Peace and non-peace in paradise.

Blackpool Beach.

Leisure boats in numbers for the Queens Birthday long weekend.  Off Little Oneroa Beach.

My beat up old van. We carted plywood and planks for our project this morning. We will sleep in it as our bedroom tonight. 

"Emi" our Hungarian "daughter".

We slept apart
The main reason we are staying here with my son, daughter-in-law and grand daughter Edith, is that we are to be here as "support crew" when a child is born. Well on Friday evening my daughter-in-law put her two year old daughter to bed, then her and my son caught the ferry over to Auckland to go to the hospital. The baby was well overdue and after a scan the medical staff had said it was time to have the baby. So my wife slept upstairs to keep an eye on our grand daughter, while I slept in the van under the house. The baby was born shortly after mid night and at sometime after 1 a.m. I received a text from my wife, who was in bed on the couch on the floor above me, to pass on my son's text that "he was out".  Our mission was to look after the two year old.
Big adventure
On Saturday we were asked to bring the two year old (Edith) over to the Auckland hospital to visit her mother, meet her little brother and catch up on her dad. After her early afternoon nap we got her up, fed her, packed a back pack with all the stuff a two year old needs, and headed down to the ferry. We thought we had left in plenty of time. Our instructions were that we were to take one of the family cars (because it had a child's seat in it) down to the ferry terminal and find a park to leave it in.  We were then to locate the other family car left there on Friday evening, unlock it to get a child's buggy out of the back, before heading to the terminal, get our tickets and board the ferry. We ended up having to park quite a distance from the terminal. We got to the other car, retrieved the buggy, set it up, but not correctly. At that point we discovered my wife had left her hand bag in the first car. I let her head to the terminal pushing this incorrectly set up buggy, while I ran back to the car to retrieve the handbag. I caught her up just before the terminal. The ferry had arrived and it's discharged passengers were clogging the footpath as we raced toward the ticket counter. The woman handed over the tickets and with a smile on her face said, "You have just under two minutes!" "Plenty of time!" I threw back at her with a cheeky grin. "Yeah - have a nap on the way!" she shot back as we gathered all our things and rushed away.  We were about the second last passengers on the ferry, they shut the gate behind us.  We flopped down in a seat for the half-hour ride. Then, in a strange city, we had to find the right bus to get to the hospital and get off at the correct stop. What a mission! We were pleased to see my son at the bus stop ready to take us to meet his new son.  Coming home we were not as rushed and much more confident, though keeping a tired two year old happy on a ferry for half an hour in the dark is a challenge. I quietly sang to her, but had some funny looks from people nearby. I find I am enjoying spending time with my bright, hyper-active two year old grand daughter.  We seem to "get" each other and we are becoming good mates. Being a grand parent has nice moments.  When I touched my new grandson's hand as he lay in his hospital crib, he opened his eyes, wrapped his little fingers around my finger, looked at me awhile and shut his eyes again, still holding my hand. I know it is a reflex action, and that his eyes are not really focused, but it does feel special. 
Non-peace
Waiheke Island is a lovely place, with lovely looking idilic bays. The permanent population is 7 - 8 thousand people. It goes up considerably in holiday times. There is a real mixture of people. Some of the richest people in NZ have homes on Waiheke. There are wineries and olive groves with palatial homes associated with them. Then at the other extreme there are poor beneficiaries. There are alternative lifestyle type people and many people who commute to Auckland for work each day.  It has quite a nice community feel to it and people seem to adopt a laid back lifestyle. But even here there are sad signs of human conflict. I was walking past a house on one of my walks and could hear abusive screaming of a man toward his children. Filthy language flowed freely, and a woman and a child screamed in response. As far as I could tell there was no physical violence, but it seemed odd in this house with all the trappings of an idilic lifestyle. When we came back from Auckland on Saturday night we came out of the ferry terminal and there was a group of young men. Obviously lubricated by alcohol they were screaming at one another, again filthy language flowing. They had their fists up and were threatening, and swinging, though no punches landed while we were around, but I think it got more serious after we passed. I walked out toward them with my two year old grand daughter in a buggy. I decided to cross the road, she did not need to be distressed by this event. Tonight in the early evening I walked down to the beach. The sun was setting over the ocean, making the scene look very beautiful. Yet in two houses I passed, people were screaming at one another! It seemed out of place and really sad in such peaceful surroundings. 
On the positive side I passed a bay, where even at 5 p.m. at night families were at play in the playground and on the beach. Couples were dawdling through the trees hand in hand. An elderly couple sat on a park bench leaning against one another taking in the scene. At another beach a family were having a picnic tea at a table by the beach, laughing and sharing amongst themselves. A couple of pairs of "elderly" cyclists came past and gave a cheery greeting to me, a fellow elderly exerciser.  This afternoon shop keepers talked warmly with us. To balance out the violence and conflict, there are loving, friendly scenes. Oh that we could all embrace friendly, responsible caring ways of relating. What a sad world! ... and yet "What a wonderful world!" 
"...meet at St Andrew Street."
We have a Hungarian friend who used to help us out at St Andrew St Church of Christ Community. We grew very fond of her and she called us her NZ "Mum" and "Dad". She is now back in Hungary, but when I emailed her to tell her we were coming to Edinburgh she is keen to come and meet us there. "Wouldn't it be funny" she writes,"to meet on the corner of St Andrew Street in Edinburgh?"  Dunedin, New Zealand was settled by people from Scotland who used Edinburgh street names in their new city. It is often called "The Edinburgh of the South." We are looking forward to catching up.  

Waiheke Island scrapbook.

I discovered these looking toward Auckland. I do not know their background.

Feeling young experience.

On Sunday afternoon I headed out telling my wife I planned to walk for two-hours.  I was retracing a familiar track, but also exploring it’s higher routes. It finished up out at the end of a peninsula where I had been before. Across the paddock I saw some interesting things and great scenery, so I had to explore.  While there I found yet another track and decided to explore that.  It went along a coastline where I had never been. After a while I saw a sign that gave two options to get back to the village. Of course I took the longest most interesting looking one. I walked and walked and there seemed to be no more definitive signs and the track got “wilder”. I began to worry about getting back before dark and wondered where I was?  I came across a group of young adults going in the opposite direction. They asked me where the track led, and I asked them, “Does this go to a road?”  “Yes” they replied, but they were foreign so I was not confident they had understood my question… I walked on. … and on… faster and faster. I wound my way back and forth, up and down through some picturesque bush and eventually out onto a road! But which way leads back to the village? Do I go left or to the right? I was just working how to establish that when I saw a track heading into the bush across the road, and a sign saying it led to a beach near where we are staying.  I rushed into the bush, pleased to know where I was going, but now more fearful that I might get stuck in there when nightfall came.  I did not know how long the track was. The track reached its full height at a trig point that we can see from the house and, once there I knew I could find my way to a road, and back home.  I arrived just as darkness settled in after walking solidly and quickly for three hours. The thing is I was on a high! I loved the challenges, (e.g. sliding down a bank on my backside) the scenery, the uncertainty, the need for speed and having to push myself physically, (breaking into a run at various points) the isolation and my own company.  I felt young, “on the edge” and adventurous.  My wife had begun to wonder if I had got lost, but I had enjoyed a really great three hours - I loved every minute of it. A simple thing like a walk can bring so much pleasure. I did wish, though, that I had brought a map with me!

I love the old twisted trees on Waiheke.

Wrinkly.. but happy.

One of the shops we have frequented here is a secondhand shop associated with the refuse station. It is called “The New Hope shop” and run by a number of Churches with the profits going into good causes in the community.  Church volunteers staff the shop and we had chatted with the lady behind the counter on a previous visit.  We went to buy a pair of trousers I could do carpentry in without worrying about damaging them. When paying for our purchase, ($4) my wife explained to the lady that they were “for my husband”. “Have you got a good one?” the lady asked, “Husband, I mean?” “Oh yes,” my wife replied. From a nearby isle I commented that she had to say that because I was listening.  “How long have you been married.” she asked. “45 years” my wife replied.  “We have a few years on you, we are 54 years. – It is a long time but its good,” she said with a grin, “They get wrinkly (husbands) but hey, I don’t wear my glasses to bed! Its OK.”   

Love carpentry…

I know I have said this before, but I do enjoy building. I am assisting my son to build a workshop/laundry underneath their house.  It is a great feel constructing something useful and slowly developing a new room. I love the physicality, the problem solving and the looking at things completed and being able to say, “That’s good!”  Perhaps I should have been a carpenter!

 

A murky looking Auckland CBD across the sea from a distance.

The distance - you can just make out the buildings.

Our project continues-we are extending our original plan.

Project progress

The project progress.

We had Friday off to celebrate Phil's birthday. On that day forty years ago I got a parking ticket from Melbourne Police for parking too long outside the hospital. Inside I was busy making phone calls sorting arrangements for a funeral of an elderly parishioner, whilst awaiting the birth of our second child. There was no "Parental leave" back then.  Now we are still waiting for Phil & Natasha's second child to decide to come into the world. By lunch time Saturday we had completed blocking the floor framework and the had the basic floor panels in place with a few screws in each. While my wife and I did other chores, son Phil screwed the floor down. We have decided to extend our project to make the room bigger than we first planned. This afternoon my wife and I picked up three free pallets from a liquor store to use in the total project. 

Phil is the baby (about 12 months) in my wife's arms... hard to think he is now forty!

Phil's 2year old daughter on her birthday just over a week ago.

The project

Progress

We are staying at my son and daughter-in-law's home. We are here to help out when their second child decides to be born... currently overdue. Now if my son (40 years old tomorrow) and I sat down and talked theology or philosophy of life or values, I kind of suspect we would be screaming at each other in no time. It feels like he has rejected many of the things I stand for. I find myself having to bite my tongue at some of his attitudes and comments. There are many times when I am sure he comes out with statements that he knows I would disagree with just to wind me up. I just roll my eyes. But the strange thing is that there are many things we have in common. We are very similar in so many ways.  We enjoy a walk in the bush. He enjoys his own company like I do. He is now into vege gardening and has bought the same self sufficiency books that I have. And he likes doing DIY jobs. 
We get on well walking in the bush together. We get on fine, in a strange sort of way when we do DIY jobs together. (Some very blunt things are said) He also likes to do them as cheap as possible. Our project we are working on currently is to build a workshop under his house. A part of his house is up on poles and there has been a roughly divided off storage part which had a make shift floor of questionable standard. We have pulled that all apart and are currently building a proper, lockable workshop space. He told me that he wanted this workshop space, and we had installed a window a year or so ago. When he mentioned it the other day I said, "Would you like to do it while I am here?" "Well I can't do it on my own, can I?" was his way of saying "yes please." But we are using all recycled timber, windows and doors. I offered to go buy some new timber today, but was told in no uncertain terms that was not required. It does make the job a lot harder, but it is amazing what you can do with junk. We have been working on it off and on for the last three days.  First the demolition part of it. Then the rebuild with lots of discussion, debate about how we proceed. But we usually work well together and when he decided it was time to stop tonight, we looked at what we had done and were pleased. Of course if the expected baby decides to arrive we will have to put it on hold for more important things. Watch this space for progress reports.

Tradesman's tools.

It is many years since I worked as a tradesman, but I have never lost a tradesman's attitude toward his tools. The first thing we learned as an apprentice was to respect your's and others' tools. As a young apprentice we often used the tools of the tradesman we were working with. Often he would allow the use of the tools very reluctantly. "It's time you had your own bloody tools!" was a frequent comment. You knew that if you borrowed a tool and broke it, you replaced it. The tradesman would go "ape" at you if he saw you using a chisel in the wrong way, or snips to hit something with or in some way misusing a tool. When you got your own tools you valued them, treated them with "love" and became very possessive of them. You have your favourite snips, your own favourite hammer and got used to the "feel" of certain tools. When a tradesman breaks a tool, he often does not throw it out, somehow he is too attached to it. He will buy a new one, but it will be some time before that becomes "his" and is truly accepted. I recall on Habitat for Humanity building sites getting really annoyed at volunteers who would borrow tools and not return them.  I was reminded of all this today. I have a favourite little crowbar/claw gadget. I fell in love with this one. It once got lost, and I found it months later. (the photo above) I have used it today doing some demolition work at my son's place on Waiheke Island. It has been so useful. We did not have a big crow bar so I have been using this one, really overstraining it and using it beyond what it is designed for. I was trying to prize off a piece of timber, hitting my bar with the hammer and yanking it mercilessly.  But when I pulled it out one of its claws had broken. The thing is I have been depressed ever since. I was so annoyed. If I had my full tool kit with me I would not have been misusing it! I have a full sized crow bar hanging in my workshop in Dunedin. If I had been more careful it would not have happened! I had mistreated my friend and it had broken. I went to the local hardware store to buy a replacement, but there was not one just exactly the same. The closest to it was a $44 one, but I put it back on the shelf. (It is the only hardware store on the island so they charge whatever they like) I sadly put my broken bar into my tool box tonight, I can still use the other end. But for a tradesman, it is a form of grief to break a favourite tool. I must be still a tradesman at heart. I am so upset! 

Further to last post...

I went for a walk tonight through some bush to the shoreline by the ferry terminal. I came across the notice about the Maori burial ground I mentioned in my last post.

Just for fun... a Hibiscus flower (I'm told) near our van where we are staying. 

The notice I mentioned last post

The foreshore area that is mentioned.

I’ll be an ancestor one day!

Maori burial ground a few blocks from where we are staying. 

Tupuna = grandparent, ancestor.

Today I am thinking about ancestors. There are several things leading me to think about this.

(1) Near the ferry terminal on Waiheke Island, by the beach there is a lawn area. Next to it is a sign saying something like, “This is an ancient burial area for our ancestors, please respect it as such.” In this area many years ago Maori laid their loved ones to rest. The nearest beach to where we are staying has a similar area fenced off with several headstones showing family plots.  I walk past these places with a sense of reverence. It brings to mind the journey of those who have gone before.  Those who first established human society, family and community in this place and who contributed to the nature of New Zealand society today, are lying here.  In a Maori meeting house ancestors are remembered by carvings and symbols on the wall. Often when speakers are speaking they will place a hand on the wall recognizing and relying on the wisdom of the ancestors. In their culture they have a sense of link to their ancestors and the current of life flowing from them.

(2) I am staying with my son, his wife and their daughter.  I am soon to travel to Scotland to catch up on another son and his family there.  While living here with my son I see in him elements, good and bad, of me. I look at my grand daughter and see the same, in her mannerisms and her way of attacking life. There are similarities in her appearance to my father as a young boy in an old photograph I have somewhere at home.

(3) This visit really reinforces that I am a grandfather.  I am “Pop”.  There is a new grandchild expected any day.  I am, for now, really retired… not working. I have reached the stage where if a newspaper reporter was to report on an accident I had, they would say “An elderly man …”  I do not feel elderly! I am trying to go for a very intentional walk every day to get back a measure of fitness and youthfulness. But the reality is that I will be an ancestor soon enough… I hope a decade or so yet, but I am headed that way.

(4) I am finding that at this stage of life, while still looking forward to new adventures, I am doing a lot of reflecting on the journey so far. This is not morbid. I am going through a transition in the journey of life, entering a new stage. It is natural to reflect on the journey so far.  I can see in the journey influences of people – My father (a plumber, a soldier, thinker and churchman,) Uncle Harry (Smith - who I spent many Saturday’s gardening with, who with another man - Doc. A L Haddon - got me involved in compassionate causes.) Uncle George (a farmer, lover of poetry and all things “Wild Western” ) several friends of the family who loved drawing and painting; Arthur Templeton my childhood minister who was liberal in theology;  etc etc. - I could write pages on all the people who have influenced my journey, there are so many.  They are my ancestors. They are a part of who I am and have been partners in my journey through life.  I wonder what sort of legacy I will leave as an ancestor?

I think we in western societies ought to be much more open to our ancestors, and recognize much more than we do, their presence in our lives.

We might then also begin to ask more frequently, “What sort of ancestor will I be? What sort of world will I pass on? What legacy will I leave?” The impact of our living goes a way beyond our lifetime.

I have used this in my blog before. I found it in a visit to a “museum” on the outskirts of Cardiff. I loved the museum and this poem.

A Meeting Place

I am singular

My time is now,

And I am here,

But I am not alone.

At my back I hear

the ticking of the past,

the faint breathing of many generations

Of my ancestors;

And all about me

Is the family of man.

Here I see what makes the

fundamental me,

A roof above me, bed, and work

Daily bread, and water,

Here I see my words

Here the beliefs that sustain me.

I ponder here the meaning of me...

I ponder here the meaning of “we”..

And what is my humanity...

In this hall is where

I’ll see clues to my identity.

“I contain multitudes”

Written by Gwyn Thomas (Welsh National Poet)

Placed near the entrance to exhibits in the St Fagans National History Museum in Cardiff.