it only matters that it is true. Your loved one is dead. Choices taken away. It is a life sentence. My heart goes out to all the families involved. Two and a half year's after Shelley's murder - it is as painful and life altering as if it happened yesterday. It is not an area for political haymaking, or for nutty rightwing groups to be taken seriously. What is needed is compassion and intestinal fortitude and a committment to making a real difference. A headline is just that a headline, a fleeting sensationalist collection of a few words. A death is a permanent full stop.
I don’t have the answers and of course any solution is complex to say the least.
I think asking the question first is a good start.
As for Bush – I can’t believe he has used the 7/7 London bombings to prop up his support and justification for the torture process of “waterboarding”. How dare he use any of my family to prop up his argument. I do not condone torture nor do I appreciate his stating that he is sure families of the 7/7 victims would endorse or support this practice. He hasn’t even called me to ask me!! That’s is partly what I mean about media, making hay out of every possible scenario without any thought to the sensibilities of those he is invoking. Absolute rubbish and a disgrace. I was going to email him but thought the SIS may descend on my paradise and throw me into a bath of water!! Coward I know but I really prefer showers. Maybe he will read this and send me an apology. Ha ha.
I am endeavouring to regain my sense of humour – Step 1. Stop reading the papers. Step 2. Don’t watch the news. Step 3. Drink more.
Signing off to have a laugh and go to work!! Now that's funny.
Arohanui
KG
SBS & his SH spent the first eight weeks living with us which was fantastic. They are now proud flat dwellers on the North Shore, (a foreign land to us Westies – but I have ventured across the harbour bridge to visit , once so far – daring I know!!) SBS has two jobs and his SH is full time studying at a film school and part time working. They have SH’s little dog with them so they are a busy little family. The good news is that they will need to stay put for the year. Yay!!
FBS has also moved residence and is now flatting above his place of work. How smart and convenient apart from the fact that the boss can make home visits I guess.
Anyway all are well and happy and excited about the unraveling year.
Their dad is doing extremely well in his recuperation which is also great news.
I am busy writing some new poetry and find this totally absorbing to the point that it is hard to sit down and write for the blogsite. The process is completely different. I choose each word with care and it must be the right word. I think I have transferred some of that to the blog and of course, can’t get all those words to be the RIGHT ones hence I put up nothing!! I have been prompted to deal with that and will publish and hopefully not be damned!!
I have had a few thoughts as I have glanced over the papers this year. The way things are handled by the press and how we (the general public respond). We all do it. Scan the paper. Read the horrific stories of violence, murders, and the running tally of road deaths. And then it starts. The letters to the editor, the calls to talkback radio, reflect the divisive nature of these events.
Some a couple of weeks back, showed understanding for a 50 year old male who allegedly took the life, by stabbing, of a 15 yr old tagger. This is a week after our country has hosted yet another tourist murder. A 26 yr old female, Karen Aim, who had been here working and enjoying our country. A week also where a young man working at his family’s dairy was murdered by a robber. 10 homicides in the month of January. It all appears to have gone horribly wrong. People are anxious, frightened and demanding “solutions”. Harsher penalties, cut benefits, electronic tagging of potential offenders, curfews etc etc. The baying public, demand that the government does something.
Community leaders, Mayors, Youth Workers are interview for their views. Some of it is good and useful input a lot of it however, is knee jerk reaction to a particular event.
Each event takes precedence over the previous horror story. Last week’s murder is just that, last week’s. New is current and has a very short life span. As soon as another murder or violent act occurs, that then become the news of the day. You would be hard pushed to find much in-depth ongoing discussion in the daily papers. It is as if the nation screams, bays for action and then forgets.
Politicians, particularly in an election year want to be heard. They sometimes troop along to the funeral of the poor deceased person. Then they state our party will do this, our party will do that. They blame this and they blame that. This from our Minister of Police. Again mostly knee jerk reactions, stuff people want to hear at times when we are all hurting from the tarnished image of our country that these violent acts portray.
We don’t want o be perceived as a country that murders tourists, but we are. We don’t want to be seen as a country with youth, gang or drug problems, but we are. We don’t want to be seen as a country with a growing gap between the rich and the poor, but we are.
After the crisis is over, we all settle back down to our little lives. Maybe adding a few more security bolts to our windows and doors, another sensor light up on the outside of the house. We get on with our small lives, shaking our heads at the state of things and spouting if only we had tougher penalties, bring in boot camps, cut out the social welfare payments – that will teach them. That will sort them out.
All that is enough to make me shake my head and wonder what sort of nation we are building for our families, for our children and our children’s children. Where in any of this is personal responsibility. Where is the tenant of looking out for our children, whether they are kids or adults? Where is the tenet of looking out for our aged parents our neighbours?
We create the society in which we live either by our actions or by default and inaction. There is no one to blame but ourselves when it goes wrong. It is incumbent on all of us by the fact that we are part of this society, to try to find reasonable solutions. We have politicians whose policies impact on all of these crucial matters, employment, housing, education, health, youth issues etc. None of them seem too bothered until headlines are made. As the people who elect our politicians, again either actively or passively, we need to be demanding indepth responses. Not the rabble feeding frenzy we have seen as a result of our terrible murder toll. Yes, it is a changed world but what values to we want out communities to reflect and are we as individuals prepared to do our bit?
I do know that behind the headlines, no matter the circumstances, no matter the cause, murder is a life sentence for the families of the victims. It is irrelevant who, what, why - it only matters that it is true. Your loved one is dead. Choices taken away. It is a life sentence. My heart goes out to all the families involved. Two and a half year's after Shelley's murder - it is as painful and life altering as if it happened yesterday. It is not an area for political haymaking, or for nutty rightwing groups to be taken seriously. What is needed is compassion and intestinal fortitude and a committment to making a real difference. A headline is just that a headline, a fleeting sensationalist collection of a few words. A death is a permanent full stop.
I don’t have the answers and of course any solution is complex to say the least.
I think asking the question first is a good start.
As for Bush – I can’t believe he has used the 7/7 London bombings to prop up his support and justification for the torture process of “waterboarding”. How dare he use any of my family to prop up his argument. I do not condone torture nor do I appreciate his stating that he is sure families of the 7/7 victims would endorse or support this practice. He hasn’t even called me to ask me!! That’s is partly what I mean about media, making hay out of every possible scenario without any thought to the sensibilities of those he is invoking. Absolute rubbish and a disgrace. I was going to email him but thought the SIS may descend on my paradise and throw me into a bath of water!! Coward I know but I really prefer showers. Maybe he will read this and send me an apology. Ha ha.
I am endeavouring to regain my sense of humour – Step 1. Stop reading the papers. Step 2. Don’t watch the news. Step 3. Drink more.
Signing off to have a laugh and go to work!! Now that's funny.
Arohanui
KG
24 Dec 2007
Seasons
24 December 2007
(for Shelley)
there is no season
to grieving
no set end date
no
“thirty days til the season of joy” signs
flashing across the tv
or in the junk mail
it is not that straightforward
there are moments
all year round
that pierce my heart
when I see a new born child
when an autumn leaf falls
sunset/sunrise
walking in the rain
the first glimpse
of a new rose bloom
it is in the look you give me
as I walk past one of your photos
these are but a few of the times
for grieving
it is in every breath I take
it is interwoven
into my acts of living
loving and laughing
it is part of me
as you are part of me
woven into the fabric
of my heart and soul
etched into my very skin
every day
I carry this
the loss of you
Love always,
KG
8 Dec 2007
The Move
Head down, bum up that’s the best way to describe the past week!! The move accomplished. All the contents of our last home boxed up and moved Friday week ago. I took the easy path, went to work and finished in time to go to our old home and ceremoniously close the back door for the last time with SBS. (We weren't the only two to shed a tear or two during the day. It is quite a strange feeling leaving a house that has been your home for so long.) This lack of being on the spot at the time, didn’t stop me stressing and I required a slap from my workmates who thought I had made the sweetest deal, before I stopped going on and on and on about it. No one could believe that I had it so sweet and wanted to know how the hell I managed to do it!!! A certain lack of leave played a major role!! HB did all of the boxing, labeling and getting ready for the move. SBS & his SW arrived just in time to assist HB on the day. I must admit there were tears as it was a fine home that did us well for the past 16 years or so. It had the capacity to contract and expand to meet all our requirements. It was a loving, secure base in our immediate grief. In fact, I thought we might never be able to leave the house.
But guess what, after the packing up comes the unpacking. The unwrapping of hundreds and thousands of presents, stuff you forgot you had, stuff you love and some stuff you donate to local charities. But it is all good.
If it is possible to be in love with a house, I am. In love with this lovely new home that has already accommodated all of my family. A sleepover with both FBS, SBS & his SH, exhausted bodies from lifting, shifting, placing and replacing (don’t blame me but it did take about an hour to get the place for this computer just right!! Ha ha.) It is so amazing to be here. SBS & his SH and her little dog, are staying with us as their plans reveal themselves. It is lovely to have a fullish house once again. We are enjoying lots of laughs and all fit in really well together. The house itself, a long shaped home with plenty of space, 4 bedrooms and two bathrooms and the most amazing outdoor space. I have to pinch myself to believe that I am truly here.
The process of unpacking is horrendous. In order to create order one has to make chaos. You get one room finished, and then have to stuff it full of all the other stuff from the next room, while you sort that room out. I am sitting here surrounded by a mountain of boxes of books, (the last frontier of the shift, the last things to set in place.!!) I have left a pathway between rooms to the computer around this mountain. I may be locked here permanently!!!
Everything fits perfectly into this, our new home. It is stunning and exciting. I have also not cried so much for a long time. That comes about as I reach for each box and open it to find all manner of things that belong to Shelley. I have just set up a bookcase by the computer with her books. The range is incredible from The Tale of the Flopsie Bunnies, The Wind in the Willows, Charlotte’s Web, the C.S. Lewis series, The Chronicles of Narnia, an English/Latin dictionary, cricket books, Once Were Warriors, Trainspotter etc etc. Her favorite toys, her special things all fit here as well. It is both gladdening to have these things and heartbreaking.
As part of the setting-up of this home, we have unwrapped things we bought on our recent trip in September and they too, fit well. It has been fun finding places for our funny little fridge magnets, (a singing Irish one and one that says, Yes I have a kitchen – it came with the house!), our rainbow wind chime and a few other items. We have also sent another load of stuff to the local charity shop and that too feels good.
So the new house is now pretty much in order. The garden is the last frontier to be tackled and needs a bit of weeding here and there and then of course the cedar house does need to be restained and sealed. (Blooming heck I had thought maintenance free meant exactly that!!) Plenty to keep on with, which is great. I may or may not get the lawnmower man back to take on the job of keeping the lawns under control but this first time, I think I will be tempted to mow them myself!! It seems the right thing to do – at least once.
This home is already, very much a part of all of us. We will create new stories as our lives unfold and we will hold Shelley’s place in it.
Arohanui
KG
But guess what, after the packing up comes the unpacking. The unwrapping of hundreds and thousands of presents, stuff you forgot you had, stuff you love and some stuff you donate to local charities. But it is all good.
If it is possible to be in love with a house, I am. In love with this lovely new home that has already accommodated all of my family. A sleepover with both FBS, SBS & his SH, exhausted bodies from lifting, shifting, placing and replacing (don’t blame me but it did take about an hour to get the place for this computer just right!! Ha ha.) It is so amazing to be here. SBS & his SH and her little dog, are staying with us as their plans reveal themselves. It is lovely to have a fullish house once again. We are enjoying lots of laughs and all fit in really well together. The house itself, a long shaped home with plenty of space, 4 bedrooms and two bathrooms and the most amazing outdoor space. I have to pinch myself to believe that I am truly here.
The process of unpacking is horrendous. In order to create order one has to make chaos. You get one room finished, and then have to stuff it full of all the other stuff from the next room, while you sort that room out. I am sitting here surrounded by a mountain of boxes of books, (the last frontier of the shift, the last things to set in place.!!) I have left a pathway between rooms to the computer around this mountain. I may be locked here permanently!!!
Everything fits perfectly into this, our new home. It is stunning and exciting. I have also not cried so much for a long time. That comes about as I reach for each box and open it to find all manner of things that belong to Shelley. I have just set up a bookcase by the computer with her books. The range is incredible from The Tale of the Flopsie Bunnies, The Wind in the Willows, Charlotte’s Web, the C.S. Lewis series, The Chronicles of Narnia, an English/Latin dictionary, cricket books, Once Were Warriors, Trainspotter etc etc. Her favorite toys, her special things all fit here as well. It is both gladdening to have these things and heartbreaking.
As part of the setting-up of this home, we have unwrapped things we bought on our recent trip in September and they too, fit well. It has been fun finding places for our funny little fridge magnets, (a singing Irish one and one that says, Yes I have a kitchen – it came with the house!), our rainbow wind chime and a few other items. We have also sent another load of stuff to the local charity shop and that too feels good.
So the new house is now pretty much in order. The garden is the last frontier to be tackled and needs a bit of weeding here and there and then of course the cedar house does need to be restained and sealed. (Blooming heck I had thought maintenance free meant exactly that!!) Plenty to keep on with, which is great. I may or may not get the lawnmower man back to take on the job of keeping the lawns under control but this first time, I think I will be tempted to mow them myself!! It seems the right thing to do – at least once.
This home is already, very much a part of all of us. We will create new stories as our lives unfold and we will hold Shelley’s place in it.
Arohanui
KG
18 Nov 2007
War & Peace
The HOLIDAY seems like ages ago. I know I promised some funny stories but in some ways, that time has passed. However, I will delve into the old memory banks and tell you one or two anyway. But first a non-funny story. Oh dear, I do seem to have a black view of things!!
Derry, to the residents of the Republic of Ireland and Londonderry to the residents of Northern Ireland, (to the point that the signs that had Londonderry had the London graffitied out near the border), was an interesting experience. This was the city with the bogside, the tiny area of streets no more than a couple of blocks where immeasurable violence and multiple-murders had taken place. The pictures of some of these confrontations had been beamed into our lounges through the television news stories of the time.
Derry, to the residents of the Republic of Ireland and Londonderry to the residents of Northern Ireland, (to the point that the signs that had Londonderry had the London graffitied out near the border), was an interesting experience. This was the city with the bogside, the tiny area of streets no more than a couple of blocks where immeasurable violence and multiple-murders had taken place. The pictures of some of these confrontations had been beamed into our lounges through the television news stories of the time.
It is a walled city, with an amazing walk around the top of the walls giving you a bird’s-eye-view of the city. There are the murals and memorials to those who have died for the cause.
The four of us walked around the city, through the bogside and looked at the murals as we went. Typical tourists you might say. What is not so easy to describe is what it felt like.
It was a real mixture of emotions. The city itself was lively enough. We were there at the end of the business day, and there was, I guess you could call it a traffic jam, around the central square. Cars were banked up, horns were tooting and people were yelling at each other. I must say that no where else had we heard one toot of a car horn. No matter what the obstacle was on the road, a tractor, road works or a confused tourist, there was not one solitary beep heard, prior to our reaching Northern Ireland. It almost felt like Auckland on a typical day.
At a deeper level, I felt a terrible sense of helplessness and sorrow. Sorrow at all the loss of lives, at the boxed way of thinking that keeps people, groups of people categorized and segregated. Yes, it may be by choice but I am not convinced that is really the case. These young men and women who were motivated to do battle with fellow countrymen/women were not born with hatred in their hearts. That had to be cultivated by the society in which they lived; by their families and the wider community. They are no different to the misguided suicide bombers who took Shelley’s life, along with her fellow travelers. I did not see anything that could justify such inhumanity to each other. To hate to the point of wanting to kill, to achieve what?
The murals are magnificent in the artistic sense, in an emotional sense I felt each one of them like a slap in the face, or a punch in the guts. Yes they are a representative truth of events that are not in dispute, but what are they actually contributing to creating a new way of living? To me, they were stark somber reminders of man’s inhumanity to man, a holding in place if you like, of the hurt, the wrongdoing. Unforgiving, immovable. There was no light coming in, no hint of a coming together. They seemed to me to hold the barricades at a place that hopefully does not exist anymore. I saw them as a barrier to moving on. I felt despairing and helpless. I wished I could scream out, look at what you have got and get on with it. Get on with making a better place for everyone no matter their creed, beliefs or politics.
Ireland is a beautiful country with much to be enjoyed. The difference between the Republic and Northern Ireland was stark and was both visual and emotional.
The rolling hills with the stone fences and little narrow roads, the people with the lilting voices and way of speaking that took you up and down the vocal scale typified the Republic. The warm pubs, the storytelling, the brilliant religious oaths (or was it praying I wasn’t’ quite sure – you know the thing, Jesus Mary & Joseph, Holy Mother of God with suitably dramatic facial expressions accompanying these cries) all adding colour to this experience.
Northern Ireland by comparison had better roads, motorways in parts, bigger cities but an overriding austereness that I just couldn’t shake. The accent could best be described as flat, monotonal, utterings. No ups, no downs, just a continuous stream of words all at the same pitch with hardly a breath taken in a sentence. Like talking out the side of your mouth with your jaw wired together at the same time. We did ask for directions a couple of times, said thankyou, but were none the wiser for the exchange.
There was a grayness to the buildings and the countryside, was much more structured and ordered, gone were the rambling hillsides with shacks and tumbledown buildings. I missed the rolling hills and the stone fences.
I have no right, as such a casual observer to make any comment on a country so divided, for so long, by so many for so many reasons. I know that peace moves are on the way, the IRA and the UDA having formed a peace agreement. I know that there are groups of people doing amazing things to advance the country into a peaceful co-habitation of souls. I also know this is still a long way off. There are years of conditioned responses to the “others”; they being whoever you are not! There are the usual convolutions of power, politics and greed.
I got to see the town where my Dad was born, the hot spots of Derry and Belfast too. I saw the despair and felt the history in my heart. I wish for such a beautiful country, that the good people in it do find a true way to make a peaceful future. I think for that to happen, some letting go of the past must occur.
Holding onto the ugly hurts and wrongdoings doesn’t seem to me like a way forward. It is a fragile peace at present with hope of more peace to come.
My wish is for a truly peaceful land, a way of living that reflects the beauty of that land and the true wish of every person to live in peace. The last mural is also a sign of hope.
It was a real mixture of emotions. The city itself was lively enough. We were there at the end of the business day, and there was, I guess you could call it a traffic jam, around the central square. Cars were banked up, horns were tooting and people were yelling at each other. I must say that no where else had we heard one toot of a car horn. No matter what the obstacle was on the road, a tractor, road works or a confused tourist, there was not one solitary beep heard, prior to our reaching Northern Ireland. It almost felt like Auckland on a typical day.
At a deeper level, I felt a terrible sense of helplessness and sorrow. Sorrow at all the loss of lives, at the boxed way of thinking that keeps people, groups of people categorized and segregated. Yes, it may be by choice but I am not convinced that is really the case. These young men and women who were motivated to do battle with fellow countrymen/women were not born with hatred in their hearts. That had to be cultivated by the society in which they lived; by their families and the wider community. They are no different to the misguided suicide bombers who took Shelley’s life, along with her fellow travelers. I did not see anything that could justify such inhumanity to each other. To hate to the point of wanting to kill, to achieve what?
The murals are magnificent in the artistic sense, in an emotional sense I felt each one of them like a slap in the face, or a punch in the guts. Yes they are a representative truth of events that are not in dispute, but what are they actually contributing to creating a new way of living? To me, they were stark somber reminders of man’s inhumanity to man, a holding in place if you like, of the hurt, the wrongdoing. Unforgiving, immovable. There was no light coming in, no hint of a coming together. They seemed to me to hold the barricades at a place that hopefully does not exist anymore. I saw them as a barrier to moving on. I felt despairing and helpless. I wished I could scream out, look at what you have got and get on with it. Get on with making a better place for everyone no matter their creed, beliefs or politics.
Ireland is a beautiful country with much to be enjoyed. The difference between the Republic and Northern Ireland was stark and was both visual and emotional.
The rolling hills with the stone fences and little narrow roads, the people with the lilting voices and way of speaking that took you up and down the vocal scale typified the Republic. The warm pubs, the storytelling, the brilliant religious oaths (or was it praying I wasn’t’ quite sure – you know the thing, Jesus Mary & Joseph, Holy Mother of God with suitably dramatic facial expressions accompanying these cries) all adding colour to this experience.
Northern Ireland by comparison had better roads, motorways in parts, bigger cities but an overriding austereness that I just couldn’t shake. The accent could best be described as flat, monotonal, utterings. No ups, no downs, just a continuous stream of words all at the same pitch with hardly a breath taken in a sentence. Like talking out the side of your mouth with your jaw wired together at the same time. We did ask for directions a couple of times, said thankyou, but were none the wiser for the exchange.
There was a grayness to the buildings and the countryside, was much more structured and ordered, gone were the rambling hillsides with shacks and tumbledown buildings. I missed the rolling hills and the stone fences.
I have no right, as such a casual observer to make any comment on a country so divided, for so long, by so many for so many reasons. I know that peace moves are on the way, the IRA and the UDA having formed a peace agreement. I know that there are groups of people doing amazing things to advance the country into a peaceful co-habitation of souls. I also know this is still a long way off. There are years of conditioned responses to the “others”; they being whoever you are not! There are the usual convolutions of power, politics and greed.
I got to see the town where my Dad was born, the hot spots of Derry and Belfast too. I saw the despair and felt the history in my heart. I wish for such a beautiful country, that the good people in it do find a true way to make a peaceful future. I think for that to happen, some letting go of the past must occur.
Holding onto the ugly hurts and wrongdoings doesn’t seem to me like a way forward. It is a fragile peace at present with hope of more peace to come.
My wish is for a truly peaceful land, a way of living that reflects the beauty of that land and the true wish of every person to live in peace. The last mural is also a sign of hope.
Arohanui
KG
Time Flys By..
The past three weeks have flown by. SBS & his SH are with us which is fabulous. We are enjoying their company and their enthusiasm for adventure. They have many plans and it is exciting to wait and see what eventuates. Meanwhile, we are being treated to some yummy cooking and great company.
The kids’ dad is safely back in this country after his misadventure. It is great to have him back and to know that he is on the path to recovery even though he is facing a couple of more weeks in hospital. It may be a long path but at least it is now clear and he has his wonderful sons to cheer him up and cheer him on. I haven’t been to see him yet as I have a cold at the moment and that is the last thing he would need.
Two-and-a-bit weeks til the house move. It seems to have taken ages and then all of a sudden, it is nearly upon us. We tried our hand at a Garage Sale yesterday. Well that sucked!!! Didn’t sell much but did sell some of the main items so that’s good I guess. It is really weird putting bits and pieces of your life up for sale. The local Salvation Army shop will benefit from the remaining items. It is a good job I am not a shop owner as I kept saying oh well, $1 will do, or take all of them for $2!! Just as well it was a clearing up exercise and not a money making one. But there are a few happy families with some goodies they wouldn’t otherwise have got.
So much of the moving and packing is about Shelley. We have to move everything and look at everything with all the memories and the heightened sense of the permanency of death. She will not wear those shoes again, read those books again or play that card game again. It is all so devastating and hugely emotional, packing, repacking and making some decisions about letting some of her things go. I wept after her music box was chosen by a beautiful little girl. I was happy she had been the one to choose it, her eyes lit up as the the ballerina twirled and music played. It was the right thing to do – but it broke my heart all over again.
We are a funny household with all different hours of work and sleep. SBS works midnight til around 8am, I work all weird hours form 0430 starts to late afternoon starts. It is not a normal household by any means. At present two people are sleeping (it is midday) and two are up. I will probably have a sleep later!! It is like shift work all over again. But I love it. Everyone is free to do what they wish, when they wish. What more can anyone ask for. The only trouble is the outside world doesn’t realize we are on our own timeframes, so the phone still rings, door to door people still turn up anticipating a sale, whether of goods or a soul!! Ha ha the jokes on them. I am a non believer and not much of a purchaser either!!
Anyway my friends, will sign off just now and am in a writing mood so will post some more later today.
I feel very high tech, am sitting here doing a blogsite, (didn’t even know what they were a year ago!!) and listening to music on my iPod. Good grief Charlie Brown.
Arohanui
KG
The kids’ dad is safely back in this country after his misadventure. It is great to have him back and to know that he is on the path to recovery even though he is facing a couple of more weeks in hospital. It may be a long path but at least it is now clear and he has his wonderful sons to cheer him up and cheer him on. I haven’t been to see him yet as I have a cold at the moment and that is the last thing he would need.
Two-and-a-bit weeks til the house move. It seems to have taken ages and then all of a sudden, it is nearly upon us. We tried our hand at a Garage Sale yesterday. Well that sucked!!! Didn’t sell much but did sell some of the main items so that’s good I guess. It is really weird putting bits and pieces of your life up for sale. The local Salvation Army shop will benefit from the remaining items. It is a good job I am not a shop owner as I kept saying oh well, $1 will do, or take all of them for $2!! Just as well it was a clearing up exercise and not a money making one. But there are a few happy families with some goodies they wouldn’t otherwise have got.
So much of the moving and packing is about Shelley. We have to move everything and look at everything with all the memories and the heightened sense of the permanency of death. She will not wear those shoes again, read those books again or play that card game again. It is all so devastating and hugely emotional, packing, repacking and making some decisions about letting some of her things go. I wept after her music box was chosen by a beautiful little girl. I was happy she had been the one to choose it, her eyes lit up as the the ballerina twirled and music played. It was the right thing to do – but it broke my heart all over again.
We are a funny household with all different hours of work and sleep. SBS works midnight til around 8am, I work all weird hours form 0430 starts to late afternoon starts. It is not a normal household by any means. At present two people are sleeping (it is midday) and two are up. I will probably have a sleep later!! It is like shift work all over again. But I love it. Everyone is free to do what they wish, when they wish. What more can anyone ask for. The only trouble is the outside world doesn’t realize we are on our own timeframes, so the phone still rings, door to door people still turn up anticipating a sale, whether of goods or a soul!! Ha ha the jokes on them. I am a non believer and not much of a purchaser either!!
Anyway my friends, will sign off just now and am in a writing mood so will post some more later today.
I feel very high tech, am sitting here doing a blogsite, (didn’t even know what they were a year ago!!) and listening to music on my iPod. Good grief Charlie Brown.
Arohanui
KG
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